THE SON OF MY FRIEND. "_I'VE_ been thinking," said I, speaking to my husband, who stood drawing on his gloves. "Have you?" he answered; "then give me the benefit of your thoughts." "That we shall have to give a party. You know we've accepted a number of invitations this winter, and it's but right that we should contribute our share of social entertainment." "I have thought as much myself," was his reply. "And so far we stand agreed. But, as I am very busy just now, the heaviest part of the burden will fall on you." "There is a way of making it light, you know," I returned. "How?" he queried. "By employing a professional caterer. He will supply everything for the table, and furnish writers. We will have nothing to do but receive our guests." My husband shrugged his shoulders and smiled, as he said, "What will it cost?" "Almost anything we please. But the size of the company will have the most to do with that." "Say we invite one hundred." "Then we can make the cost range anywhere between three hundred dollars and a thousand." "A large sum to throw away on a single evening's entertainment of our friends. I am very sure I could put it to a better use." "Very likely," I answered. "Still, we cannot well help ourselves. Unless we give a party, we shall have to decline invitations in future. But there is no obligation resting on us to make it sensational. Let the Hardings and the Marygolds emulate extravagance in this line; we must be content with a fair entertainment; and no friend worth the name will have any the less respect for us." "All that is a question of money and good fame," said my husband,