a book, "and every hounce that came into this house--be
it rabbit or be it liver--shall be put down."

I was so pleased with her attitude that I allowed myself to be carried
away rather, and we agreed before the conference ended that we would try
to improve upon Lord DEVONPORT if it was possible. Cook, as I left her,
impressed me as an heroic figure, facing a grim future with a high
heart.

"You did it beautifully, dear," said my wife as I came out. She also had
been listening behind the other door.

CHAPTER II.

Weeks passed. My only desire was to dismiss the whole question from my
mind. Like LLOYD GEORGE in the House of Commons I had appeared and made
my statement, and I was content to leave the whole matter to my wife. I
do not mean to say that I did not observe sundry innovations in the food
supply. Funny-looking scones came up that tasted rather of pea-soup;
some of the meat dishes had a sort of padded-out aspect, and it was
difficult to get quite away from oat-meal. But I had no cause to
complain. It is only in the last ten days that the situation has become
grave. Barer and barer is the board. I have even had to make
suggestions. I proposed that bacon, for instance, might be allowed to
reappear on Sundays. Very well, said my wife patiently, she would see
what she could do. I wondered if buttered toast had been finally
banished for the Duration. She hoped not. But I gave up that policy, for
I found that whenever I recovered some such fugitive from our table
something else was certain to disappear.

My eyes were opened to it at last. I saw that the establishment was
going rapidly downhill. And I could get no real satisfaction from my
wife. She would make vague promises of reform; she would undertake to do
her best; and she would begin to talk brightly about something else.

And then I wanted to ask the Harrisons to lunch. That brought on the
crisis, for I formulated a minimum demand of a leg of mutton or a pair
of fowls.

"I don't see how it's possible, dear," said my wife. "I _am_ so sorry."

"You are keeping something back from me," said I. "Tell me, whose is the
'Hidden Hand' that is running this blockade?"

"It's Cook."

"Oh, Cook."

"Yes, ever since you gave her that awful slanging about patriotism she
has been grinding me down more and more. She's always plotting and
scheming and telling me that she must keep the book down for the good of
the country. I can see that Jane isn't getting suffici