"Nothing. Nothing whatever. We have nothing to do with him, and couldn't do it if we had."
"You needn't laugh. We have got to lodge him and feed him."
"That's easy. I'll put the white spread on the bed in the spare room; and you may get out your pickles."
"Pickles! Is he fond of pickles?"
"I don't know!" said Lois, laughing still. "I have an impression he is a man who likes all sorts of nice things."
"I hate men who like nice things! But, Lois!—there will be Saturday tea, and Sunday breakfast and dinner and supper, and Monday morning breakfast."
"Perhaps Monday dinner."
"O, he can't stay to dinner."
"Why not?"
"It is washing day."