Hon. Mr Bobb, who was thin and red headed like a match, could eat a banquet multiplied by three each day and appear just as wirey as before. Foods make him thinner, so he require it continuously. Therefore, I must cook very lopsided meals for them Bobbs to eat it. For dinner-eat Hon. Bobbs absorb veal stew containing potatus, fricaseed gravy, hot buns & beans of great wealth. But Hon. Mrs Bobbs give me strick orders to serve her only bowl of soupless broth with plate of very hard tack.
“I appreciate bravery of soldiers,” she say, eating with gnaws.
“Why should it?” reply her husband.
“Because,” she wep, “after eating hard tack for 1 week I should be willing to die for Country or anything else.”
For dessert Hon. Mr had a minced pie while Hon. Mrs had a hysteric. When Hon. Mr seen this noise he run to telephone and report.
“Oh Dr, Dr!” he holla, “Hon. Mrs have got one hysteric!”
“So glad to hear!” rejoint Hon. Medicine with smiling voice. “Grief are a great reducer.”
Hon. Mrs took walking exercise every morning from 9 o’clock until she got back. In this promenade she resemble elephants marching in Siamese funeral—each footstep seemed to go in front of the other with sorry expression of great weight. When she return back she set down in parlour attempting to deceive herself into staying awake.
“Your lunching are prepared on table,” I pronounce with servant voice.
“Please do not call beef tea lunching!” she snib like a cross stork.