"I don't want any more money, Peter, I'd sooner have you." The little woman's voice was very pleading.
"Look here, Barbara," he exploded, "I've made nearly thirty thousand dollars out of real estate. I got the money, you understand, but the game was too stiff and took too much time, so I put that and what else I could raise into stock—in Toronto. I've already made twenty thousand more, that's fifty, and the last twenty was without any effort or time on my part. I've only got to leave it alone for another year, and I'll pull out with an even hundred thousand and retire and devote the rest of my time to you and the children. Isn't that fair enough?"
"Do you say that you have already made fifty thousand dollars?" She was staring at him with startled and incredulous eyes. The sum staggered her.
"Yes," he chuckled contentedly.
She put her arms around his neck. "Then, Peter," she implored, "stop now. It's enough—it's marvelously more than I ever dreamed of. Oh! we can be so happy."
He shook his head. "I've set my mind on the even hundred. Can't you stand another year of it?"
"I can, but not you," she implored. "You don't know how you've changed. Peter, I beg you."
"I've got to leave that fifty where it is to make the next," he said with slow stubbornness. "I'll be the only man in St. Marys who was wise enough to make hay when the sun shone. You needn't be frightened for me."
"I'm frightened for myself," she answered shakily. "Won't you do what I ask? Sometimes," she ventured with delicate courage, "sometimes a woman can see furthest—though she doesn't know why."
"A year from to-day you'll thank me for sticking it out," came back
Manson stolidly.