This bill of fare, glibly rattled off by a neat waitress, promised a very satisfying breakfast, supplemented as it was by abundant cream-of-tartar biscuit and potatoes. Yet Mrs. Bishop thought this morning, as she had done for three hundred out of the three hundred and sixty-five mornings she had heard it, she would gladly have exchanged all for a cup of really fine coffee, a fresh egg, and some good home-made bread and butter. Needless to say, Mr. and Mrs. Bishop were boarding, and doing so at a very good house, for the money they were able to pay,—$20 per week for the two. Yet to this couple, reared with luxury and refinement, the very abundance was nauseating. “You ate no breakfast again, Puss. What am I to do with you?” “Oh, I shall do very well. I am sure one has nothing to complain of, and if Mrs. Jones were to cater to _our_ tastes she would not satisfy her other boarders.” “Yes, there is a coarse substantial abundance about it, that always strikes me with wonder as to how it is done for the money”— “And yet, Harry, wouldn’t you enjoy a nice little breakfast for our two selves? Oh, if we could only keep house!” “My darling, I wish to keep house just as much as you do, but with my income such housekeeping would be very different from what you think. You would have to limit the clean table-cloths and napkins, and stint yourself in everything, to make both ends meet.” “I wish I could convince you, Harry, that it need not be so. You don’t know what a good manager I should be.” “Dear little woman, I couldn’t have you make a drudge of yourself, and believe me, you don’t realize the difference between practice and theory. I know several men who have good, self-denying wives, and just my income, but I could not look forward to the narrowness of such houses as theirs, nor wish to see you in one. While we are boarding we can’t pretend to have a home; there is no temptation to ask a friend to a meal, no shame if one comes and it isn’t good.” Mrs. Bishop turned a smiling face on her husband. “That is the secret, Harry. You are afraid of being ashamed of my housekeeping. Shall I promise you that you shall never dread to bring a friend home for fear of a soiled table-cloth, and a too economical dinner? I assure you I haven’t been to cooking-schools for nothing.” “You dear enthusiast! If it were not for your own sake I’d let you try.” Mrs. Bishop executed a little dance of joy. “Oh, Harry, you can’t go back on that, you mustn’t! Do let us go through this winter in our own house.” Mr. Bishop only said, taking out his watch— “By Jove! I have only time to catch the car. Goodbye, dear.” Pressing a hearty kiss on her soft cheek, he rushed down the stairs and out of the house.