HOUSE AND GARDEN 
J 
ULY, 1913 
that he took his place at the board meeting with an apology and 
the realization that he was just in time! 
Mr. Spence was a busy man. He worked long hours and 
worked hard, and when he went to the place he called home, he 
had frequently to forget how tired he was in order to enjoy his 
wife's society at a theatre, a bridge party, or a social evening 
with some friends. But he had been increasingly conscious of 
late of an absentmindedness, an ability to forget rather than to 
remember, and his clerks had had an unusual amount of extra 
duty in keeping memoranda of his appointments and seeing that 
he was on time for his many activities. Once, when a nervous 
headache had completely upset his day, he had “consulted” a 
doctor he knew casually, at his lunch club. 
“Nervousness — too much pressure — go easy for a while!” had 
been the sum and substance of his suggestions. 
But Spence paid small heed; his mind was filled with business. 
“That’s what they all 
say — driving around in 
their snug little automo¬ 
biles and getting two or 
three a visit — it’s easy 
enough to say ‘Let up a 
bit -—- too much pres¬ 
sure,’ ” and he promptly 
forgot all about it. 
Crossing the avenue 
on the way home, Mr. 
Spence that evening had 
a disagreeable experi¬ 
ence. His mind en¬ 
grossed with that in¬ 
creasing financial prob¬ 
lem, and with that city 
absentmindedness and 
callousness of danger 
which intimate familiar¬ 
ity breeds, he had tried 
to make his way across 
the street in the middle 
of the block, dodging 
traffic by instinct. Only 
a part of his mind was 
on the busy scene in the midst of which he was. But a sudden 
and warningly loud screech of an electric horn halted him just in 
time to avoid being run down by an elephantine seven-seater, 
whose chauffeur yelled at him as he passed. No sooner had he 
started forward again than the shrill clang of a closed car halted 
him again. 
“Confound those cars!” said Spence to himself. “It’s an out¬ 
rage the way they drive — it’s as much as your life is — 
“Honk honk — honk honk-onk-onk-onk-onk /” croaked a blatant 
bulb horn in his ear, and Mr. Spence staggered back, this time 
from actual contact with a passing fender. It bruised his hand, 
and he shook his fist at the retreating car, trying vainly to make 
out a coherent number among the many which dangled, vibrating, 
and all too small to read at the tail end of the car now serenely 
on its way. 
“Bing — bing — bing!” boomed a deep bell, as he crossed a side 
street, and “Phware is ut yez thinks yez is — the coontry?” in¬ 
quired a sarcastic voice as a huge automobile truck full of barrels 
rolled, ponderous, over the spot from which Mr. Spence nimbly 
skipped. 
He was wrathy. The more he thought about it, the wrathier 
he became. 
“It’s a confounded outrage!” he stormed, as he entered the 
door of his apartment and saw his wife. “You can’t walk 
across a street without taking your life in your hands. The town 
is fairly owned by these purse-proud and idiotic owners of money 
enough to sport and support a big car. They don’t use the car for 
anything but show—they don’t need ’em and they drive as if there 
wasn’t a pedestrian in existence!’’ 
“Indeed they do!” assented Mrs. Spence. “I was in Mrs. 
Rich’s car to-day — she brought me home — and do you know, she 
almost ran over a little girl, and when she stopped quickly, an¬ 
other car bumped into our car and broke the glass behind—it’s a 
mercy we weren't cut! I hate automobiles!” 
“I’m always afraid for the children,” agreed Mr. Spence. 
“Dorothy is so heedless of anything except what she has her 
mind on, and Larry is so deliberate, I wonder he isn't run over a 
dozen times a day !” 
“I caught him looking down the elevator shaft to-day!” ex¬ 
claimed Mrs. Spence, suddenly reminded. “That careless Jones 
left his door open. I do wish we lived on the ground floor, in 
spite of the noise. 
“I know—I know.” 
Mr. Spence wore a 
harassed look. “But you 
know as well as I do 
that Dorothy is too ner¬ 
vous to stand that noise. 
I am not especially well 
pleased with Larry’s 
looks, either. The boy 
isn’t as strong as he 
ought to be. He came 
in my room this morn¬ 
ing and I saw the little 
chap's arms and chest— 
he’s thin—thin.” 
“Well, it isn’t that he 
doesn’t get enough to 
eat,” protested his moth¬ 
er. “I’m sure we set an 
ample table, and it's 
good, too — heaven 
knows we pay enough 
for it!” 
“You’re right there,” 
agreed Mr. Spence. “But 
that doesn't help with getting those precious children rosy and 
normal. I must see Harrington about them. He ought to be 
able to do something — medicine, diet or something like that to 
help them. 
“I wish life wasn't so complicated,” mused Mrs. Spence. “It 
wasn’t that way when I was a little—” 
“Well, what I wish is that we didn’t live in an apartment at 
all!” Mr. Spence interrupted. “I’m fair sick of the whole thing 
—city life, automobiles, elevators, telephones, rushing home, rush¬ 
ing to get dressed, early up in the morning, crowded cars, high 
cost of living, continued drain on the purse — ” 
“Oh, John! That reminds me! Could we manage to get 
tickets to the Barton lectures, do you think? They are only fifty 
dollars for the season and every one is going — every one we 
know — ” 
Mr. Spence entered his room and banged the door. After 
dinner, when he had had a chance to pull himself together a bit, 
he apologized to his wife. 
“I’m sorry I was cross,” he said, contritely. “But I had a hard 
day. Now listen a minute and look at this,” “this” being a 
sheet of paper penciled over with a short table of words and 
figures in the form of an expense account. 
He passed the sheet over. Mrs. Spence looked at it. What she 
saw was this: 
Each morning motor cars rolled past the house on the way to the station, bearing 
their occupants in what seemed to Spence the height of luxury within the reach of 
none but plutocrats 
(Continued on page 58 ) 
