He made it more and more evident to her that her proper course was not to earn a salary but to accumulate equipment. . He had not been successful as the world counted success; the fat bank-account, the filled waiting room of which he had once dreamed, had never materialized except in the smoke of his evening pipe. He was not addicted to monologue, and the only audible comment he permitted himself at first upon a universe that was evidently anything but satisfactory to him that afternoon, was one compact and entirely unassigned “Damn!” The word must have had some gratifying quality, because he repeated it. She could visualize the picture she had presented, particularly the battered papier-mâché kitbag at her feet. “Let go!” she gasped at him, a blaze of anger.
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