“Well, why don’t you do it, dear? Is there any harm in it? I don’t see any harm in it. Why don’t you do that very thing?”
“I’m telling you the truth,” answered he, ignoring her question. “Nothing else short of overtowering merit will get you what you want half so surely.”
“Well, why not do it? Why not?” A fresh, glad courage sparkled in the wife’s eyes.
“Why, Mary,” said John, “I never in my life tried so hard to do anything else as I’ve tried to do that! It sounds easy; but try it! You can’t conceive how hard it is till you try it. I can’t do it! I can’t do it!”
“I’d do it!” cried Mary. Her face shone. “I’d do it! You’d see if I didn’t! Why, John”—
“All right!” exclaimed he; “you sha’n’t talk that way to me for nothing. I’ll try it again! I’ll begin to-day!”
“Good-by,” he said. He reached an arm over one of her shoulders and around under the other and drew her up on tiptoe. She threw both hers about his neck. A long kiss—then a short one.
“John, something tells me we’re near the end of our troubles.”
John laughed grimly. “Ristofalo was to get back to the city to-day: maybe he’s going to put us out of our misery. There are two ways for troubles to end.” He walked away as he spoke. As he passed under the window in the alley, its sash was thrown up and Mary leaned out on her elbows.
“John!”