ests arrive. Every one begins to cough and blink. They are
very polite, but the smoke, growing each moment denser, is not to be
overlooked. Mrs. Toplofty takes matters in her own hands and makes Mr. Doe
and your husband carry the logs, smoke and all, and throw them into the
yard. The room still thick with smoke is now cheerlessly fireless, and
another factor beginning to distress you is that, although everyone has
arrived, there is no sign of dinner. You wait, at first merely eager to
get out of the smoke-filled drawing-room. Gradually you are becoming
nervous--what can have happened? The dining-room door might be that of a
tomb for all the evidence of life behind it. You become really alarmed.
Is dinner never going to be served? Everyone's eyes are red from the
smoke, and conversation is getting weaker and weaker. Mrs.
Toplofty--evidently despairing--sits down. Mrs. Worldly also sits, both
hold their eyes shut and say nothing. At last the dining-room door opens,
and Sigrid instead of bowing slightly and saying in a low tone of voice,
"Dinner is served," stands stiff as a block of wood, and fairly shouts:
"Dinner's all ready!"

You hope no one heard her, but you know very well that nothing escaped any
one of those present. And between the smoke and the delay and your
waitress' manners, you are already thoroughly mortified by the time you
reach the table. But you hope that at least the dinner will be good. For
the first time you are assailed with doubt on that score. And again you
wait, but the oyster course is all right. And then comes the soup. You
don't have to taste it to see that it is wrong. It looks not at all as
"clear" soup should! Its color, instead of being glass-clear amber, is
greasy-looking brown. You taste it, fearing the worst, and the worst is
realized. It tastes like dish-water--and is barely tepid. You look around
the table; Mr. Kindhart alone is trying to eat it.

In removing the plates, Delia, the assistant, takes them up by piling one
on top of the other, clashing them together as she does so. You can feel
Mrs. Worldly looking with almost hypnotized fascination--as her attention
might be drawn to a street accident against her will. Then there is a
wait. You wait and wait, and looking in front of you, you notice the bare
tablecloth without a plate. You know instantly that the service is wrong,
but you find yourself puzzled to know how it should have been done.
Finally Sigrid comes in with a whole doz