Hon. Mrs. Calicutt and Cousin Florence ate this table of contents without complaining voice. Ladies is often thusly--they do not desire real food when they can be economical. But me & Mr. Calicutt begin to feel very illegal when we look at them samditches which must be ate. Frequently Mr. Calicutt telephone home that his board of directors had appendicitis, therefore he must stay in town for dine. I forgive him this deception. Three weeks pass off. Then come fifth Wednesday when Mrs. Calicutt must again be at home for friends. “Togo,” she pronounce that morning, “I have invite 120 complete persons and expect to enjoy quite a stampede this P. M. Please multiply your former programme of samditches by twice.” “I shall do so,” I deploy. Yet my soul determined to do elsewise. Why must I again clutter that household with sky-scraping piles of samditches which nobody came to eat except Rev. Mr. Dill who had merely appetite for 13? No! If Hon. Mrs. Calicutt was too foolish in her brain to keep from that extravagance, then I should save her from it. I should merely make 13 samditches and 1 qrt. chocolate, sifficient for Hon. Dill. Yet I should make my Boss Lady think I was preparing great quantities. This deceptiveness require great heroism. “Togo,” say her, coming to kitchen in early P. M., “Are bread & devilish ham and letus and marionaise dressing and chocolate all ready to be executed in vast quantities?” “They are faithfully prepared,” I pronounce with talented dishonesty. “120 guests often feel very edible, so do it plenty,” she acknowledge, eloping away. At 3 o’clock I manufacture 13 samditches and 1 qrt. chocolate. That was all we could afford to give Mr. Dill. “Where are refreshments, please?” requesh Mrs. Calicutt when 4 P. M. was there. “I keep them cooly concealed in dark place where staleness will not arrive to them,” I report, looking sly like roosters. She too busy preparing smilax buds to know how much money I saved her by not manufacturing food for guests who wouldn’t come. At 4:63 P. M. I notice something which make my eyes alarmed. With tense puffing honk-music and wheel-rumble, 47 ottomobiles, buggies, motorcycles, & go-carts arrive up to house all together like sheep. They hitch up by front gate. Why was they came? O look see!! 118 complete persons of every imaginable age & sect got out and make jing-jing to door bell. One horble thought roshed to my ears. All them folks was coming expecting to eat Rev. Dills’ 13 samditches and 1 qrt. chocolate! I was blame for my economy. What must I do? My heart turned pale while hysteria filled my elbows. Already I could hear glad-you-came sound by Mrs. Calicutt while that hungry mobb make rosh through parlour room amidst disagreeable laughter. Swish-swish! It was Mrs. Calicutt’s silk footsteps coming. “Togo,” she whisper with stage-voice, introducing her head at kitchen, “where is immediate food for 120 persons?”