signals, such as shaking their own hands
and winking the left eye simultaneously, with an almost vicious jerk
of the head, silently congratulated themselves upon the prospects of
a peaceful future in a domestic sense.

"That was just the best dinner I have had in centuries," said
Thaddeus, as they adjourned to the library after the meal was over.
"The broiled chicken was so good, Bess, that for a moment I wished I
were a bachelor again, so that I could have it all; and after I got
over my first feeling of hesitation over the oysters, and realized
that it was September with an R--belated, it is true, but still
there--and ate six of them, I think I could have gone downstairs and
given cook a diamond ring with seven solitaires in it and a
receipted bill for a seal-skin sacque. I don't see how we ever
could have thought of discharging her last June, do you?"

"It was a good dinner," said Bessie, discreetly ignoring the
allusion to their intentions in June; for she had a well-defined
recollection that at that time Bridget had given signs of emotional
insanity every time she was asked to prepare a five-o'clock
breakfast for Thaddeus and his friends, to the number of six, who
had acquired the habit of going off on little shooting trips every
Saturday, making the home of Thaddeus their headquarters over
Sunday, when the game the huntsmen had bagged the day before had to
be plucked, cleaned, and cooked by her own hands for dinner. "And
it was nicely selected, too," she added. "I sometimes think that
I'll let Bridget do the ordering at the market."

"H'm! Well," said Thaddeus, shaking his head dubiously, "I haven't
a doubt that Bridget could do it, and would be very glad to do it;
but I don't believe in setting a cook up in business."

"How do you mean?"

"I mean that I haven't any doubt that Bridget would in a very short
time become a highly successful produce-broker with bull tendencies.
The chicken market would be buoyant, and the quotations on the Stock
Exchange of, say, B., S., and P.-U.-C.--otherwise, Beef, Succotash,
and Picked-Up-Codfish--would rise to the highest point in years.
Why, my dear, by Christmas-time cook would have our surplus in her
own pocket-book; and in the place of the customary five oranges and
an apple she would receive from the butcher a Christmas-card in the
shape of a check of massive, if not graceful, proportions. No,
Bess, I think the old way is the best."

"Perhaps it is. By-the-way