Mr. Sweeney, now kingpin in the Willard and Reed family, bore himself with the dignity of a man elected to a public office far above his dreams but one for which he knew himself, in all humility, to be perfectly equipped. He nodded thoughtfully over Grandma’s and Aunt Lois’s exchange on family matters, voiced his judgments with an impressive hemming and hawing, and all in all accepted his promotion from family adviser to head of family with suitable gravity. It was a shame that a man of such majestic manner should have to perspire like any ordinary fellow, until Aunt Lois implored him to take off his coat even if he did wear old-fashioned suspenders. The ladies asked his opinion on the seasoning of the succotash, the state of the nation, the band concert programs, and all private problems, with flattering deference to his resonant decisions. There was none of the laughter such as was occasioned by Papa’s presence at a family party, though Mr. Sweeney was not without proper appreciation, observing “Very humorous, yes,” to many things that were said. He addressed Aunt Lois deferentially as “Mrs. Sweeney” or “my dear,” referred to the first Mrs. Sweeney as “poor Ivy,” and rather annoyed Grandma by occasionally testing out the word “Mother” on her, until Grandma observed that the small difference in their ages made this form of address a little ridiculous. At sixty, she said, she could hardly have had a son of fifty-three even if she’d wanted one.

Marriage had completely altered Aunt Lois’s queenly attitude toward Mr. Sweeney. She fluttered anxiously about him, patting his big red hand as it lay on the table, lighting his cigar, bringing him a glass of lemonade when he mopped his broad red forehead, filling his plate before Grandma could ask if he wanted more, putting all the white meat from her own dish onto his, and looking at the other plates with a frown as if she would like to give them all necks and gizzards just so that her master might have the daintiest bits. She buttered his buns, and slid her own coffee to him when Grandma said the second pot would take another minute. In short, she behaved as a wife should, who recognizes the authority of her master and his superior requirements. All domineering traits seemed to have been melted by marriage, and Aunt Lois deferred completely to her husband now, explaining that wherever they went in the West there was always someone who mistook him for a senator or colonel or bigwig of sorts, and treated them both accordingly. It made traveling a pleasure. Both bride and groom had expanded in waistline and referred affectionately to many good dishes they had found in the West. Californians were fine people, they said, not at all stuck-up like you’d think. True, they ate their lettuce first, that is before soup, and with mayonnaise instead of sugar and vinegar, but then every state had its own customs that looked funny to other states. The Sweeneys expected to take a two months’ vacation in the West every year, and might even put Lena in a boarding school out there.