sorry. We do not
wish to seem inhospitable, neither the baby nor I, but really we do not
feel justified in harboring people incapable of carrying the Ninth
Ward."

We explained and pleaded and apologized and promised, but for a long
time to no avail. At last, after the dinner-bell had sounded, and
after we had pledged ourselves to carry that ward yet or perish, we
were admitted, only then, though, as was explained, for the child's
sake. He was accustomed to climb upon his father after dinner.

So carrying the Ninth Ward became a synonym for any difficult feat with
us, and if Grant accomplished this or that, or I made a good turn, or
Jean gave her cook or dressmaker an inspiration, the Ninth Ward was
referred to as having been carried. And here was that ward before us
again in a greater emergency, and in its own proper person.

Gunderson had a wife. He would have owned two wives had the one in his
possession been surveyed and subdivided properly, for she was big
enough, abundantly, for two. She was the best illustration I ever saw
of what difficulties burden the ignorant rich who have social
ambitions. She was good-hearted, coarse, shy and hopeful. A woman may
be coarse and yet timid, as I have noted many a time, and Mrs.
Gunderson was of this type. She hungered for social status, but knew
not how to attain it. To her burly husband's credit, he wished, above
all things, to gratify his wife's ambition, but he was as ignorant as
she regarding ways and means. He had learned that there was a limit
even to the power of money.

Jean had met Mrs. Gunderson in a social way, but of course there could
be no affinity between the two, and the heavy-weight matron, anxious
for recognition, had hardly attracted a second thought from the small
aristocrat. I do not know, by the way, that I have told of the social
status of these friends of mine. I don't think either Grant or Jean
ever gave the matter much attention. Grant was democratic in every
principle, and yet, unknowingly, it seems to me, exclusive arbitrarily.
He had those about him whom he liked, and they were necessarily
somewhat of his kind. And Jean was, a little more thoughtfully,
perhaps, of the same sort. Unconsciously they were the center of a set
for admission to which rich men would have given money. But, as I
said, this key is one of the few things money cannot buy.

The political fight was on, and fierce. We did good work in that
campaign. The