Later on Lena found the letter and showed it to Marcia in alarm. The Mausoleum Company wanted to know when Mr. Willard was going to make good the funds he had collected and been unable to account for at his dismissal. The sum was one hundred and four dollars, and they were wasting no more time on letters, but would bring action at once. Meantime they would refuse references in the event he sought work elsewhere.

“I wish we’d stayed in London Junction!” Lena said, as if that was the only thing to be said in this fresh catastrophe. They worried about the hour when police would close in and cart them all off to prison. Papa’s worry took the form of scolding them, until Lena talked back again and Florrie cried. The night steelworkers sleeping in the room upstairs banged on the floor. “Shut that brat up!”

How wonderful in the middle of these adversities to see Bonnie Purdy suddenly appear one Saturday afternoon at their door, a little plumper but as jaunty as ever. They rushed to her as if here was salvation, and Bonnie did not hesitate to promise anything they asked. Would she stay with them, would she take them to the picture show, would she ask Mrs. Jane to let them have the cellar for their playroom, would she take them back to the London Junction Hotel? Poor Papa’s face lit up when he came in from work and saw Bonnie. “I happened to be passing,” said Bonnie, “and just happened to see the number and I thought I’d drop in. Now that I’m here I might as well fix the place up a little.”

“We don’t need anybody to fix us up,” Papa said. “If you just dropped in to criticize you might as well leave.”

Bonnie reddened.

“I wasn’t criticizing, Mr. Willard, only the children—the place—well, those stories going around in the Junction made me so cross. I thought I’d come over and help.”

“So you happened to pass by,” said Papa disagreeably. “You can tell anybody in London Junction to mind their own goddamn business, and I’ll do the same.”

Bonnie bit her lip and then decided to ignore Papa’s mood. She gave a gay laugh.

“I’d be sore if I didn’t know you were always kidding, Harry Willard!” she said. “You wouldn’t be cross to an old friend like me. I know you like me too much for that. Just for spite, I’m going to give you a big kiss.”

This was done, with some embarrassed remonstrances from Papa, and then suddenly capitulating he waltzed Bonnie around the room in a tight embrace, to the delight of the girls.

“Just like when Mama was alive!” they exclaimed in chorus.

Papa stopped abruptly, leaving Bonnie dizzily hanging on to a chair, laughing breathlessly.

“Bonnie looks like Mama, doesn’t she, Papa?” said Marcia.

“Not a bit,” Papa said. “Your Mama never painted her face.”

Bonnie rubbed her cheeks.

“I guess the first Mrs. Willard was a mighty pretty woman,” she said.