good deal of it is just his josh, but
somehow it ain't a habit I'm anxious to cure him of. Yet when he bats
this domestic crisis up to me--this case of Stella Flynn--I did think it
was pushin' the comedy a bit strong.

"No," says I, "I'm no miracle worker."

"Pooh, Torchy!" says Vee. "Who's saying you are? But at least you might
try to suggest something. You think you're so clever at so many things,
you know."

Trust the folks at home for gettin' in these little jabs.

"Oh, very well," says I. "What are the facts about Stella?"

While the bill of particulars is more or less lengthy all it amounts to
is the usual kitchen tragedy. Stella has given notice. After havin' been
a good and faithful cook for 'steen years; first for Mrs. Ellins's
mother, and then being handed on to Mrs. Ellins herself after she and
Mr. Robert hooked up; now Stella announces that she's about to resign
the portfolio.

No, it ain't a higher wage scale she's strikin' for. She's been boosted
three times durin' the last six months, until she's probably the best
paid lady cook on Long Island. And she ain't demandin' an eight-hour
day, or recognition as chairman of the downstairs soviet. Stella is a
middle-aged, full-chested, kind of old-fashioned female who probably
thinks a Bolshevik is a limb of the Old Boy himself and ought to be met
with holy water in one hand and a red-hot poker in the other. She's
satisfied with her quarters, havin' a room and bath to herself; she's
got no active grouch against any of the other help; and being sent to
mass every Sunday mornin' in the limousine suits her well enough.

But she's quittin', all the same. Why? Well, maybe Mr. Robert remembers
that brother Dan of hers he helped set up as a steam fitter out in
Altoona some six or seven years ago? Sure it was a kind act. And Danny
has done well. He has fitted steam into some big plants and some
elegant houses. And now Danny has a fine home of his own. Yes, with a
piano that plays itself, and gilt chairs in the parlor, and a sedan top
on the flivver, and beveled glass in the front door. Also he has a
stylish wife who has "an evenin' wrap trimmed with vermin and is
learnin' to play that auctioneer's bridge game." So why should his
sister Stella be cookin' for other folks when she might be livin' swell
and independent with them? Ain't there the four nieces and three nephews
that hardly knows their aunt by sight? It's Danny's wife herself that
wrote the letter urgin'