not amuse her, who was not "worth while". She ruled her servants
well, made a fine president for the local Women's Club, ran her own
motor-car very skillfully, and played an exceptionally good game of
bridge. She was an authority upon table-linens, fancy needlework,
fashions in dress, new salads, new methods in serving the table.

Willard White, as perfect a type in his own way as she was in hers,
was very proud of her, when he thought of her at all, which was
really much less often than their acquaintances supposed. He liked
his house to be nicely managed, spent his money freely upon it,
wanted his friends handsomely entertained, and his wine-cellar
stocked with every conceivable variety of liquid refreshment. If
Clara wanted more servants, let her have them, if she wanted
corkscrews by the gross, why, buy those, too. Only let a man feel
that there was a maid around to bring him a glass when he came in
from golfing or motoring, and a corkscrew with the glass!

As a matter of fact, his club and his office, and above all, his
motor-cars, absorbed him. His natural paternal instinct had been
diverted toward these latter, and, quite without his knowing it, his
cars were his nursery. Willard White had owned the first electric
car ever seen in Santa Paloma. Later, there had been half-a-dozen
machines, and he loved them all, and spoke of them as separate
entities. He spoke of the runs they had made, of the strains they
had triumphantly sustained, and he and his chauffeur held low-toned
conferences over any small breakage, with the same seriousness that
he might have used had Willard Junior--supposing there to have been
such a little person--developed croup, and made the presence of a
physician necessary. He liked to glance across his lawn at night to
the commodious garage, visible in the moonlight, and think of his