mother to do the same. Even Orson J. noticed it.

“Look here,” he said, in kindly protest. “Aren’t you getting pretty thick with this jigger?”

“Sociological study, Dad. I’m all right.”

“Yeh, you’re all right. But how about him?”

“He’s all right, too.”

The gigolo resisted Mary’s unmaidenly advances, and yet, when he was with her, he seemed sometimes to forget to look sombre and blank and remote. They seemed to have a lot to say to each other. Mary talked about America a good deal. About her home town � “and big elms and maples and oaks in the yard � the Fox River valley � Middle West � Normal Avenue � Cass Street � Fox River paper mills� .”