Mrs. Karner also wondered. Coming home late one night, she encountered her husband in the hallway; he had just shown out some friends who had been playing poker. She swept by him with a curt "Good night." He was a little drunk. But she stopped halfway up the stairs.
"I say, Bert. Explain to me the mystery of Yetta Rayefsky. Her column this afternoon is straight Socialism. What does it mean? Has a ray of light penetrated into the subterranean gloom of your office? Has the editorial staff fallen in love with her?"
Karner had been winning and was in good spirits.
"That's so. I've forgotten to thank you for suggesting her. She's a gold mine."
"Yes. But how can _The Star_ stand the tone of decency she gives it?"
"Don't worry," he winked profoundly. "There'll be money enough for your trip to Europe. A column and a half won't hurt us."
"But why do you let her do it? What's the answer?"
"As simple as A B C. I'm surprised you don't see it yourself. The little lady's bugs on sweat-shops. And sweat-shops don't advertise. See? As long as she sticks to the East Side, she can damn any one she likes to. And as for Socialism--the girls don't vote."
"It was stupid of me not to understand," Mrs. Karner said as she went on up to her room. "Goodnight--Cynic."
She never realized how much her jibes stung her husband.
"Damn the women," he muttered. "She married me for my money and don't like the way I earn it."
Mr. Karner had loved his wife more than anything--except the pleasure of cutting a figure in the world. His paper made him a power in the community. Presidential candidates bid for his support. No one had dared to blackball him when he had recently put up his name at a club which was supposed to be composed of gentlemen. But his wife neither respected nor feared him. He stood gloomily in the hallway--the fumes of champagne making things oscillate gently--wondering whether he dared to go to her room. He decided he was afraid, and, calling for his hat and coat, went out.
But to the other people who were asking the same question which Mrs. Karner had put to her husband, no answer was given. Isadora's daily amazement at Yetta's outspoken Socialism gradually grew into a conviction that he had been wrong. He wrote her a loyal letter of apology, and Yetta in a condescending reply forgave him.
