"Why so?"
"Because then I am in the kitchen for two days and can eat as much as I want."
Soon the superintendent came again, and as he insisted on my visiting the classes while at work he invited me to lunch with his family. I was introduced to the lady of the house—who in turn introduced me to their daughter, a young Miss of twenty, with round, healthy body and rosy cheeks and stupid eyes. Mr. Marcel talked all the time, explaining to me how ungrateful the children of the poor are. I was seated directly opposite him at table and had an opportunity of studying him at close range. For the first time I remarked his gluttonous lips and round, protruding belly. He followed every plate with his eyes and ceremoniously pushed his sleeves back before he carved, as though officiating at a holy rite. The more he ate the more he wanted, and seeing such a luncheon and the fruit at the table I quite believed that "The fruit bill alone was three hundred dollars a month."
I turned to the girl and asked:
"How do you like living here?"
"It's nice."
"She is practically born here," the mother explained.
"Then you went to school here," I asked.
"Oh, no—no—" all three, father, mother and daughter protested in chorus. "We would not place our child with them," the mother said indignantly, while the father, who was so shocked that he stopped eating his pudding, said: