A Good Dinner
A Good Dinner
“THE butcher, ma’am.”
Mrs. Chauncey Callender put down her half-eaten muffin with a gesture of despair, as she looked at the tidy, white-capped maid before her.
“Why does he always come at breakfast time? As if it is possible to know then what one is going to want for the day! I’m sure I can’t think of a thing! Chauncey, you might help me. I get so tired planning the meals, and it’s very hard to order for a small family. What would you like for dinner to-night?”
“Roast peacock,” said Mr. Callender.
“Would you like a beefsteak?” His wife patiently ignored the last remark, which as a stock answer to a stock question had even ceased to irritate her.
“I shouldn’t mind having it.”