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 father,
with his mouth full. "'Manners at the Dinner Table.' It's near the end
of the book, I know."

"If I never do no worse than that I shan't come to no harm," said his
daughter.

Mr. Jobson shook his head at her, and after eating his breakfast with
great care, wiped his mouth on his handkerchief and went into the shop.

"I suppose it's all right," said Mrs. Jobson, looking after him, "but
he's taking it very serious--very."

"He washed his hands five times yesterday morning," said Dorothy, who had
just come in from the shop to her breakfast; "and kept customers waiting
while he did it, too."

"It's the cold-tub business I can't get over," said her mother. "I'm
sure it's more trouble to empty them than what it is to fill them.
There's quite enough work in the 'ouse as it is."

"Too much," said Bert, with unwonted consideration.

"I wish he'd leave me alone," said Gladys. "My food don't do me no good
when he's watching every mouthful I eat."

Of murmurings such as these Mr. Jobson heard nothing, and in view of the
great improvement in his dress and manners, a strong resolution was
passed to avoid the faintest appearance of discontent. Even when,
satisfied with his own appearance, he set to work to improve that of Mrs.
Jobson, that admirable woman made no complaint. Hitherto the brightness
of her attire and the size of her hats had been held to atone for her
lack of figure and the roomy comfort of her boots, but Mr. Jobson,
infected with new ideas, refused to listen to such sophistry. He went
shopping with Dorothy; and the Sunday after, when Mrs. Jobson went for an
airing with him, she walked in boots with heels two inches high and toes
that ended in a point. A waist that had disappeared some years before
was recaptured and placed in durance vile; and a hat which called for a
new style of hair-dressing completed the effect.

"You look splendid, ma!" said Gladys, as she watched their departure.
"Splendid!"

"I don't feel splendid," sighed Mrs. Jobson to her husband. "These 'ere
boots feel red-'ot."

"Your usual size," said Mr. Jobson, looking across the road.

"And the clothes seem just a teeny-weeny bit tight,