"
Mrs. Birtwell smiled faintly to soften the rebuke of her words. They
had reached this point in their conversation when Mr. Elliott, their
clergyman, called. His interest in the Home for inebriates had
increased instead of abating, and he now held the place of an active
member in the board of directors. Mrs. Birtwell had, months before,
given in her adhesion to the cause of reform, and the board of lady
managers, who had a close supervision of the internal arrangements
of the Home, had few more efficient workers.
In the beginning Mr. Birtwell had "pooh-poohed" at his wife's
infatuation, as he called it, and prophesied an early collapse of
the whole affair. "The best thing to do with a drunkard," he would
say, with mocking levity, "is to let him die. The sooner he is out
of the way, the better for himself and society." But of late he had
given the matter a more respectful consideration. Still, he would
have his light word and pleasant banter both with his wife and Mr.
Elliott, who often dropped in to discuss with Mrs. Birtwell the
interests of the Home.
"Just in the nick of time," exclaimed Mr. Birtwell, smiling, as he
took the clergyman's hand.
"My wife and I have had a disagreement--we quarrel dreadfully, you
know--and you must decide between us."
"Indeed! What's the trouble now?" said Mr. Elliott, looking from one
to the other.
"Well, you see, we've been discussing the party question, and are at
daggers' points.
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