“You take things too serious, Idah,” he said, dropping on to the sofa again with his copy of Argosy. “You’re way behind the times.”

Papa did not talk much when Vance was at supper, because Vance did all the talking, with his sister’s approving interpolations. Grandpa did not even come to meals. Papa said he thought he was living on the free lunch at Jake’s Saloon, and bags of gumdrops he kept in his dresser drawer. It was just as well he didn’t come, because meals were skimpier and skimpier. Suppers were half-cooked potatoes fried in lard, a few gray little sausages, some stringbeans or peas, also mysteriously gray and greasy, and burnt cookies or maple syrup and soda biscuits, so consistently overdosed with cream of tartar that the girls thought it was deliberate. Papa did not eat much, and his daughters found out that it was because he dropped off at Grandma Reed’s before coming home every day and had a bite. They knew he did not like Vance being the kingpin in the house, but he did not quarrel with him. Having Papa gloomy made him seem closer to them now, and his irritation at Minelda’s whining seemed something in their favor.

Marcia stopped in the Western Union office whenever Vance was on duty, and he let her read all the telegrams, and showed her how to type on the Oliver Invisible Typewriter. Next door to the telegraph office was Chase’s Music Store, and in no time at all Vance had made an intimate friend of Gertrude Chase, the young lady who demonstrated sheet music. He let Marcia run the telegraph office while he went next door and sang, “Give Me Once More the Sunshine of Your Smile,” through his nose, with Gertrude earnestly banging out the accompaniment. Marcia was to tell any impatient customers that the operator was checking on some mix-up at the tower, the railroad telegraph office, but anybody could tell this was a lie, hearing Vance’s adenoidal warble echoing through the piano showroom next door. Nobody else in London Junction had time to hang around a music store singing the new songs. As many of the telegrams were concerned with Papa’s business, saying “Aunt Sade low, come at once,” or “Funeral Tuesday at four,” or “Order coffin for Father at Carson’s,” Papa had even further reason for annoyance at his houseguest.

“He’s costing me a fortune,” Papa declared, “just by never being on the job. Why, God Almighty, he spends hours at a time in the music store. You can even see him leaning over the piano there any time of day, through the plate-glass window.”

“I guess if any harm was done the inspector would let him know,” said Mrs. Willard. “He’s quicker than most boys, so he can do his job a lot quicker.”

But She confessed frankly that she was worried about all the town girls chasing after Vance. They just wouldn’t let him be and one of these days he might give in to one of them, he was so good-natured. Papa said he guessed Vance could take care of himself if they started taking his clothes off. Vance himself declared the London Junction girls were pretty slow. The girls in Toledo knew how to show a fellow a good time, and when you got in the right crowd in Erie, Pennsylvania, you could have the time of your life. As a matter of fact, Vance said wherever he went he tried to get in with the right crowd right away, because it made all the difference in the world. The trouble with London Junction was that there wasn’t any right crowd. You met the same bunch at the Odd Fellows’ dances that you met at Sunday school picnics or Cosmopolitan Club balls. It made it hard for a fellow just come to town to pick out his bunch. Papa sarcastically replied that he guessed Vance had picked his bunch all right when he took Sadie Murphy behind the freight house and paid her off with two poker chips, so Sadie had indignantly told the town.