“I see you go every morning down town, but it is rare for me, for I can’t spare the time, so I have to trust to what the butcher sends. You see we live so plainly that we haven’t much choice—it’s just steak and chops and roast beef. Mr. Lennox can’t bear cold mutton, so we never get a joint of it.”
“But don’t you think the morning walk would do you good? I believe it will me; and then I have some satisfaction in seeing my meat before I buy it, although we buy very little.”
Molly was terribly afraid of seeming didactic, and spoke in a rather apologetic way.
“Yes, but you haven’t four children, my dear; however, as I am out, I will go with you. How I wish you would tell me what to get in place of chops for to-day and a roast for to-morrow! We all hate them, but we can’t afford poultry.”
“I hardly like to suggest, for I don’t know your tastes; but if I wanted to live cheaply,—forgive me, you have given me reason to suppose that you have to be economical”—
“Economy isn’t the word,—we can barely make ends meet, and I work myself to death to avoid spending an unnecessary dime.”
“I know you do, and for that reason I would like to tell you a few things I learnt in France, where they make a franc go as far as we would a dollar, and yet live well.”
“Tell it me; but for goodness’ sake don’t tell me that lentils are as good as meat—we abhor lentils—or that peas and beans are nitrogenous; I’ve read that sort of thing till I’m sick; if you haven’t the appetite of a ploughman you can’t eat things because they contain nitrogen any more than you can live on medicine.”
“I’m a little of your opinion, but I mean really good living that, if you didn’t know the cost, would seem almost luxurious. It is simply buying, and using what you buy, judiciously.”
Mrs. Lennox smiled a little incredulously, but said, courteously, “I am quite open to conviction.”