or waving a frying-pan.

"Com-ing!" Desire's voice rose gaily. For the present, her small
dissatisfaction vanished with the crabs.

"This coffee has been made ten minutes," grumbled the
getter-of-breakfast with a properly martyred air. "Whatever were you
doing?"

"Thinking."

"It isn't done. Not before breakfast."

"I was thinking," fibbed Desire, "that I have never been so spoiled in
my life and that it can't go on. My domestic conscience is beginning to
murmur. As soon as we are at home, you will be expected to stay in bed
until you smell the coffee coming up the stairs."

"Aunt Caroline," said the professor, "does not believe in coffee for
breakfast, except on Sunday."

"I do."

"Eh? Oh--I see. Well, I'll put my money on you. Only I hope you aren't
really set on making it yourself. Because the cook would leave.'"

"Good gracious! Do we have a cook?"

"We do. At least, we did. Also a maid. But maids, I understand, are
greatly diminished. There appear to have been tragedies in Bainbridge.
Have you eaten sufficient bacon to listen calmly to an extract from
Aunt Caroline's last? Sit tight, then--

"'As to what the world is coming to in the matter of domestic
service,'" writes Aunt Caroline, "I do not know. I do not wish to worry
you, Benis, but as you will be marrying some day, in spite of that
silly doctor of yours who insists that it's not to be thought of, you
may as well be conversant with the situation. To put it briefly--I have
been without competent help for two weeks. You know, dear boy, that I
am easily satisfied. I expect very little from anyone. But I think that
I am entitled to prompt and willing service. That, at the very least!
Yet I must tell you that Mabel, my cook, has left me most ungratefully
after only three months' notice! She is to be married to Bob Summers,
the plumber. (Lieutenant Robert Summers, since the war, if you please!)
Well, she can never say I did not warn her. I did not mince matters. I
told her exactly what married life is, and why I have never tried it.
But the foolish girl is beyond advice. I have had two cooks since
Mabel, but one insisted upon whistling in the kitchen and the other
served omelette made with one egg. My wants are trifling, as you know,
but one cannot abrogate all personal dignity--'

"Do you get the subtle connection between the one egg and Aunt
Caroline's personal dignity?" asked Spence with anxiety. "Because if
you don't, I'll never be able to ask y