The Coolidge examiner., 1932-04-01
CHAPTER I-Continued

effort to see why, having come so
far, he had stopped so finally. There
wasn't a mark, not even a question
mark, upon his record. He'd never
been remiss in his duty; he'd made
no bad mistakes; he'd lived frugally
within his income, a righteous and
sober life. For some reason or 9TH
er this wasn't enough to prevent
them from-simply forgetting all
about him. What was the reason
julia used to say she thought
she was. He might, she used to
speculate, have married some New
York girl With money of her own
and social position, some one who
would have helped rather than i'm
pede his advancement. Edward had
sometimes reflected a little ironical-
ly that so far as Julia herself was
concerned she might be right. If
MS salary, instead of being subdi-
vided among wife, two babies and
a house, had been concentrated on
himself, he could have been a more
ornamental figure He could have
Kept up a look of success which
might have made just the difference
needed.
These were no new thoughts; but
always, until now, they'd been
guilty ones, always dismissed with
the ringing assertion that the sacri-
tice-if there had been a sacrifice
was well made. He'd been reward
ed for it incommensurably in the
possession of Julia and the children.
They'd been married twenty
years, and their quarrel about Ruth
Ingraham, begun less than a year
ago, had been their first overt, dra-
matte difference. But the blight
had begun settling upon their mar
riage, eating its way in, destroying
the life of it, long, long before that.
He couldn't Honestly blame Julia
for it, but neither could he honestly
blame himself. Searching for a be-
ginning of the change, he found him
self coming back to his decision,
when Edith was a baby, that they
couldn't afford to have any more
children until he got another pro-
motion.
He had thought at the time-per-
suaded himself anyhow-that his
wife agreed with him. All she'd
ever said was, in explanation of her
having Joined some new charitable
board or committee that he had
feared might be too much for her,
Il might as well, if I'm not going
to have any more children"
He hadn't discussed the alterna-
tive with her; there was nothing to
say. They couldn't afford to have
any more children, unless he got a
promotion.
She had come to regard him, he
gloomily supposed, as a failure.
Well, of course, he was. The bril-
liant young New Yorker she'd mar
ried had slowed down into an office
hack. He'd become crotchety, dull,
censorious. After seven or eight
hours of nagging routine in that
ID office, he didn't bring home
much that a wife could take any
great satisfaction in.
She had i'll health, too. Asthma
cost her many a sleepless night
him. too, incidentally. And she was
a martyr to hay fever.
But her version of the Ingraham
affair wasn't candid: wasn't even
true. He believed she knew II
wasn't. 1t came to this: that she
and Edward had had a perfectly
happy, satisfactory life together un.
til he, with sheer masculine incon-
stancy, had allowed himself to be.
come infatuated with a younger,
prettier woman. How innocent OF
how guilty the pair might be now,
she had declared in her letter. was
no concern of hers. That was a
matter merely of prudential consid-
erations. He'd probably been Sc
cretly desirous of Ruth a long time
before her husbands death and
Julia's ill-judged compassion for
the widow had given him his oppor.
tunity.
He ought, perhaps. to have been
grateful to Julia for this accusation
He could muster up a clearer sense
of outraged virtue in refuting il
than he could summon in connection
with any other phases of the affair
He'd honestly never thought OF
Ruth at all save as the supposedly
frivolous wife of a neighbor be
didn't like, until he went, at Julia
own suggestion, disinterestedly and
half reluctantly, to offer the help OF
his expert business advice to a be
reaved women. The Good Samari.
tan himself had not acted in better
faith.