east cakes? They're such little
things!"

"Perhaps," says Doris. "But then, I sha'n't have to bother ordering
any more for a month, you see. Now, take the next item. 'Champagne
wafers, ten pounds.' I'm fond of those. But that is the only time I
broke my rule. See--'flour, two pounds; roast beef, two pounds,' and
so on. Oh, I mean to be quite systematic in my housekeeping!"

"Isn't she a wonder?" asks Westy, gazin' at her proud and mushy.

"I say, though, Vee," goes on Doris enthusiastic, "you must come home
with us for dinner to-night. Do!"

At which Westy nudges her and whispers something behind his hand.

"Oh, yes," adds Doris. "You too, Torchy."

Vee had to 'phone Auntie and get Doris to back her up before the
special dispensation was granted; but at six-thirty the four of us
starts uptown for this brownstone bird-cage of happiness that Westy has
taken a five-year lease of.

"Just think!" says Vee, as we unloads from the taxi. "You with a house
of your own, and managing servants, and--"

"Oh!" remarks Doris, as she pushes the button. "I do hope you won't
mind Cyril."

"Mind who?" says Vee.

"He--he's our butler," explains Westy. "I suppose he's a very good
butler, too--the man at the employment agency said he was; but--er--"

"I'm sure he is," puts in Doris, "even if he does look a little odd.
Then there is his name--Cyril Snee. Of course, Cyril doesn't sound
just right for a butler, does it? But Snee is so--so--"

"Isn't it?" says Vee. "I should call him Cyril."

"We started in that way," says Doris, "but he asked us not to; said he
preferred to be called Snee. It was unusual, and besides he had
private reasons. So between ourselves we speak of him as Cyril, and to
his face-- Well, I suppose we shall get used to saying Snee, though--
Why, where can he be? I've rung twice and-- Oh, here he comes!"

And, believe me, when Doris described him as lookin' a little odd she's
said sumpun. Cyril was all of that. As far as figures goes he's big
and impressive enough, with sort of a dignified bulge around the
equator. But that face of his, with the white showin' through the
pink, and the pink showin' through the white in the most unexpected
places! Like a scraped radish. No, that don't give you the idea of
his color scheme exactly. Say a half parboiled baby. For the pink
spots on his chin and forehead was baby pink, and the white of his
cheeks and ears was a clear, waxy white, like