“Hate skirts. They hamper you.”
“Tommy,” said Peter severely, “don’t argue.”
“Pointing out facts ain’t arguing,” argued Tommy. “They do hamper you. You try ’em.”
The clothes were quickly made, and after a while they came to fit; but the name proved more difficult of adjustment. A sweet-faced, laughing lady, known to fame by a title respectable and orthodox, appears an honoured guest to-day at many a literary gathering. But the old fellows, pressing round, still call her “Tommy.”
The week’s trial came to an end. Peter, whose digestion was delicate, had had a happy thought.
“What I propose, Tommy—I mean Jane,” said Peter, “is that we should get in a woman to do just the mere cooking. That will give you more time to—to attend to other things, Tommy—Jane, I mean.”
“What other things?” chin in the air.
“The—the keeping of the rooms in order, Tommy. The—the dusting.”
“Don’t want twenty-four hours a day to dust four rooms.”
“Then there are messages, Tommy. It would be a great advantage to me to have someone I could send on a message without feeling I was interfering with the housework.”