he　came　home　and　found　her　in　a　new　or　a　favorite
  dress；　and　he　told　her　how　pretty　she　looked。
  He　appeared　to　like　to　have　her　play　to　him；　too；
  even　declaring　once　or　twice　that　it　was　quite
  like　old　times；　yes；　it　was。　　But　he　never　noticed
  her　hints　about　the　theater；　and　he　did　not　seem
  to　like　to　talk　about　his　work；　even　a　little　bit。
  Billy　laid　this　last　fact　to　his　injured　arm。　　She
  decided　that　he　had　become　blue　and　discouraged；
  and　that　he　needed　cheering　up；　especially
  about　his　work；　so　she　determinedly　and
  systematically　set　herself　to　doing　it。
  She　talked　of　the　fine　work　he　had　done；　and
  of　the　still　finer　work　he　would　yet　do；　when　his
  arm　was　well。　　She　told　him　how　proud　she　was
  of　him；　and　she　let　him　see　how　dear　his　Art　was
  to　her；　and　how　badly　she　would　feel　if　she　thought
  he　had　really　lost　all　his　interest　in　his　work　and
  would　never　paint　again。　　She　questioned　him
  about　the　new　portrait　he　was　to　begin　as　soon
  as　his　arm　would　let　him；　and　she　tried　to　arouse
  his　enthusiasm　in　the　picture　he　had　planned　to
  show　in　the　March　Exhibition　of　the　Bohemian
  Ten；　telling　him　that　she　was　sure　his　arm　would
  allow　him　to　complete　at　least　one　canvas　to　hang。
  In　none　of　this；　however；　did　Bertram　appear
  in　the　least　interested。　　The　one　thing；　indeed；
  which　he　seemed　not　to　want　to　talk　about；　was
  his　work；　and　he　responded　to　her　overtures　on
  the　subject　with　only　moody　silence；　or　else　with
  almost　irritable　monosyllables；　all　of　which　not
  only　grieved　but　surprised　Billy　very　much。　　For；
  according　to　the　‘‘Talk　to　Young　Wives；''　she
  was　doing　exactly　what　the　ideal；　sympathetic；
  interested…in…her…husband's…work　wife　should　do。
  When　February　came；　bringing　with　it　no
  change　for　the　better；　Billy　was　thoroughly
  frightened。　　Bertram's　arm　plainly　was　not
  improving。　　He　was　more　gloomy　and　restless　than
  ever。　　He　seemed　not　to　want　to　stay　at　home
  at　all；　and　Billy　knew　now　for　a　certainty　that　he
  was　spending　more　and　more　time　with　Bob
  Seaver　and　‘‘the　boys。''
  Poor　Billy！　　Nowhere　could　she　look　these　days
  and　see　happiness。　　Even　the　adored　baby　seemed；
  at　times；　almost　to　give　an　added　pang。　　Had　he
  not　become；　according　to　the　‘‘Talk　to　Young
  Wives''　that　awful　thing；　a　_Wedge_？　　The　Annex；
  too；　carried　its　sting；　for　where　was　the　need　of
  an　overflow　house　for　happiness　now；　when　there
  was　no　happiness　to　overflow？　　Even　the　little
  jade　idol　on　Billy's　mantel　Billy　could　not　bear
  to　see　these　days；　for　its　once　bland　smile　had
  become　a　hideous　grin；　demanding；　‘‘Where；
  now；　is　your　heap　plenty　velly　good　luckee？''
  But；　before　Bertram；　Billy　still　carried　a　bravely
  smiling　face；　and　to　him　still　she　talked　earnestly
  and　enthusiastically　of　his　workwhich　last；
  as　it　happened；　was　the　worst　course　she　could
  have　pursued；　for　the　one　thing　poor　Bertram
  wished　to　forget；　just　now；　washis　work。
