And, moreover, he had spoken with some heat--for such a good-tempered man--on the shortcomings of Dorothy's laundry work. "We'd better put your collars out," said his wife. "And the shirts," said Mr. Jobson. "Nothing looks worse than a bad got-up cuff." "You're getting quite dressy," said his wife, with a laugh. Mr. Jobson eyed her seriously. "No, mother, no," he replied. "All I've done is to find out that you're right, as you always 'ave been. A man in my persition has got no right to dress as if he kept a stall on the kerb. It ain't fair to the gals, or to young Bert. I don't want 'em to be ashamed of their father." "They wouldn't be that," said Mrs. Jobson. "I'm trying to improve," said her husband. "O' course, it's no use dressing up and behaving wrong, and yesterday I bought a book what tells you all about behaviour." "Well done!" said the delighted Mrs. Jobson. Mr. Jobson was glad to find that her opinion on his purchase was shared by the rest of the family. Encouraged by their approval, he told them of the benefit he was deriving from it; and at tea-time that day, after a little hesitation, ventured to affirm that it was a book that might do them all good. "Hear, hear!" said Gladys. "For one thing," said Mr. Jobson, slowly, "I didn't know before that it was wrong to blow your tea; and as for drinking it out of a saucer, the book says it's a thing that is only done by the lower orders." "If you're in a hurry?" demanded Mr. Bert Jobson, pausing with his saucer half way to his mouth. "If you're in anything," responded his father. "A gentleman would rather go without his tea than drink it out of a saucer. That's the sort o' thing Bill Foley would do." Mr. Bert Jobson drained his saucer thoughtfully. "Picking your teeth with your finger is wrong, too," said Mr. Jobson, taking a breath. "Food should be removed in a--a--un-undemonstrative fashion with the tip of the tongue." "I wasn't," said Gladys. "A knife," pursued her father--"a knife should never in any circumstances be allowed near the mouth." "You've made mother cut herself," said Gladys, sharply; "that's what you've done." "I thought it was my fork," said Mrs. Jobson. "I was so busy listening I wasn't thinking what I was doing. Silly of me." "We shall all do better in time," said Mr. Jobson. "But what I want to know is, what about the gravy? You can't eat it with a fork, and it don't say nothing about a spoon. Oh, and what about our cold tubs, mother?" "Cold tubs?" repeated his wife, staring at him. "What cold tubs?" "The cold tubs me and Bert ought to 'ave," said Mr. Jobson. "It says in the book that an Englishman would just as soon think of going without his breakfus' as his cold tub; and you know how fond I am of my breakfus'." "And what about me and the gals?" said the amazed Mrs. Jobson. "Don't you worry about me, ma," said Gladys, hastily. "The book don't say nothing about gals; it says Englishmen," said Mr. Jobson.