The Irish woman smiled broadly. It was a situation in which she saw many humorous possibilities and an amusing story to tell over the tea cups to Mrs. Murphy and Mrs. O'Reilly. "Shure an' ye needn't eat it, sir," she said, in an injured tone, "but it's all prepared an' of the very best." The Professor glanced at the tray. "Why," he exclaimed, in amazement, "this is something really fine, Mrs. Brady. I didn't know you were getting up a holiday breakfast." Visions of slopped-over trays, weak coffee and hard toast passed before him, for Mrs. Brady was not a cook to boast of. "I'll eat it down here, if you've no objection," he continued kindly, lifting the covers and glancing curiously underneath. "By Jove, this is something like. Omelet, and what are those luscious looking things?" "They be pop-overs, sir, if I'm not misthaken." "Pop-overs, ahem! I've heard the name before." He sniffed the small coffee pot. "Good and strong; you've anticipated my wants this morning, Mrs. Brady." "Why doesn't he go on and eat?" thought the red-haired cook. "The omelet will be ruined." But the Professor had drawn up a chair to the kitchen table and was draining the orange juice at a gulp. "You're getting very festive, Mrs. Brady. Have you been taking lessons in my absence? That orange juice was just the appetizer I needed this morning." Then he fell to on the breakfast and never stopped until he had eaten every crumb and drained the coffee pot to the dregs. In the meantime Molly had taken a seat on the pantry floor. A weakness had invaded her knees and her head swam dizzily, since she had had no breakfast that morning. "I suppose Judy will think I'm dead," she thought, "but it won't do her any harm to be guessing about me for once." She hoped the Professor would leave in a moment and go to his rooms. He had filled a short briar wood pipe and was leaning back in his chair musing, but he couldn't stay forever in Mrs. Brady's kitchen. "Mrs. Brady, that was a very dainty and delicious little meal you prepared for me," she heard him say. "I was a bit low in my mind but I feel cheered up. A cup of coffee--if it's good--as this was--is often enough to restore a man's ambition." And now the kitchen was filled with the fragrance of tobacco smoke while the Professor mused in his chair, blowing out great clouds at intervals. "A bachelor is a poor pitiful soul, sir," answered the woman; "now, if ye had a wife to look after ye, you'd be afther havin' the like breakfasts ivery mornin'." The Professor blew out a ring of purple smoke and watched it float lazily in the air and gradually dissipate. "Didn't you know I was a woman hater, Mrs. Brady?" "Indade, I should think ye might be, seein' so many of them every day and all the time," answered the housekeeper sympathetically. "Too much of a good thing, sir. But, whin old age comes to ye, you'll miss 'em, sir. You'll miss a good wife to look after your comforts then."