“I don’t care what happens,” said Claire, looking straight ahead, “I’m going to win out in this game. It means everything to me.” Whereat Mrs. Larry felt an inward glow. She hadn’t made any mistake in writing to Jimmy Graves. “If you feel that way about it, I’ll telephone you my plans every day.” “Do,” said Claire, as she hurried away. Frequently, when Mrs. Larry discoursed on the happenings of the day to her husband, she felt that Mr. Larry was not so deeply interested in domestic problems as a carefully chosen father might be. But on the memorable evening after her discovery that the same cut of beef might sell for twenty-one or twenty-three cents a pound, and for a very sufficient and convincing reason Mr. Larry gave her remarks flattering attention. After he had studied the _Marketing Guide_ and gone over Mrs. Larry’s figures, he drew her down into the great chair that had been built for two and which faced the sputtery gas log. “Tell you, little woman, you are all right! I supposed it cost just so much to keep up our table, and there was no use fighting the high cost of living, but I believe you are on the right track. Finding the cause of high prices is the way to begin.” “And, Larry, one cause of our high prices is the neighborhood in which we live.” “Well, we’re not going to move out of it. I won’t raise my children in an undesirable neighborhood just to save two cents a pound on meat.” “I have an idea!” remarked Mrs. Larry, snuggling closer in the arm that seemed always waiting for her. “If the cheap markets can’t come to our neighborhood because of the high rents, I’m going to them. All of them deliver. The man who talked to the League said so; I don’t suppose the East Side butchers would come over here more than once a day.” “And his system of delivery at all hours is one of Mr. Dahlgren’s heavy overhead expenses, remember.” “And you’re not to complain, understand, if sometimes there is a shortage in tenderness or juiciness of roasts.” “I’ll be the best little victim of your experiments in thrift that ever was,” said Mr. Larry assuringly. “Oh, Larry, that’s the very idea! Every day will brings its adventure in thrift. I’ll have my next trip in the morning.” “Why don’t you start with the open market?” suggested Mr. Larry. “I thought they were just for the poor.” “They are run by the city for the people--and we are the people, aren’t we?” “Well, not _just_ people--when you have the darlingest and most understandingest of husbands--” “And the most calculating and parsimonious of wives.” “Now you’re making fun of me. But I’ll try the city market to-morrow. There’s one at the end of the Broadway car line.” “Yes; at the old Fort Lee Ferry. You ought to catch some New Jersey farmers there, with fresh butter and eggs.” At ten the next morning Mrs. Larry and Claire started for the people’s market. This was Mrs. Larry’s usual time for marketing.