that yawned so gloomily from everything I had once thought beautiful, had once found sufficient. I was in the midst of the splendid, terraced pansy beds my gardeners had just set out; I stopped short and slapped my thigh. “A woman!” I exclaimed. “That's what I need. A woman—the right sort of woman—a wife!”      

  

       IV. A CANDIDATE FOR “RESPECTABILITY”      

       To handle this new business properly I must put myself in position to look the whole field over. I must get in line and in touch with       “respectability.” When Sam Ellersly came in for his “rations,” I said:       “Sam, I want you to put me up at the Travelers Club.”      

       “The Travelers!” echoed he, with a blank look.     

       “The Travelers,” said I. “It's about the best of the big clubs, isn't it? And it has as members most of the men I do business with and most of those I want to get into touch with.”      

       He laughed. “It can't be done.”      

       “Why not?” I asked.     

       “Oh—I don't know. You see—the fact is—well, they're a lot of old fogies up there. You don't want to bother with that push, Matt. Take my advice. Do business with them, but avoid them socially.”      

       “I want to go in there,” I insisted. “I have my own reasons. You put me up.”      

       “I tell you, it'd be no use,” he replied, in a tone that implied he wished to hear no more of the matter.     

       “You put me up,” I repeated. “And if you do your best, I'll get in all right. I've got lots of friends there. And you've got three relatives in the committee on membership.”      

       At this he gave me a queer, sharp glance—a little fright in it.     

       I laughed. “You see, I've been looking into it, Sam. I never take a jump till I've measured it.”      

       “You'd better wait a few years, until—” he began, then stopped and turned red.     

       “Until what?” said I. “I want you to speak frankly.”      

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