the intents and purposes of the occupants
of the villa were to be balked and frustrated. Brook Center, so Mr.
Badgely had divined, was keen for patronizing the newly arrived Italian
lady with gifts of decorated umbrella-stands, lamp-shades, and
door-mats; but, on the other hand, it had severely decided not to be
patronized by the expected householders. Supplies of milk and cream
could not be promised; fresh eggs, it appeared, were needed for home
consumption; pranks were planned by the young people to further
humiliate the supposedly downtrodden and financially embarrassed Willum.
There had even been talk of filling up the well--now topped by a
graceful Italian canopy--with mud and stones; and one enterprising
spirit had already chalked upon the bucket, "We don't want no Dagos to
Brook Center." In short, it had begun to seem to the architect that the
immediate atmosphere was unpropitious for a serene home-coming. Now, as
he faced the eager old farmer, something like a solution dawned on him.

"Er--expense"--the architect repeated Mr. Pawket's word--"er--do I
understand, sir, that besides that very rare and (ahem!) imposing
specimen of Mrs. Pawket's handiwork--this Everything Jar--do I
understand you to mean that you are so good as to wish to assist in
the--er--interior furnishings?"

The old farmer eyed him with delight.

"That's the ticket," he roared. "You got it right; you're the man for my
money." He struck an attitude of almost intoxicated satisfaction,
roaring again: "Golden oak, that's what; none too good for such as him.
Get him what he's used to. _Him_ with that old, ancient furniture!" Mr.
Pawket pressed a roll of extremely faded one-dollar bills into the
architect's hand, repeating: "A golden-oak set fer the dinin'-room. I
know where they have it slick and shinin'. Take yer catalogue and make
yer pick. Cost! By the great gander! what do I care fer cost?" A fervor
like that of a whirling dervish seized the old farmer. "Golden oak!" he
roared. Red-plush parlor suite." His gaze, falling upon the Everything,
became radiant. He hitched his suspenders with broad effects of swagger,
repeating once more, "It's what he's used to and the best ain't too good
for how he was brought up."

* * *

At last arrived the morning of the day when the owners of the villa
were expected, and it found the architect in a curious mixture of dread,
amusement, doubt, and eagerness. The villa, its tiled roof melting
softly through t