  CHAPTER　XXVIII
  CONSPIRATORS
  Early　in　February　came　Arkwright's　appearance
  at　the　Boston　Opera　Housethe　first　since
  he　had　sung　there　as　a　student　a　few　years　before。
  He　was　an　immediate　and　an　unquestioned　success。
  His　portrait　adorned　the　front　page　of　almost
  every　Boston　newspaper　the　next　morning；
  and　captious　critics　vied　with　each　other　to　do
  him　honor。　　His　full　history；　from　boyhood　up；
  was　featured；　with　special　emphasis　on　his　recent
  triumphs　in　New　York　and　foreign　capitals。　　He
  was　interviewed　as　to　his　opinion　on　everything
  from　vegetarianism　to　woman's　suffrage；　and
  his　preferences　as　to　pies　and　pastimes　were　given
  headline　prominence。　　There　was　no　doubt　of　it。
  Mr。　M。　J。　Arkwright　was　a　star。
  All　Arkwright's　old　friends；　including　Billy；
  Bertram；　Cyril；　Marie；　Calderwell；　Alice　Greggory；
  Aunt　Hannah；　and　Tommy　Dunn；　went　to
  hear　him　sing；　and　after　the　performance　he　held
  a　miniature　reception；　with　enough　adulation　to
  turn　his　head　completely　around；　he　declared
  deprecatingly。　　Not　until　the　next　evening；　however；
  did　he　have　an　opportunity　for　what　he
  called　a　real　talk　with　any　of　his　friends；　then；
  in　Calderwell's　room；　he　settled　back　in　his　chair
  with　a　sigh　of　content。
  For　a　time　his　own　and　Calderwell's　affairs
  occupied　their　attention；　then；　after　a　short　pause；
  the　tenor　asked　abruptly：
  ‘‘Is　there　anythingwrong　with　the　Henshaws；
  Calderwell？''
  Calderwell　came　suddenly　erect　in　his　chair。
  ‘‘Thank　you！　　I　hoped　you'd　introduce　that
  subject；　though；　for　that　matter；　if　you　hadn't；
  I　should。　　Yes；　there　isand　I'm　looking　to
  you；　old　man；　to　get　them　out　of　it。''
  ‘‘I？''　Arkwright　sat　erect　now。
  ‘‘Yes。''
  ‘‘What　do　you　mean？''
  ‘‘In　a　way；　the　expected　has　happened
  though　I　know　now　that　I　didn't　really　expect
  it　to　happen；　in　spite　of　my　prophecies。　　You　may
  remember　I　was　always　skeptical　on　the　subject
  of　Bertram's　settling　down　to　a　domestic　hearthstone。
  I　insisted　'twould　be　the　turn　of　a　girl's
  head　and　the　curve　of　her　cheek　that　he　wanted
  to　paint。''
  Arkwright　looked　up　with　a　quick　frown。
  ‘‘You　don't　mean　that　Henshaw　has　been　cad
  enough　to　find　another''
  Calderwell　threw　up　his　hand。
  ‘‘No；　no；　not　that！　　We　haven't　that　to　deal
  withyet；　thank　goodness！　　There's　no　woman
  in　it。　　And；　really；　when　you　come　right　down　to
  it；　if　ever　a　fellow　had　an　excuse　to　seek　diversion；
  Bertram　Henshaw　haspoor　chap！　　It's　just
  this。　　Bertram　broke　his　arm　again　last　October。''
  ‘‘Yes；　so　I　hear；　and　I　thought　he　was　looking
  badly。''
  ‘‘He　is。　　It's　a　bad　business。　　'Twas　improperly
  set　in　the　first　place；　and　it's　not　doing　well
  now。　　In　fact；　I'm　told　on　pretty　good　authority
  that　the　doctor　says　he　probably　will　never　use
  it　again。''
  ‘‘Oh；　by　George！　　Calderwell！''
  ‘‘Yes。　　Tough；　isn't　it？　　'Specially　when　you
  think　of　his　work；　and　knowas　I　happen　to
