She had left a city which sat up nights to talk of universal transition; of European revolution, guild socialism, free verse.  She had fancied that all the world was changing.

She found that it was not.

In Gopher Prairie the only ardent new topics were prohibition, the place in Minneapolis where you could get whisky at thirteen dollars a quart, recipes for home-made beer, the “high cost of living,” the presidential election, Clark’s new car, and not very novel foibles of Cy Bogart.  Their problems were exactly what they had been two years ago, what they had been twenty years ago, and what they would be for twenty years to come.  With the world a possible volcano, the husbandmen were plowing at the base of the mountain.  A volcano does occasionally drop a river of lava on even the best of agriculturists, to their astonishment and considerable injury, but their cousins inherit the farms and a year or two later go back to the plowing.

She was unable to rhapsodize much over the seven new bungalows and the two garages which Kennicott had made to seem so important.  Her intensest thought about them was, “Oh yes, they’re all right I suppose.”  The change which she did heed was the erection of the schoolbuilding, with its cheerful brick walls, broad windows, gymnasium, classrooms for agriculture and cooking.  It indicated Vida’s triumph, and it stirred her to activity—­any activity.  She went to Vida with a jaunty, “I think I shall work for you.  And I’ll begin at the bottom.”

She did.  She relieved the attendant at the rest-room for an hour a day.  Her only innovation was painting the pine table a black and orange rather shocking to the Thanatopsis.  She talked to the farmwives and soothed their babies and was happy.

Thinking of them she did not think of the ugliness of Main Street as she hurried along it to the chatter of the Jolly Seventeen.

She wore her eye-glasses on the street now.  She was beginning to ask Kennicott and Juanita if she didn’t look young, much younger than thirty-three.  The eye-glasses pinched her nose.  She considered spectacles.  They would make her seem older, and hopelessly settled.  No!  She would not wear spectacles yet.  But she tried on a pair at Kennicott’s office.  They really were much more comfortable.

III

Dr. Westlake, Sam Clark, Nat Hicks, and Del Snafflin were talking in Del’s barber shop.

“Well, I see Kennicott’s wife is taking a whirl at the rest-room, now,” said Dr. Westlake.  He emphasized the “now.”

Del interrupted the shaving of Sam and, with his brush dripping lather, he observed jocularly: 

“What’ll she be up to next?  They say she used to claim this burg wasn’t swell enough for a city girl like her, and would we please tax ourselves about thirty-seven point nine and fix it all up pretty, with tidies on the hydrants and statoos on the lawns——­”