"I'm so glad to meet you, Mister Sells," she says, givin' Hector the old oil. "My husband talks of nothin' but you night and day!" Which was true--only not the way she meant it. "That's fine!" says Hector. "Me and Mac has been friends since they burnt Rome. Where's the kitchen?" I showed him, and the wife shakes her head as much as to say, "Another rummy, eh?" I steered Hector over to the ice box and told him to go ahead and run wild. When I come out, Alex is featurin' his famous grin, and I gotta show the wife my breath. In about ten minutes the kitchen door opens and Hector's head pops out. His hands is full of flour and so's his suit for that matter, but his face is all lit up like Coney Island. "I don't wanna be no bother, Mrs. Mac," he pipes, "but could a man get a apron around here?" We got him inside of some gingham, and he disappeared into the kitchen again. "Where d'ye get them birds?" says the wife, noddin' after him. "Sssh!" says Alex. "That feller there is gonna make us all rich before the month is over! We'll have more money than we can count and--" "Oh, won't that be grand!" says the wife, who'd believe Alex if he told her Missouri started the war. "Then I can have everything I want." "I thought _that_ happened when you got _me_," I says. "Still," she sighs, payin' me no attention as usual, "money ain't everything." "No," says Alex, "but it'll get it!" "We always was used to money," goes on the wife, gettin' kinda doped under the influence of the sweet and savory odors which was comin' from the kitchen. "You know, Alex, that our family was connected with the best people in Vermont." "They ain't got a thing on a telephone operator," I says. "They get connected with the best people in the United States every day!" I don't get a tumble from either of them. "There was Great-uncle Ed," proceeds the wife, kinda dreamy. "If he hadn't died so sudden, he'd of been worth a million." I tried my luck again. "That's the one that turned out to be a carbolic acid fiend, ain't it?" I says. At this point, the greatest meal that ever played a date at our flat, come outa the kitchen escorted by Hector. One whiff of that layout and the greatest chef in the world would of gone out and bought a revolver. Hector is nothin' but smiles. "Give this a whirl!" he says. "And lemme know what you think of it. I didn't have much to work with--only lamb chops, vegetables and the like, but I did what I could." Oh, boy!--that was _some_ feed! Conversation lagged a bit for about half a hour, while we fell to and demolished this stuff, and Hector swells up like a human yeast cake under the kind words that come his way. Finally, we had to quit eatin' for lack of further accommodations and the wife tells Hector that they ain't no doubt about it, as a cook he wins the garage.