He would go to his nine o’clock, I to mine.  After my ten-o’clock class, and on the way to my eleven-o’clock lecture, I always ran in to his office a second, to gossip over what mail he had got that morning and how things were going generally.  Then, at twelve, in his office again.  “Look at this telegram that just came in.”  “How shall I answer Mr. ——­’s about that job?” And then home together; not once a week, but every day.

Afternoons, except the three afternoons when I played hockey, I was at home; but always there was a possibility that Carl would ring up about five.  “I am at a meeting down-town.  Can’t get things settled, so we continue this evening.  Run down and have supper with me, and perhaps, who knows, a Bill Hart film might be around town!” There was Mrs. Willard who knew just what to do, and off I could fly to see my husband.  You can’t, on $1700 a year.

I hear people nowadays scold and roar over the pay the working classes are getting, and how they are spending it all on nonsense and not saving a cent.  I stand it as long as I can and then I burst out.  For I, too, have tasted the joy of at last being able to get things we never thought we would own and of feeling the wings of financial freedom feather out where, before, all had been cold calculation:  Can we do this? if so, what must we give up?  I wish every one on earth could feel it.  I do not care if they do not save a cent.

Only I do wish my Carl could have experienced those joys a little longer.  It was so good—­so good, while it lasted!  And it was only just starting.  Every new call he got to another university was at a salary from one to two thousand dollars more than what we were getting, even at Seattle.  It looked as if our days of financial scrimping were gone forever.  We even discussed a Ford! nay—­even a four-cylinder Buick!  And every other Sunday we had fricasseed chicken, and always, always a frosting on the cake.  For the first two months in Seattle we felt as if we ought to have company at every meal.  It did not seem right to sit down to food as good as that, with just the family present.  And it was such fun to bring home unexpected guests, and to know that Mrs. Willard could concoct a dream of a dish while the guests were removing their hats; and I not having to miss any of the conversation from being in the kitchen.  Every other Sunday night we had the whole Department and their wives to Sunday supper—­sixteen of them.  Oh dear, oh dear, money does make a difference.  We grew more determined than ever to see that more folk in the world got more of it.

And yet, in a sense, Carl was a typical professor in his unconcern over matters financial.  He started in the first month we were married by turning over every cent to me as a matter of course; and from the beginning of each month to the end, he never had the remotest idea how much money we possessed or what it was spent for.  So far as his peace of mind went, on the whole, he was a capitalist.  He knew we needed more money than he was making at the University of California, therefore he made all he could on the outside, and came home and dumped it in my lap.  From one year’s end to the next, he spent hardly five cents on himself—­a new suit now and then, a new hat, new shirts at a sale, but never a penny that was not essential.