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face, smiling at him, and in the news column next to the picture the headline “Catherine Banks to Wed ex-Marine Officer.”
    He looked again. Unfortunately he had not been mistaken. It was spelled with a “C” instead of a “K.” That damn fool editor. He’d go around and give him (or was it her?) a piece of his mind. In the meanwhile he had the home team to cope with.

Unfortunately, he had not been mistaken.

He padded in his bare feet to the little room behind the stairs known as “The Office.” Two of Miss Bellamy’s copies of the release were lying on the desk. He had to force himself to look. “Mr. and Mrs. Stanley Banks of Fairview Manor announce the engagement of their daughter Catherine.” How could Miss Bellamy! Then he remembered that he had read it back with her.
    “Is it in?” Mrs. Bank was standing in the doorway.
    “Yes, but they’ve garbled it up just as Uncle Charlie said they would. They’ve spelled Kay’s name wrong.”
    “Oh, Stanley! The one thing the child—”
    “I know. I know. But what can you do? That’s labor for you. They don’t care any more. It’s the reason the country’s in such a mess.”
    He climbed the stairs noiselessly, hoping that Kay might sleep until he was safely on the train to town.
    •  •  •
    A modern wedding is somewhat like a new theatrical production. Once the cast has been decided upon, the next thing is to determine whether it is to be Big Theater or Little Theater and then fill the house.
    Kay opened the argument at dinner. “I’ll tell you one thing,” she said. “This is going to be a small wedding and a small reception. ”
    In theory this should have been music to Mr. Banks, but his trained ear sensed a discord. “I was talking to Jack Gibbons the other day,” he said. “Jack’s married off four daughters and he says weddings are either confined to the bosom of the family or held in Madison Square Garden.”
    “Well, mine is neither,” said Kay. “I’m going to have my own friends and it’s not going to be a business convention.”
    “I suppose I can’t ask any of my friends,” said Ben indignantly. “I suppose Tommy and I can’t have—”
    “Who said anything about a business convention?” interrupted Mr. Banks. “All I’m saying is you’ll end up with either thirty or three hundred.”
    “Three hundred !” There was a suggestion of hysteria in Kay’s voice. “Pops, if you mean that you’re craçy. I know what you and Mom want. You want every old fogy in town so that you can hear them say, ‘Yes, she really was too lovely. And the most beautiful dress, my dear.’ Well I just won’t have it. This is my wedding and it’s going to be my friends.”
    “Listen, dear,” said Mr. Banks with guarded gentleness, “this may be your wedding, but that doesn’t mean it’s going to be a kids’ party. What do you think we’re going to do? Leave out all our friends? Do you think we can leave out the Gibbons and the Roes and the Harts and all that crowd you’ve grown up with? Nonsense.”
    “All right, Pops. Who said you couldn’t have the Roes? Molly Roe is one of my best friends. Of course they’d be there. But that isn’t three hundred, is it?”
    The argument grew more violent. Mrs. Banks was for a very small wedding to which everyone should be asked. Tommy and Ben shouted unheeded opinions. Mr. Banks pounded the table and skirted apoplexy. Kay’s voice was teary. Delilah, hardened though she was to such scenes, retired to the kitchen in terror.
    Mr. Banks finally had an inspiration. He fetched a yellow pad of paper from “The Office” and placed it beside his plate. On it he wrote three names.
    “There,” he said, “that’s the smallest wedding you can have under the law—you and Buckley and the Reverend Cyrus Galsworthy. Now. Anybody else?”
    Kay threw up her hands. “Really, this is so childish, Pops. You always get so technical. ”
    “Sometimes your father has good ideas, Kay. Go on, Stanley.