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hundred and fifty.”
    “Six cases, eh?”

“Sure,” said Sam. “Got plenty champagne. All the same. No good. ”

“Six cases! Good God, Sam, that’s almost three hundred dollars.”
    “Sure. Got something cheaper. Forty-two dollars. No good,” said Sam impassively. He was used to scenes like this. There had been other weddings in Fairview Manor.
    “Tell you what,” he said, and his voice was full of sympathy. “You been a good customer. I give you three bottles. Three different kinds, see. Present. You take home an’ try. Then you tell me which one.”
    Mr. Banks watched Sam’s skillful fingers as they wrapped the bottles. “There,” he said. “Don’t drop. An’ don’t forget to freeze cold. Then nobody don’t taste.”
    “Thank you,” said Mr. Banks.
    •  •  •
    On Sunday afternoon he invited two carefully selected couples to help him make the test. None of them knew anything about champagne, but Mr. Banks did not know anyone who did. He had chosen them on the theory that people who drank as enthusiastically as this group must have judgment on anything alcoholic.
    They consumed the three bottles with the casual dispatch of people at a public drinking fountain. Each couple had a favorite brand of their own which they considered necessary to the success of any wedding—and it was not one of the three Mr. Locuzos had selected. They became so heated about it that everyone forgot the three empty bottles and Mr. Banks went out and made old-fashioneds. When they had gone Mr. and Mrs. Banks selected the bottle with the most impressive-looking label and let it go at that.
    •  •  •
    “Got the champagne this afternoon,” remarked Mr. Banks casually to his wife that evening.
    “How much did you get?”
    He immediately went on the defensive. “Well, I wanted to be sure there was enough. Nothing’s worse than running out the way George Evans did. Then if there’s a little left over we can always—”
    “But how much did you get?”
    “Ten cases. But when you think—”
    “Ten cases! How much did you have to pay?”
    “Sam made me a special price. Forty-five dollars. Very reasonable.”
    “Forty-five dollars? For what?”
    “For a case, of course. Now—”
    “Stanley Banks, do you mean to tell me that you laid out four hundred and fifty dollars on champagne when you’ve been complaining about every cent I spend on poor little Kay for things the child absolutely has to have? I think it’s just wicked. Don’t ever speak to me again about expenses. That’s all I say.”

   8   
    BIG BUSINESS
    The telephone, which had never been an inarticulate instrument in the Banks home, now started ringing the moment the receiver was replaced in its cradle.
    “Who was it, Ellie?”
    “Oh, just a woman who wants to take Kay’s bridal pictures.”
    “Some orchestra that wants to play at the reception.”
    “A candid camera man, dear.”
    “It was the little man that puts up the awning.”
    “Just another caterer.”
    “A man who wants to do the flowers.”
    “Only the dressmaker, darling.”
    What an innocent he had been! His original wedding budget had included a case or two of champagne, a couple of hundred watercress sandwiches, a wedding dress (if he was unfortunate enough to have reared a daughter who couldn’t slip into her mother’s), a handsome present to the bride, some miscellaneous tips and that was about all (although bad enough). The church was free. What else was there?
    Now he suddenly appeared to be the sole customer of an immense and highly organized industry. He reminded himself of the Government during the war. “Keep those production lines moving for Banks. Get the finished goods to him. He’s committed now. He’s in this mess up to his ears. There’s no drawing back. We’re all behind you, Banks; behind you with caterers, photographers, policemen, dressmakers, tent pitchers—behind you with champagne and salads and clothes and candid cameras and potted