IV
Three hours later, his face somewhat pale, but his eyes calm as a child's, Roger opened the door of his wife's bedroom with the morning paper under his arm. At the sound of his footsteps she started awake.
"What time is it?" she demanded.
He looked at his watch.
"Twelve o'clock."
Suddenly she began to cry.
"Roger," she said brokenly, "I'm sorry I was so bad last night."
He nodded coolly.
"Everything's all right now," he answered. Then, after a pause: "I've got the account—the biggest one."
She turned toward him quickly.
"You have?" Then, after a minute's silence: "Can I get a new dress?"
"Dress?" He laughed shortly. "You can get a dozen. This account alone will bring us in forty thousand a year. It's one of the biggest in the West."
She looked at him, startled.
"Forty thousand a year!"
"Yes."
"Gosh"—and then faintly—"I didn't know it'd really be anything like that." Again she thought a minute. "We can have a house like George Tompkins'."
"I don't want an interior-decoration shop."
"Forty thousand a year!" she repeated again, and then added softly: "Oh, Roger——"
"Yes?"
"I'm not going out with George Tompkins."
"I wouldn't let you, even if you wanted to," he said shortly.
She made a show of indignation.
"Why, I've had a date with him for this Thursday for weeks."
"It isn't Thursday."
"It is."
"It's Friday."
"Why, Roger, you must be crazy! Don't you think I know what day it is?"
"It isn't Thursday," he said stubbornly. "Look!" And he held out the morning paper.
"Friday!" she exclaimed. "Why, this is a mistake! This must be last week's paper. To-day's Thursday."
She closed her eyes and thought for a moment.
"Yesterday was Wednesday," she said decisively. "The laundress came yesterday. I guess I know."
"Well," he said smugly, "look at the paper. There isn't any question about it."
With a bewildered look on her face she got out of bed and began searching for her clothes. Roger went into the bathroom to shave. A minute later he heard the springs creak again. Gretchen was getting back into bed.
"What's the matter?" he inquired, putting his head around the corner of the bathroom.
"I'm scared," she said in a trembling voice. "I think my nerves are giving away. I can't find any of my shoes."
"Your shoes? Why, the closet's full of them."
"I know, but I can't see one." Her face was pale with fear. "Oh, Roger!"
Roger came to her bedside and put his arm around her.
"Oh, Roger," she cried, "what's the matter with me? First that newspaper, and now all my shoes. Take care of me, Roger."
"I'll get the doctor," he said.
He walked remorselessly to the telephone and took up the receiver.
"Phone seems to be out of order," he remarked after a minute; "I'll send Bebé."
The doctor arrived in ten minutes.
"I think I'm on the verge of a collapse," Gretchen told him in a strained voice.
Doctor Gregory sat down on the edge of the bed and took her wrist in his hand.
"It seems to be in the air this morning."
"I got up," said Gretchen in an awed voice, "and I found that I'd lost a whole day. I had an engagement to go riding with George Tompkins——"
"What?" exclaimed the doctor in surprise. Then he laughed.
"George Tompkins won't go riding with any one for many days to come."
"Has he gone away?" asked Gretchen curiously.
"He's going West."
"Why?" demanded Roger. "Is he running away with somebody's wife?"
"No," said Doctor Gregory. "He 's had a nervous breakdown."
"What?" they exclaimed in unison.
"He just collapsed like an opera-hat in his cold shower."
"But he was always talking about his—his balanced life," gasped Gretchen. "He had it on his mind."
"I know," said the doctor. "He's been babbling about it all morning. I think it's driven him a little mad. He worked pretty hard at it, you know."
"At what?" demanded Roger in bewilderment.
"At keeping his life balanced." He turned to Gretchen. "Now all I'll prescribe for this lady here is a good rest. If she'll just stay around the house for a few days and take forty winks of sleep she'll be as fit as ever. She's been under some strain."
"Doctor," exclaimed Roger hoarsely, "don't you think I'd better have a rest or something? I've been working pretty hard lately."
"You!" Doctor Gregory laughed, slapped him violently on the back. "My boy, I never saw you looking better in your life."
Roger turned away quickly to conceal his smile—winked forty times, or almost forty times, at the autographed picture of Mr. George Tompkins, which hung slightly askew on the bedroom wall.