Mrs. MacCrea showed Agnes how to do her hair in a way that went with her clothes. One noon when Joe got home early because it rained and he couldn't paint, when he went up-stairs he saw Myrtie trying to do this to her hair. Well, it just couldn't be done to Myrtie's hair. Myrtie didn't have hair you could do what you pleased with. She was all red in the face with trying, and being upset because she couldn't do it. He had to laugh—and that didn't help things a bit. So he said:
"Never mind, Myrtie, we can't all go into mourning."
"Well, I don't care," said Myrtie, sniffling, "it's not fair."
He had to laugh again and as she didn't see what there was to laugh at, he had to try to console again. "Never mind, Myrt," said he, "you've got one thing Agnes Cadara's not got."
"I'd like to know what," said Myrtie, jerking at her hair.
He waited; funny she didn't think of it herself. "Why—a father," said he.
"Oh," said Myrtie—the way you do when you don't know what to say. And then, "Well,——"
Again he waited—then laughed; waited again, then turned away.
Somebody gave Mrs. Cadara a fireless cooker. Mrs. Doane had no fireless cooker. So she had to stand all day over her hot stove—and this she spoke of often. "My supper's in the fireless cooker," Mrs. Cadara would say, and stay out in the cool yard, weeding her flowerbed bed. "It certainly would be nice to have one of those fireless cookers," Mrs. Doane would say, as she put a meal on the table and wiped her brow with her apron.
"Well, why don't you kill your husband?" Joe Doane would retort. "Now, if only you didn't have a husband—you could have a fireless cooker."