Tutt pulled out the bottom drawer of his desk and slowly removed his personal check book.  With his fountain pen in his hand he paused and looked at her.

“Rather than give you another cent I’d stand the gaff,” he remarked defiantly.

“I know it,” she answered.  “I looked you up before I came here the first time.  You are good for exactly five thousand dollars.”

Tutt filled out the check to cash and sent Willie across the street to the bank to have it certified.  The sun was just sinking over the Jersey shore beyond the Statue of Liberty and the surface of the harbor undulated like iridescent watered silk.  The clouds were torn into golden-purple rents, and the air was so clear that one could look down the Narrows far out to the open sea.  Standing there by the window Mrs. Allison looked as innocently beautiful as the day Tutt had first beheld her.  After all, he thought, perhaps the experience had been worth the money.

Something of the same thought may have occurred to the lady, for as she took the check and carefully examined the certification she remarked with a distinct access of cordiality:  “Really, Sammy, you’re quite a nice little man.  I rather like you.”

Tutt stood after she had gone watching the sunset until the west was only a mass of leaden shadows Then, strangely relieved, he took his hat and started out of the office.  Somewhat to his surprise he found Miss Wiggin still at her desk.

“By the way,” she remarked casually as he passed her, “what shall I charge that check to?  The one you just drew to cash for five thousand dollars?”

“Charge it to life insurance,” he said shortly.

He felt almost gay as he threaded his way through the crowds along Broadway.  Somehow a tremendous load had been lifted from his shoulders He would no longer be obliged to lead a sneaking, surreptitious existence.  He felt like shouting with joy now that he could look the world frankly in the face.  The genuine agony he had endured during the past three weeks loomed like a sickness behind him.  He had been a fool—­and there was no fool like an old one.  Just let him get back to his old Abigail and there’d be no more wandering-boy business for him!  Abigail might not have the figure or the complexion that Georgie had, but she was a darn sight more reliable.  Henceforth she could have him from five p.m. to nine a.m. without reserve.  As for kicking over the traces, sowing wild oats and that sort of thing, there was nothing in it for him.  Give him Friend Wife.

He stopped at the florist’s and, having paid a bill of thirty-six dollars for Georgie’s flowers, purchased a double bunch of violets and carried them home with him.  Abigail was watching for him out of the window.  Something warm rushed to his heart at the sight of her.  Through the lace curtains she looked quite trim.

“Hello, old girl!” he cried, as she opened the door.  “Waiting for me, eh?  Here’s a bunch of posies for you.”