  that　he's　particularly　dependent　on　his　right
  hand　for　everything。　　He　doesn't　tell　this
  generally；　and　I　understand　Billy　and　the　family
  know　nothing　of　ithow　hopeless　the　case　is；
  I　mean。　　Well；　naturally；　the　poor　fellow　has
  been　pretty　thoroughly　discouraged；　and　to　get
  away　from　himself　he's　gone　back　to　his　old
  Bohemian　habits；　spending　much　of　his　time　with
  some　of　his　old　cronies　that　are　none　too　good
  for　himSeaver；　for　instance。''
  ‘‘Bob　Seaver？　　Yes；　I　know　him。''　　Arkwright's
  lips　snapped　together　crisply。
  ‘‘Yes。　　He　said　he　knew　you。　　That's　why　I'm
  counting　on　your　help。''
  ‘‘What　do　you　mean？''
  ‘‘I　mean　I　want　you　to　get　Henshaw　away
  from　him；　and　keep　him　away。''
  Arkwright's　face　darkened　with　an　angry
  flush。
  ‘‘Great　Scott；　Calderwell！　　What　are　you
  talking　about？　　Henshaw　is　no　kid　to　be　toted
  home；　and　I'm　no　nursery　governess　to　do　the
  toting！''
  Calderwell　laughed　quietly。
  ‘‘No；　I　don't　think　any　one　would　take　you
  for　a　nursery　governess；　Arkwright；　in　spite　of
  the　fact　that　you　are　still　known　to　some　of　your
  friends　as　‘Mary　Jane。'　　But　you　can　sing　a　song；
  man；　which　will　promptly　give　you　a　through
  ticket　to　their　innermost　sacred　circle。　　In　fact；
  to　my　certain　knowledge；　Seaver　is　already　planning
  a　jamboree　with　you　at　the　right　hand　of
  the　toastmaster。　　There's　your　chance。　　Once
  in；　stay　inlong　enough　to　get　Henshaw
  out。''
  ‘‘But；　good　heavens；　Calderwell；　it's　impossible！
  What　can　I　do？''　demanded　Arkwright；
  savagely。　　‘‘I　can't　walk　up　to　the　man；　take
  him　by　the　ear；　and　say：　　‘Here；　you；　sirmarch
  home！'　　Neither　can　I　come　the　‘I…am…holier…
  than…thou'　act；　and　hold　up　to　him　the　mirror
  of　his　transgressions。''
  ‘‘No；　but　you　can　get　him　out　of　it　_some_　way。
  You　can　find　a　wayfor　Billy's　sake。''
  There　was　no　answer；　and；　after　a　moment；
  Calderwell　went　on　more　quietly。
  ‘‘I　haven't　seen　Billy　but　two　or　three　times
  since　I　came　back　to　Bostonbut　I　don't　need
  to；　to　know　that　she's　breaking　her　heart　over
  something。　　And　of　course　that　something　is
  Bertram。''
  There　was　still　no　answer。　　Arkwright　got　up
  suddenly；　and　walked　to　the　window。
  ‘‘You　see；　I'm　helpless；''　resumed　Calderwell。
  ‘‘I　don't　paint　pictures；　nor　sing　songs；　nor　write
  stories；　nor　dance　jigs　for　a　livingand　you
  have　to　do　one　or　another　to　be　in　with　that　set。
  And　it's　got　to　be　a　Johnny…on…the…spot　with
  Bertram。　　All　is；　something　will　have　to　be　done
  to　get　him　out　of　the　state　of　mind　and　body
  he's　in　now；　or''
  Arkwright　wheeled　sharply。
  ‘‘When　did　you　say　this　jamboree　was　going
  to　be？''　he　demanded。
  ‘‘Next　week；　some　time。　　The　date　is　not　settled。
  They　were　going　to　consult　you。''
  ‘‘Hm…m；''　commented　Arkwright。　　And；
  though　his　next　remark　was　a　complete　change
  of　subject；　Calderwell　gave　a　contented　sigh。
  If；　when　the　proposition　was　first　made　to　him；
  Arkwright　was　doubtful　of　his