“Skipped, vamoosed, vanished!” Helen answered, looking up from the gas range on which she was broiling a steak. “The offer of a dollar more a week transferred her to the Kirby’s, where she’ll have nothing to do but cook. The joke’s on them. She’s the worst living cook, and not even a success in hiding her failures.” “I hope,” said John, helping himself to a stalk of celery and biting it meditatively, “I hope the Kirbys suffer the most frightful tortures before they die of indigestion. Haven’t invited us to the party they’re giving, have they?” “Not unless our invitations got lost in the mails. And I hear it’s going to be a snappy function with the refreshments and a jazz band imported from Chicago.” “Look here, sis, that’s rubbing it in pretty hard! I don’t care for myself, but it’s nasty of ’em to cut you. But in a way it’s an act of reprisal. Mother didn’t ask Mrs. Kirby and Jeannette to the tea she threw for that national federation swell just before Christmas. But even at that----” “Oh, don’t be so analytical! We’re an old family and mama refuses to see any merit in people whose grandparents didn’t settle here before the Indians left. And as we haven’t the money to train with the ancient aristocracy, we’ve got to huddle on the sidelines. Pardon me, dear, but that’s a pound of butter you’re about to sit on! You might cut a slice and place it neatly on yonder plate.” “Snobbery!” said John, as he cut the butter with exaggerated deliberation;--“snobbery is a malady, a disease. You can’t kill it; you’ve got to feed it its own kind of pabulum. It’s as plain as daylight that we’ve got to do something to get out of the hole or we’re stuck for good.” “We might bore for oil in the back yard,” said Helen, scrutinizing the steak. “If we struck a gusher we could break into the country club and buy a large purple limousine like the Kirbys.” “My professional engagements don’t exhaust my brain power at present, and I’m giving considerable thought to ways and means of improving our state, condition or status as a family of exalted but unrecognized merit.” “You’re doing nobly, John! Tom Reynolds told me they were talking of running you for prosecuting attorney. That would give you a grand boost. And there’s Alice Hovey,--I understand all about that, John. I think you’re mistaken about the Hoveys not liking you.” “Ah, Alice!” he exclaimed mockingly. “Papa and mama Hovey have quite other ideas for Alice; no penniless barrister need apply! But I won’t deny to you that I’m pretty keen about Alice, only when I go to the house the fond parents create a low temperature that is distinctly chilly. Listen to me, Helen,” he went on with an abrupt change of tone. “You and Ned Shepherd were hitting it off grandly when something happened. He’s a fine chap and I rather got the idea that you two would make a match of it.” “Oh no!” she protested, quickly but unconvincingly as she transferred the steak to the platter.