"Cook leaves the amounts to me," explains Doris; "so I just order two pounds of everything."
"Oh!" says Vee, readin' on. "'Butter, two pounds; eggs, two—' Do they sell eggs that way, Doris?"
"Don't they?" asks Doris. "I'm sure I don't know."
"'Coffee, two pounds,'" continues Vee. "'Yeast cakes, two pounds—' Why, wouldn't that be a lot of yeast cakes? They're such little things!"
"Perhaps," says Doris. "But then, I sha'n't have to bother ordering any more for a month, you see. Now, take the next item. 'Champagne wafers, ten pounds.' I'm fond of those. But that is the only time I broke my rule. See—'flour, two pounds; roast beef, two pounds,' and so on. Oh, I mean to be quite systematic in my housekeeping!"
"Isn't she a wonder?" asks Westy, gazin' at her proud and mushy.
"I say, though, Vee," goes on Doris enthusiastic, "you must come home with us for dinner to-night. Do!"
At which Westy nudges her and whispers something behind his hand.
"Oh, yes," adds Doris. "You too, Torchy."
Vee had to 'phone Auntie and get Doris to back her up before the special dispensation was granted; but at six-thirty the four of us starts uptown for this brownstone bird-cage of happiness that Westy has taken a five-year lease of.