So . . . the Depression didn’t hit everyone, then.

Obviously not: look at the scene. The big windows. The grand houses. A huge car that lacks only someone named Jeeves or Smithers to open the door and motor them to the edge of Long Island. Yes, he can afford it. He can make the payments. She thinks he bought it outright, but he hasn’t told her everything - how some of those stocks lost most of their value, the utility bonds were damn near dead, and it was only by tapping Dad and using up most of his savings he’d avoided being wiped out by margin calls. Oh, he had enough, but not so much that he could just buy a Packard outright. He knew a fellow who sold them - or, rather, tried to; they were moving like dead elephants - and he got a nice arrangement on the purchase. Actually a lease. It goes back after a year. Nothing she need know.

Because this is a symbol of everything that is fine in life. Of a whole scheme of living. And he's going to hold to that. Because things will get better. Soon.

Or not. At least a man can have a goddamn legal drink now.