“Buy to better advantage. Find a new market.”
She shuddered at the thought. Had she not bought a lot of canned goods at a department store sale, only to find that they were “seconds” and tasteless? Hadn’t Aunt Myra induced her to buy poultry, eggs and cheese from the man who ran Uncle Jack’s farm on shares, with the result that one-third of the eggs were broken through poor packing, and they had to live on poultry for days interminable—or have it spoil on their hands?
And Mr. Dorlon, the grocer, was so clean and convenient and obliging. She simply could not change, she told herself firmly. And yet, the lecturer insinuated that a housewife wasted money when she did not know food values. She had decided that the very foundations of her household management were shaking, when the telephone bell rang and she hurried down the hall to answer it.
“Can’t you and Larry come over to dinner to-night?” Teresa Moore inquired. “The Gregorys are stopping over on their way to California.”
“Oh,” sighed Mrs. Larry. “Larry’s just left for South Bethlehem. I’m so sorry.”
“Well, you can come. I’ll telephone Claire Pierce and Jimmy Graves. Jimmy met the Gregorys last summer.”
“Claire might come, but Jimmy’s gone back to Kansas City. Invite Claire and I’ll drop out.”
“Not for a minute,” answered Mrs. Moore. “I’ll phone my brother to fill Larry’s place. It’s all very informal. We’ll just make it seven instead of eight. We’ll all take you home and stop somewhere to trot a bit. Do come. Larry would want you to.”
“All right,” said Mrs. Larry, almost blithely. She stopped at the secretary long enough to thrust the bothersome envelopes into a drawer. At Teresa Moore’s there never seemed any question about giving a little dinner or going to the theater, and yet George Moore earned only fifty dollars more a month than Larry did. To be sure, the Moores had only one baby—and Teresa’s mother gave her an occasional frock. Still, some day she would ask Teresa for a little inside information on budget-building.
It was Teresa’s bachelor brother who made the opening for Mrs. Larry that very evening at dinner. He looked with undisguised admiration upon a baked potato which had just been served to him by the trim maid.