“Bob, you consummate blockhead!” said Mrs. Blackwell, “haven’t you better sense than to talk about its being chilly?  These last few days Belinda has done nothing but complain about the cold.  She comes from Barbados, where the thermometer never goes below sixty.  She said she couldn’t sleep last night, her room was so cold.  I’ve given her my old fur coat and the steamer rug from your den.  One other remark like that of yours and she’ll leave.  For heaven’s sake, Bob, use your skull!”

Mr. Blackwell gazed at her in concern.  The deep, calculating wisdom of women was made plain to him.  He ventured no reply.

Mrs. Blackwell was somewhat softened by his docility.

“You don’t realize, dear,” she added, “how servants are affected by chance remarks they overhear.  The other day you mentioned the thermometer, and the next morning I found Belinda looking at it.  If you must say anything about the temperature, complain of the heat.  Otherwise we’ll have to start the furnace at once.”

Mr. Blackwell’s face was full of the admiration common to the simple-minded race of husbands.

“Jumbo,” he said, “you’re right.  I was crazy.  Watch me from now on.  Mental suggestion is the dope.  The power of the chance remark!”

The next evening at dinner, while Belinda was passing the soup, Mr. Blackwell fired his first gun.  “It seems almost too warm for hot soup,” he said.  “All the men at the office were talking about the unseasonable hot weather.  I think we’d better have a window open.”  To Mrs. Blackwell’s dismay, he raised one of the dining-room windows, admitting a pungent frostiness of October evening.  But she was game, and presently called for a palm-leaf fan.  When Belinda was in the room they talked pointedly of the heat, and Mr. Blackwell quoted imaginary Weather Bureau notes from the evening paper.

After dinner, as he was about to light the log fire, from force of habit, Mrs. Blackwell snatched the burning match from him just as he was setting it to the kindling.  They grinned at each other wistfully, for the ruddy evening blaze was their chief delight.  Mr. Blackwell manfully took off his coat and waistcoat and sat in his shirtsleeves until Belinda had gone to bed.  Then he grew reckless and lit a roaring fire, by which they huddled in glee.  He rebuilt the fire before retiring, so that Belinda might suspect nothing in the morning.

The next evening Mr. Blackwell appeared at dinner in a Palm Beach suit.  Mrs. Blackwell countered by ordering iced tea.  They both sneezed vigorously during the meal.  “It was so warm in town to-day, I think I caught a cold,” said Mr. Blackwell.

Later Mrs. Blackwell found Belinda examining the thermometer with a puzzled air.  That night they took it down and hid it in the attic.  But the great stroke of the day was revealed when Mrs. Blackwell explained that Mr. and Mrs. Chester, next door, had promised to carry on a similar psychological campaign.  Belinda and Mrs. Chester’s cook, Tulip—­jocularly known as the Black Tulip—­were friends, and would undoubtedly compare notes.  Mrs. Chester had agreed not to start her furnace without consultation with Mrs. Blackwell.