perhaps you 'd like to help
along.... Oh, any little thing, a boiled ham or--... Well, we shall want
some cake, but we'd druther--or, at least, rawther--have something more
substantial, don't you know, pie or pickles or jelly, don't you know.
And will you bring it or shall I send Michael with the carriage for
it?.... Oh, thank you! If you would. It would be so much appreciated.
So sorry we couldn't make a longer stay, but now that we've found the
way.... Yes, that's very true. Well, good-afternoon."

The lady of the house watches them as Michael inquires: "Whur next,
mum?" and bangs the door of the carriage. Then she turns and says to
herself: "Huh!" Mrs. Thorpe is that instant observing: "Did you notice
that crayon enlargement she had hanging up? Wouldn't it kill you?" To
which the other lady responds: "Well, between you and I, Mrs. Thorpe, if
I couldn't have a real hand-painted picture I wouldn't have nothing at
all."

The lady of the house bakes a cake. She'll show them a thing or two in
the cake line. And while it is in the oven what does that little dev--,
that provoking Freddie, do but see if he can't jump across the kitchen
in two jumps. Fall? What cake wouldn't fall? Of course it falls. But it
is too late now to bake another, and if they don't like it, they know
what they can do. She doesn't know that she's under any obligation to
them.

Mrs. John Van Meter hears Freddie say off the little speech his mother
taught him--Oh, you may be sure she'd be there as large as life, taking
charge of everything, just as if she had been one of the workers,
when, to my certain knowledge, she hadn't been to one of the committee
meetings, not a one. I declare I don't know what Mr. Craddock is
thinking of to let her boss every body around the way she does--and she
smiles and says: "It's all right. It's just lovely. Tell your mamma Mrs.
Van Meter is ever and ever so much obliged to her. Isn't he a dear boy?"
And when he is gone, she says: "What are we ever going to do with
all this cake? It seems as if everybody has sent cake. And whatever
possessed that woman to attempt a cake, I--can't imagine. Ts! ts! ts!
H-well. Oh, put it somewhere. Maybe we can work it off on the country
people. Mrs. Filkins, your coffee smells PERfectly grand! Perfectly
grand. Do you think we'll have spoons enough?"

The Tournament prizes are exhibited in the windows of the leading
furniture emporium at the corner of Main and Center, each with a card