“Willard, you never told me your wife’s sister was the spit and image of Lillian Russell,” exclaimed Hartwell in a reverent tone. “The very same complexion, the flaxen hair, the same figure! I’ll bet you have a lot of strangers staring at you in the street, Mrs. Blair, taking you for Lillian Russell. A younger Lillian, of course!”

Aunt Lois blushed, giggled, and tossed her head. Grandma winked slyly at her son-in-law, who was luckily escaping a “good talking to.”

“That reminds me. Eddie Foy is playing here at the Hippodrome,” said Hartwell. “Willard, I’m going to ask a favor of you. Will you give me permission to escort your sister-in-law there tonight? We might have a little supper afterward at the Hofbrau.”

Under the spell of Mr. Hartwell, Aunt Lois forgot her plan to give Papa a “piece of her mind.” In her effort to do her hair more like Lillian Russell’s, she forgot even to continue her probe into Grandma’s business.

Lena and Marcia were relieved that Aunt Lois was not going to take them away this time or to scold Papa. They were unhappy and bewildered that anyone should accuse him of being an indifferent parent, for he brought them, in addition to the scarfs, a bag of oranges and a box of Eugenia Chocolates, discarded from Hartwell’s sample case as being a little stale.

Papa took them in the kitchen, leaving Hartwell to Aunt Lois and Grandma. As soon as he was away from the radiance of his friend, he grew silent and moody. Marcia and Lena tried to cheer him up. They liked Cleveland, they said. They would like Florrie to come up there and all of them live there together. They didn’t need anything, in spite of what Aunt Lois might tell him. To further reassure him of their loyalty Marcia put out her scuffed shoe.

“These shoes are still good, Papa,” she said earnestly. “So are Lena’s. We put paper over the holes. We don’t need new shoes anyway because we don’t go to Sunday school here.”

“I like your brown suit,” Lena said, trying to add to his pleasure. “Now you’ve got a blue suit and a gray suit and a brown suit just like Mr. Hartwell.”

Papa gloomily patted her on the head.

“You’ll both have new outfits, from head to foot, next time I come in,” he declared. “I told your grandmother last time I was here to take you down to May Company and get you outfitted right, regardless of expense. I’m too busy to do it. She could have done it, and charged it.”

“Maybe they don’t charge in Cleveland,” Lena suggested.

Papa noticed Lena’s hair now and said disapprovingly that it looked dirty and had lost its curl.

“Nobody brushes it,” Lena explained readily. “It got into such a big tangle that Marcia had to cut it out in two places. Marcia got fleas in hers.”

Marcia beamed.

“Not fleas, nits,” she corrected. “We got nits in our mattress. It was from the Hunkies that stayed here.”