“I should poach him a couple of eggs,” suggested the helpful bosom friend; “put plenty of Cayenne pepper on them. Very likely he won't remember.” Mr. Korner allowed himself to be persuaded into the dining-room, which was also the breakfast parlour and the library. The two ladies, joined by the hastily clad staff, whose chronic indignation seemed to have vanished in face of the first excuse for it that Acacia Villa had afforded her, made haste to light the kitchen fire. “I should never have believed it,” whispered the white-faced Mrs. Korner, “never.” “Makes yer know there's a man about the 'ouse, don't it?” chirped the delighted staff. Mrs. Korner, for answer, boxed the girl's ears; it relieved her feelings to a slight extent. The staff retained its equanimity, but the operations of Mrs. Korner and her bosom friend were retarded rather than assisted by the voice of Mr. Korner, heard every quarter of a minute, roaring out fresh directions. “I dare not go in alone,” said Mrs. Korner, when all things were in order on the tray. So the bosom friend followed her, and the staff brought up the rear. “What's this?” frowned Mr. Korner. “I told you chops.” “I'm so sorry, dear,” faltered Mrs. Korner, “but there weren't any in the house.” “In a perfectly organizedouse, such as for the future I meanterave,” continued Mr. Korner, helping himself to beer, “there should always be chopanteak. Unnerstanme? chopanteak!” “I'll try and remember, dear,” said Mrs. Korner. “Pearsterme,” said Mr. Korner, between mouthfuls, “you're norrer sort of housekeeper I want.” “I'll try to be, dear,” pleaded Mrs. Korner. “Where's your books?” Mr. Korner suddenly demanded. “My books?” repeated Mrs. Korner, in astonishment. Mr. Korner struck the corner of the table with his fist, which made most things in the room, including Mrs. Korner, jump. “Don't you defy me, my girl,” said Mr. Korner. “You know whatermean, your housekeepin' books.” They happened to be in the drawer of the chiffonier. Mrs. Korner produced them, and passed them to her husband with a trembling hand. Mr. Korner, opening one by hazard, bent over it with knitted brows. “Pearsterme, my girl, you can't add,” said Mr. Korner. “I--I was always considered rather good at arithmetic, as a girl,” stammered Mrs. Korner. “What you mayabeen as a girl, and what--twenner-seven and nine?” fiercely questioned Mr. Korner. “Thirty-eight--seven,” commenced to blunder the terrified Mrs. Korner. “Know your nine tables or don't you?” thundered Mr. Korner. “I used to,” sobbed Mrs. Korner. “Say it,” commanded Mr. Korner. “Nine times one are nine,” sobbed the poor little woman, “nine times two--” “Goron,” said Mr. Korner sternly.