d as easy as that.

"Oh, goody!" says she, clappin' her hands. "But, Mother, what is it you
do to make dumplings puff out after you've dropped them in the lamb
stew?"

"Dumplings! Lamb stew!" says Mother. "Gracious! Don't ask me, child. I
haven't made any for years. Doesn't your cook know?"

"She doesn't," says Sis. "I am the cook, Mother."

Well, that was only the beginning of the revelations; for while Sis and
Mother was strugglin' with the receipt book, the Senator was makin' a
tour of inspection around the apartment. It didn't take him so long,
either.

"Ahem!" says he to Mallory. "Very cozy, indeed; but--er--not exactly
spacious."

"Four rooms and bath," says Mallory.

"Was--er--that the bathtub in there?" says the Senator, jerkin' his
thumb at the bathroot door. "I fancied it might be--er--a pudding dish.
Might I inquire what rent you pay for--er--all this?"

"Forty a month, sir," says Mallory.

"Ah! Economy, I see. Good way to begin," says he. "And if it is not too
personal a question, your present salary is----"

"I'm getting twenty-five a week," says Skid, lookin' him straight
between the eyes.

"Then you have a private income, I presume?" says the Senator.

"Well," says Mallory, "my aunt in Boston sends me fifty dollars every
Christmas and advises me to invest my savings in Government bonds."

At that the Senator drops into a chair and whistles. "But--but how do
you expect," he goes on, "to--to----Pardon me, but I am getting
interested. I should like to know what was your exact financial standing
when you had the imp--er--when you married my daughter?"

He gets it, down to the last nickel. Skid begins with what he had in the
bank when they starts for Atlantic City, shows the hole that trip made
in his funds, produces the receipts for furniture, and announces that,
after punglin' up a month's rent, there's something over seven dollars
left in the treasury.

"Huh!" grunts the Senator. "Hence the lamb stew, eh? I don't wonder! So
you and Sis have undertaken to live in a forty-dollar apartment on a
twenty-five-dollar salary, have you?"

"That's what it looks like, sir," says Mallory.

"And who is the financial genius that is to manage this enterprise?"
says he.

"Why," says Skid, "Mrs. Mallory, I suppose. We have agreed that she
should."

"Sis, eh?" says the Senator, smilin' kind of grim. "Well, you have my
best wishes for your success."

Skid he flushes some behind the ears; but he only