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Mrs. Larry, nibbling a salted almond, thought of her own burning zeal in using up left-overs, and almost sighed. No doubt Teresa Moore and the lecturer were both right. It was all in the buying. And her patient industry in the kitchen had probably been undone and set at naught by the trickery of grocer or butcher. She had been paying the old price for bacon and ham. She had been paying the price of Long Island potatoes for the Maine brand. She—

Goodness gracious! Larry had gone to South Bethlehem to find a better market—and she had only to turn the corner.

Again she glanced round the table, her eye resting now on Teresa Moore’s new bonbon dish, which she had bought at a mid-summer sale, and at Mrs. Gregory’s fresh, straight-from-the-shop black chiffon. Of course they could have new things. They had found the right market, through organization and education. She wanted to laugh aloud, did Mrs. Larry. She wanted to go right out and send a telegram about that new envelope marked—no, not “Larry,” but “A little pleasure as we go along.”