her?"

"Cold tubs?" repeated his wife, staring at him. "What cold tubs?"

"The cold tubs me and Bert ought to 'ave," said Mr. Jobson. "It says in
the book that an Englishman would just as soon think of going without his
breakfus' as his cold tub; and you know how fond I am of my breakfus'."

"And what about me and the gals?" said the amazed Mrs. Jobson.

"Don't you worry about me, ma," said Gladys, hastily.

"The book don't say nothing about gals; it says Englishmen," said Mr.
Jobson.

"But we ain't got a bathroom," said his son.

"It don't signify," said Mr. Jobson. "A washtub'll do. Me and Bert'll
'ave a washtub each brought up overnight; and it'll be exercise for the
gals bringing the water up of a morning to us."

"Well, I don't know, I'm sure," said the bewildered Mrs. Jobson.
"Anyway, you and Bert'll 'ave to carry the tubs up and down. Messy, I
call it.

"It's got to be done, mother," said Mr. Jobson cheerfully. "It's only
the lower orders what don't 'ave their cold tub reg'lar. The book says
so."

He trundled the tub upstairs the same night and, after his wife had gone
downstairs next morning, opened the door and took in the can and pail
that stood outside. He poured the contents into the tub, and, after
eyeing it thoughtfully for some time, agitated the surface with his right
foot. He dipped and dried that much enduring member some ten times, and
after regarding the damp condition of the towels with great satisfaction,
dressed himself and went downstairs.

"I'm all of a glow," he said, seating himself at the table. "I believe I
could eat a elephant. I feel as fresh as a daisy; don't you, Bert?"

Mr. Jobson, junior, who had just come in from the shop, remarked,
shortly, that he felt more like a blooming snowdrop.

"And somebody slopped a lot of water over the stairs carrying it up,"
said Mrs. Jobson. "I don't believe as everybody has cold baths of a
morning. It don't seem wholesome to me."

Mr. Jobson took a book from his pocket, and opening it at a certain page,
handed it over to her.

"If I'm going to do the thing at all I must do it properly," he said,
gravely. "I don't suppose Bill Foley ever 'ad a cold tub in his life; he
don't know no better. Gladys!"

"Halloa!" said that young lady, with a start.

"Are you--are you eating that kipper with your fingers?"

Gladys turned and eyed her mother appealingly.

"Page-page one hundred and something, I think it is," said her fa