So Mr. Clute blamed Mrs. Budlong for yet another expense.  Husbands all over town were blaming Mrs. Budlong for running their families into fool extravagances.  Mothers were blaming her for dragging them round by the nose and leaving them no rest.  But everybody in town resentfully obeyed Mrs. Budlong, though Mrs. Roscoe Detwiller wanted to organize a HomeKeepers Union, and strike.  For the women never dared trust themselves about the house in a wrapper, since Mrs. Budlong might happen in as like as not—­rather liker than not.

And then, just as the town was fermenting for revolt, Mrs. Budlong came into a lot of money.

IV

ONLY A MILLIONAIRE

That is, Mr. Budlong came into a lot of money.  Which meant that Mr. Budlong would be permitted to take care of it while his wife got rid of it.  One of those relatives, very common in fiction, and not altogether unknown in real life, finally let go of her money at the behest of her impatient undertaker.  The Budlongs had the pleasure of seeing the glorious news of their good fortune in big headlines in the Carthage papers.

It was the only display Mr. Budlong ever received in that paper without paying for it—­excepting the time when he ran for Mayor on the opposition ticket and was referred to in letters an inch high as “Candidate Nipped-in-the-Budlong.”

But now the cornucopia of plenty had burst wide open on the front porch.  It seemed as if they would have to wade through gold dollars to get to their front gate—­when the money was collected.  When the money was collected.

And now it was Mrs. Budlong’s telephone that rang and rang.  It was she that was called up and called up.  It was she that sagged along the wall and shifted from foot to foot, from elbow to elbow and ear to ear.

After living in Carthage all her life she was suddenly, as it were, welcomed to the city as a distinguished visiting stranger.  And now she had no need to invite people to return their calls.  They came spontaneously.  Sometimes there were a dozen calling at once.  It was a reception every day.  There were overflow meetings in the room which Mrs. Budlong called Mr. Budlong’s “den.”  This was the place where she kept the furniture that she didn’t dare keep in the parlor.

People who had never come to see her in spite of her prehensile telephone, dropped in to pay up some musty old call that had lain unreturned for years.  People who had always come formally, even funereally, rushed in as informally and with as devouring an enthusiasm as old chums.  People who used to run in informally now drove up in vehicles from MacMulkin’s livery stable; or if they came in their own turn-outs they had the tops washed and the harness polished, and the gardener and furnaceman who drove, had his hat brushed, was not allowed to smoke, and was urged to sit up straight and for heaven’s sake to keep his foot off the dashboard.