“We'd have to have a girl, dear,” said Orde, “and we can't even afford that, yet.”
“A girl!” cried Carroll indignantly. “For us two!”
“You couldn't do the housework and the cooking,” said Orde. “You've never done such a thing in your life, and I won't have my little girl slaving.”
“It won't be slaving, it will be fun—just like play-housekeeping,” protested Carroll. “And I've got to learn some time. I was brought up most absurdly, and I realise it now.”
“We'll see,” said Orde vaguely.
The subject was dropped for the time being. Later Carroll brought it up again. She was armed with several sheets of hotel stationery, covered with figures showing how much cheaper it would be to keep house than to board.
“You certainly make out a strong case—on paper,” laughed Orde. “If you buy a rooster and a hen, and she raises two broods, at the end of a year you'll have twenty-six; and if they all breed—even allowing half roosters—you'll have over three hundred; and if they all breed, you'll have about thirty-five hundred; and if—”
“Stop! stop!” cried Carroll, covering her ears.
“All right,” agreed Orde equably, “but that's the way it figures. Funny the earth isn't overrun with chickens, isn't it?”
She thrust her tables of figures into her desk drawer. “You're just making fun of me always,” she said reproachfully.