My eyes were opened to it at last. I saw that the establishment was going rapidly downhill. And I could get no real satisfaction from my wife. She would make vague promises of reform; she would undertake to do her best; and she would begin to talk brightly about something else.
And then I wanted to ask the Harrisons to lunch. That brought on the crisis, for I formulated a minimum demand of a leg of mutton or a pair of fowls.
"I don't see how it's possible, dear," said my wife. "I am so sorry."
"You are keeping something back from me," said I. "Tell me, whose is the 'Hidden Hand' that is running this blockade?"
"It's Cook."
"Oh, Cook."
"Yes, ever since you gave her that awful slanging about patriotism she has been grinding me down more and more. She's always plotting and scheming and telling me that she must keep the book down for the good of the country. I can see that Jane isn't getting sufficient nourishment. If I were to propose a pair of fowls for lunch I know that she would say it was her duty to remind me that we were a beleaguered city. And yet I don't want to discourage her...."
"That's very awkward," said I. "What in the world are we to do about the Harrisons?"
"I know," said my wife suddenly. "Ask them on Saturday. Cook's going to Plymouth for the week-end to see her son."
"Oh, good," said I. "And we will have a blow-out."