he outset by the
gay window shelves, Hertha soon assumed all care of the flowers, much to
their profit; and on the Sunday after her night's outing with Kathleen,
when she had secured an invitation for him to come to dinner, looked
with some pride at the objects of her care.

"I'm glad I remembered to move this new fern last night when it was so
cold," she said to Kathleen as she worked among the window plants. "Mr.
Applebaum will see that I didn't forget what he told me. And, oh,
Kathleen, let me set the table, I like to."

"And you know how," Kathleen added, and left her task. "There's many an
uptown mistress, Hertha, would say that it was wrong for you to be
manufacturing shirtwaists, when she needs you to wait on her table. I
can just hear her telling you, 'Leave the factory, my child, and come to
me where you will have easy work, (only fourteen hours a day) and a good
home. (Her son will likely make love to you and you'll be sent from the
house in disgrace.) Leave your coarse companions and learn the ways of a
lady, (only you have them already)."

"Oh, stop, Kathleen. Let me finish with the dinner, and you put on that
fresh waist I ironed for you. It's on your bed."

Kathleen went into her room to her perspiring work,--it made her hot to
get into even the simplest dress,--and while struggling to hook her
skirt over on the left side, she heard her lover's knock and Hertha's
cordial greeting.

"More flowers, Mr. Applebaum? A begonia? We used to have those at home."
Then the voices fell away into the distance as the speakers went into
the front room.

"If this dinner is good, Billy," Kathleen said, when they were all three
seated together about the kitchen table, spread with their best linen
and china, "it's all Hertha's doings."

Hertha smiled but shook her head.

"Miss Hertha did her part, Kitty, I know," the guest made answer, "but
the mashed potatoes are yours."

"And lumps in them at that! I've not much patience with potatoes or the
world; but if you're liking them, take some more."

They all took part in clearing off the course of meat and vegetables,
and then Hertha served a dessert of her own making, a fluffy-looking
pudding of orange and custard and meringue.

"And did you think I cooked this?" said Kathleen. "Come now and own up
that in cooking the South beats the Irish."

"The Germans are good cooks," said Hertha. "Perhaps Mr. Applebaum will
cook the dinner for us some day."

"A man cook the