"Dear Mom!" said he gently. "You're wonderful. You are fine—splendid! I'm just getting acquainted with you, am I not? You're a good woman, mother; I'm so glad."
She looked at him now with eyes suddenly wet, her face working strangely, and turned away.
"Come, Don," said she after a time. "We must get ready for our little supper. Spring Valley, you see," she added, gaily, "dines at six and goes to the movies at seven."
Presently she left him to his own devices for a time, before calling him out into the little kitchen which served her also as a dining-room.
"It's not much," said she, shrugging and spreading out her hands, "but it's all I'd have had—bread and milk and cereal. I don't use much sugar or butter." Then, hurriedly, seeing the pain she had caused him, she went on.
"You soon get used to such things. Why, I have only two gowns to my name, and I put on my best one to meet you, when you wired you were coming, and I saw I'd have to meet you. This hat has been fixed over I don't know how many times—once more, for you. You will see, I'll not be at much trouble to dress for the entertainment tonight."
She opened upon the table cover her little pocket book and showed its contents—one small, tightly-folded, much-creased bill, which still lay within its depths.
"My last!" said she, grimacing. "That's our capital in life, Don! And we have all the world against us now. We must fight, whether or not we want to fight."
"But now," she added, "I can't talk any more. Let us go. It may do us good. Miss Julia at least will be glad to see us, if no one else is."
Early as they were, they were not the first arrivals at the library room where Miss Julia Delafield had devised her entertainment. She had borrowed certain benches from the public school, certain chairs as well. Already a goodly portion of Spring Valley's best people filled these. The seats made back from the little raised platform which usually served as the librarian's desk place. This now was enlarged by the removal of all the desks.