He was putting a dish of make-believe before me—it is a meatless day—my one-legged cook is an artist but he thinks me a fool because I won't let him cheat—our want of legs makes us friendly though.
"And with a brother in the trade I could get Monsieur chickens and what he would wish!" he expostulates each week.
"A-hem"—Burton croaked.
I repeated the question.
"The young lady works very regular."
"Yes—That is just it—a kind of a machine."
"She earns her money Sir Nicholas."
"Of course she does—I know all that—But what do you think of her?"
"Beg pardon Sir Nicholas—I don't understand?"