best,
considerin' the war and everything. If people would only get the habit
of usin' corn meal for their pie crusts, everything would be lovely once
more.

"An alibi on every count," says I. "I expect the committee apologized."

"Very nearly that," says Vee. "The sillies! I just wish I'd been there.
I don't believe half of what he said is true."

"That's one thing," says I, "but provin' it on him would be another. And
there's where Belcher's got you."

Course, I like to watch Vee in action, for she sure is a humdinger when
she gets started. As a rule, too, I don't believe in tryin' to block her
off in any of her little enterprises.

But here was once where it seemed to me she was up against a hopeless
proposition. So I goes on to point out, sort of gentle and soothin', how
war prices couldn't be helped, any more'n you could stop the tide from
comin' in.

Oh, I'm some smooth suggester, I am, when you get into fireside
diplomacy. Anyway, the price of eggs wasn't mentioned again that
evenin'. As a matter of fact, Vee ain't troubled much with marketin'
details, for Madame Battou, wife of the little old Frenchman who does
the cheffing for us so artistic, attends to layin' in the supplies. And,
believe me, when she sails forth with her market basket you can be sure
she's goin' to get sixteen ounces to the pound and the rock bottom price
on everything. No 'phone orders for her. I don't believe Vee knew what
the inside of Belcher's store looks like. I'm sure I didn't.

So I thought the big drive on the roast beef and canned goods sector had
been called off. About that time, too, I got another inspection detail
handed me,--and I didn't see my happy home until another week-end.

I lands back on Broadway at 9 A.M. Havin' reported at the Corrugated
general offices and found Old Hickory out of town, I declares a special
holiday and beats it out to the part of Long Island I'm beginnin' to
know best. Struck me Professor Battou held his face kind of funny when
he saw me blow in; and as I asks for Vee, him and the madam swaps
glances. He say she's out.

"Oh," says I. "Mornin' call up at the Ellinses', eh? I'll stroll up that
way, myself, then."

Leon hesitates a minute, like he was chokin' over something, and then
remarks: "But no, M'sieur. Madame, I think, is in the village."

"Why," says I, "I just came from the station. I didn't see the car
around. How long has she been gone?"

Another exchange of looks, and then Bat