"But, Mother," Hetty objected, "he won't smoke in the parlor!"
"Won't he then?" she said. "He 'll be a fool if he don't. He 'll smoke where he likes in his own house." She produced a shaving-mirror in three leaves. "There," she said, "yuh c'n see all but the top o' yer head in it. An' thank the cats, as yuh get older, yuh won't have to shave that."
Bailey, heretofore, had had no one to consider his comfort but the washerwoman, who sometimes charitably darned his socks. "That 's great," he laughed, flattered. "All the comforts of home!"
Mrs. Joliffe made a gesture that said "Wait! I 'll show yuh!" and led the way to the dining-room.
She had prepared cold ham and hot coffee, pie and pickles and chocolate cake, bananas and cheese, bottled beer and sweet biscuits, celery, potato salad, table raisins, canned salmon, and chili sauce. They were crowded on the table promiscuously. There was scarcely room for the plates. "If yuh want annything yuh can't reach," she said, "ask fer it."
Hetty excused herself, on the plea that she was train-sick, and went to bed; and Bailey sat down to such a meal as he had not eaten since he had left his country home—for Mrs. Joliffe had boiled the ham herself, baked the cake, made the salad and the chili sauce, and ground the coffee; and they had the flavor that cannot be bought.
She kept his plate filled and his cup overflowing. When he had had enough, she coaxed and wheedled him
