She paused, seeing the look of dejection on her husband’s face. He was well aware that all these things were old needs which the coming of important guests now made imperative. Mrs. Ward carefully thrust the note back into its envelope. John exchanged telegraphic glances with Helen. His eyes brightened with the stress of his thoughts but he buttered a bit of bread before he spoke.
“Well, mother,” he began briskly, “I’m sure we’re all tickled that your old friend’s coming. I can just see you sitting up all night talking of the midnight spreads you had, and how you fooled the teachers. Now don’t worry about the house—you or father, either; I’m going to manage that.”
“But, John, we mustn’t add to your father’s worries. I realize perfectly that we’re in debt and can’t spend money we haven’t got. Ruth was always a dear—so considerate of every one—and we’ll hope it’s me and my family and not the house she’s coming to see.”
“That’s all right, mother, but this strikes me as something more than a casual visit. I see in it the hand of Providence!” he cried eagerly.
“If they carry a maid and valet as part of their scenery we’re lost—hopelessly lost!” Helen suggested.
“Oh, not necessarily!” John replied. “We’ll stow ’em away somewhere. In a pinch, you and I can move to the attic. Anyhow, we’ve got a month to work in. When we begin to get publicity for the coming of the rich and distinguished Campbells, I miss my guess if things don’t begin to look a lot easier.”
“But, John,” his mother began, shaking her head with disapproval, “you wouldn’t do anything that would look—vulgar?”
“Certainly not, but the Sunday Journal’s always keen for news of impending visitors in our midst, and no people of the Campbells’ social and financial standing have ever honored our city with their presence. The president of the Transcontinental did park his private car in the yards last summer, but before the Chamber of Commerce could tackle him about building a new freight house he faded away.”
“Walter Scott Campbell is a director in the Transcontinental,” remarked Mrs. Ward. “I happened to see his name in the list when I looked up the name of the company’s secretary to send on the resolutions of the Women’s Municipal Union complaining of the vile condition of the depot.”
“Such matters are never passed on in the New York offices,” Ward suggested mildly. “Our business organizations have worked on the General Manager for years without getting anywhere.”