r Mrs. Budlong almost swooned from the telephone. She did not
know what the color of her wall paper would be in New York. She did
not know that she would ever have wall paper in New York. She only
knew that Myra Eppley, too, was calling her "my dear." Myra Eppley
also was going to give her a Christmas present. And would have to be
given one.

Mrs. Budlong had received fair warning, but she felt about as
grateful as a wayfarer feels to the rattlesnake that whizzes "Make
r-r-r-ready for the corrroner-r-r."

Next, young Mrs. Chur (Editha Cinnamon as was, for she had finally
landed Mr. Chur in spite of the accident--or because of it) called up
to say:

"Oh, my dear, my husband wants to know what brand of cigars your
husband smokes; and would you tell me, dearie--it's rather personal,
but--what size bath-slippers you wear?"

When Sally Swezey came to the Progressive Euchre skirmish at Mrs.
Budlong's she noted with joy that her hint had borne fruit. The
prizes were indeed of solid gold. Mr. Budlong did not learn it till
the first of the following month when the bill came in from Jim
Henderson's jewelry store.

As if she had not done enough in forcing solid gold prizes on Mr.
Budlong, Sally had to say:

"I'm just dying to see your back parlor, my dear, this next Christmas
afternoon. It has always been a sight for sore eyes; but this
Christmas it will be a perfect wonder, for I do declare everybody in
town is going to send you something nice."

This conviction was already chilling Mrs. Budlong's marrow. Of old
she would have rejoiced at the golden triumph, but now she could only
realize that if everybody in Carthage sent her something nice, it was
because everybody in Carthage expected something nicer. And her
Christmas crops were hopelessly backward. At a time when she should
be half done, she could not even begin. She had not tatted or
smeared or hammered a thing.

VI

DESPAIR AND AN IDEA

Days and days went by in a stupor of dull hopelessness. Thanksgiving
came and the Budlong turkey might as well have been a crow. In
desperation she decided to make a tentative exploration of the shops
now burgeoning with Christmas splendor; every window a spasm of
gewgaws. Since she had no time to make, she must buy.

The length of her list sent her to the cheaper counters, but she was
not permitted to browse among them. At Strouther and Streckfuss's, Mr.
Strouther came up and said with reeking unctuous