What is it, Annie?"

"Will you come up-stairs, please, sir?"

Mary pushed back her chair, "I'll go, Jim."

"It's Mr. Felderson that's wanted," Annie said with just a touch of
asperity.

"Yes, you two better stay here and amuse each other," said Jim.
"Bupps, you carve!"

"If Bupps carves, I'm _sure_ to be amused," laughed Mary.

Jim left, and I went around to his place. If there is one thing I do
more badly than another, it is carving. At home it's done in the
kitchen, but Jim takes great pride in the neatness and celerity with
which he separates the component parts of a fowl and so insists on
having the undissected whole brought to the table.

"What is it to-night?" Mary asked as I eyed my task with disfavor.

"Roast duck." I tried to speak casually.

"Wait, Bupps, while Wicks lays the oilcloth and I get an umbrella."

"Smarty!" I responded, grabbing my tools firmly, "you wait and see! I
watched Jim the last time he carved one of these and I know just how
it's done."

I speared for the duck's back, but the fork skidded down the slippery
side of the bird and spattered a drop of gravy in front of me.

"I'm waiting and seeing," Mary chided.

"Well, you wanted some gravy, didn't you?"

"Yes, but on my plate, please."

This time I placed the tines of the fork carefully on the exact middle
of the duck's breast and gently pushed, giving some aid and comfort
with my knife. The little beast eased over on the platter an inch or
two.

"The thing's still alive," I exclaimed, getting mad.

"If you'll let me have full control, I'll carve it for you," Mary spoke
up.

"Come on, then," I responded, gladly relinquishing my place. With a
deftness and ease that could only be explained by the fact that the
duck was ready and willing to be carved, she removed the legs and then
demolished the bird altogether.

There was the sound of voices raised in altercation up-stairs, the
slamming of a door and the patter of feet rapidly descending the steps.
The next moment Helen burst into the room. She was fully dressed for
going out and was pinning on her hat with spiteful little jabs.

"Will you take me home, Warren?"

Mary left me and went over to her.

"What has happened, Helen?"

"Oh, I can't stay here another minute. It is bad enough to have to
stay in the same house with a man you loathe, but when a husband bribes
his wife's servants to spy on her and watch over her as though she were
a dangerous lunatic--"