“I wish you would!” Martie said in cold incredulity.  Teddy, deceived by his mother’s dispassionate tone, gave Wallace a warm little smile, embellished by bread and milk.

“I guess you’ve been wondering where I was?” ventured Wallace, rubbing one big bare foot with the other, and hunching his shoulders in his disreputable wrapper.  Unshaven, unbrushed, he gave a luxurious yawn.

“No matter!” Martie said, shrugging.  She poured her tea, noticed that her fingernails were neglected, and sighed.

“I don’t see why you take that attitude, Mart,” Wallace said mildly, sitting down.  “In the first place, I sent you a letter day before yesterday, which Thompson didn’t mail—­”

“Really!” said Martie, the seething bitterness within her making hand and voice tremble.

“I have the deuce of a cold!” Wallace suggested tentatively.  His wife did not comment, or show in any way that she had heard him.  “I know what you think I’ve been doing,” he went on.  “But for once, you’re wrong.  A lot of us have just been down at Joe’s in the country.  His wife’s away, and we just cooked and walked and played cards—­and I sat in luck, too!” He opened the wallet he held in his hands, showing a little roll of dirty bills, and Martie was ashamed of the instant softening of her heart.  She wanted money so badly!  “I was coming home Monday,” pursued Wallace, conscious that he was gaining ground, “but this damn cold hit me, and the boys made me stay in bed.”

“Will you have some tea?” Martie asked reluctantly.  He responded instantly to her softened tone.

“I would like some tea.  I’ve been feeling rotten!  And say, Mart,” he had drawn up to the table now, and had one wrappered arm about Teddy, “say, Mart,” he said eagerly, “listen!  This’ll interest you.  Thompson’s brother-in-law, Bill Buffington, was there; he’s an awfully nice fellow; he’s got coffee interests in Costa Rica.  We talked a lot, we hit it off awfully well, and he thinks there’s a dandy chance for me down there!  He says he could get me twenty jobs, and he wants me to go back when he goes—­”

“But, Wallace—­” Martie’s quick enthusiasm was firing.  “But what about the children?”

“Why, they’d come along.  Buff says piles of Americans down there have children, you just have to dress ’em light—­”

“And feed them light; that’s the most important!” Martie added eagerly.

“Sure.  And I get my transportation, and you only half fare, so you see there’s not much to that!”

“Wallace!” The world was changing.  “And what would you do?”

“Checking cargoes, and managing things generally.  We get a house, and he says the place is alive with servants.  And he asked if you were the sort of woman who would take in a few boarders; he says the men there are crazy for American cooking, and that you could have all you’d take—­”

“Oh, I would!” Martie said excitedly.  “I’d have nothing else to do, you know!  Oh, Wallie, I am delighted about this!  I am so sick of this city!” she added, smiling tremulously.  “I am so sick of cold and dirt and worry!”