“It was. I told Tom, then, that he must leave out either the doctor or me when he made rarebit again!”
“With the result?” queried the girl with the classic profile.
“That we didn’t speak for three days, dear. It was during that time, that I went to Annie’s chafing-dish party. She wanted me to make a cheese omelette, and I sent over for the dish. My messenger found Tom in the dining-room with a whole party of men—”
“Cooking on your chafing-dish?”
“No. Trying to entertain them while the new waitress hunted for it.”
“But, where was it? You hadn’t taken it?”
“No, dear. The cook had borrowed it for a chafing-dish party of her own, and neglected to mention the fact to either Tom or me!”
“Then, I suppose really that each family should possess two chafing-dishes,” said the brown-eyed blonde, thoughtfully.
“Yes—or none at all,” said the president, sighing.
“Of course I am very much interested in this discussion,” said the girl with the Roman nose; “but I wonder if a thorough knowledge of currency problems will do us any practical good. None of us are earning our own living, and when papa talks about currency problems at home it is only to point the moral that times are hard, so—”