"But, Tom," tucked in Edith, "that's impossible. The invitations"
"Never mind, never mind, Edith," interrupted Tom. Then to Ruth he went on. "Postpone the wedding—oh, say a month or two, and then see how you feel. That's all I ask. Reasonable, isn't it?" he appealed to us all. "I'll have a talk with Jennings in the meanwhile," he went on. "This suffrage tommy-rot is working all sorts of unnecessary havoc. I'm sick of it. I didn't suppose it had caught any one in our family though. You drop it, Ruth, for a while. You wait. I'm going back home next Wednesday. Now I want you to pack up your things and be ready to start with me Wednesday night from New York. We'll see what Elise and the youngsters will do for you."
"I'm sorry, Tom," replied Ruth pleasantly, "but my decision about Bob is final; and as for going out West with you and becoming a fifth wheel in your household—no, I've had enough of that. My mind is made up. I'm going to New York."
"But I shan't allow it," announced Tom.
"Then," replied Ruth, "I shall have to go without your allowing it."
"What do you mean?" demanded Tom.
"Why—just what I say. I'm of age. If I were a man, I wouldn't have to ask my older brother's permission."
"And how do you intend to live?"
"On my income," said Ruth. "I bless father now for that stock he left me. Eight hundred dollars a
