“De for grow!” answered Mrs. Carter, with emphasis.
Mrs. Smith shook her head.
“Never heard the name before. One of your upper crust friends, I suppose,” she said, in a bewildered way.
“No, no, its only the livers of over-crammed geese; but if you were to ask for gooseliver, the waiters would just laugh in your face. They’ve done it, Mrs. Smith, done it to me and Carter, too!”
“Dear me,” said Mrs. Smith, in deep sympathy, “I wouldn’t have believed it.”
“Oh! my dear, I sometimes think that Carter and I enjoyed ourselves more when we first started life, then we ever shall again—but, dear me, is that some one coming?”
“Only Smith. Of course you won’t mind him?”
“Not at all. Just another slice of the ham, its perfectly delicious.”
It was Mr. Smith who had come up stairs and stopped in the kitchen to wash his hands, which he did twice when Kate Gorman told him of the guest inside. In fact, he stepped into a closet and put on a clean collar and a pair of cuffs, which Kate buttoned for him—first wiping her hands on the dish towel and afterward on her own apron, in a sudden paroxysm of neatness.
“There,” said the handmaiden, “yer fit to stand afore the Queen; so just go in and take yer bit of dinner like a gentleman, as ye are intirely.”