"And look at me," added Marion, "with our old family cook, who can make the best things in the world, and I can hardly afford to keep her! But I couldn't drive her away if I tried."
Course, with our havin' Professor and Madame Battou, the old French couple we'd annexed over a year ago in town, we had no kick comin'. Not even the sugar and flour shortage seemed to trouble them, and our fancy meals continued regular as clock work. But on the way home Vee and I got to talkin' about what hard times the neighbors was havin'.
"I guess what they need out here," says I, "is one of them army kitchens, that would roll around two or three times a day deliverin' hot nourishment from door to door."
And I'd hardly finished what I'd meant for a playful little remark before Vee stops sudden, right in the middle of the road, and lets out an excited squeal.
"Torchy!" says she. "Why on earth didn't you suggest that before!"
"Because this foolish streak has just hit me," says I.
"But it's the very thing," says she, clappin' her hands.
"Eh?" says I, gawpin'.
"For Marion," says she. "Don't you see?"
"But she's no perambulatin' rotisserie, is she?" says I.