Pinkey returned shortly and sniffed as he entered: "It smells good, anyhow. There's something homelike about onions. What you cookin'?" "It's a secret, but you'll like 'em. I made 'em out of the cook book." Pinkey threw his coat on the table and the thud sounded as if it had a brick rolled in it. "Here's something Helene sent--she made it--it's angel food or somethin', I reckon." "Now wasn't that good of her!" Wallie exclaimed, gratefully. "I can't tell till I taste it. I wouldn't call her much of a cook generally." He prodded the cake as he unrolled it and commented: "Gosh, it's hard! I turned my thumb-nail back on it." "It's frozen--that's what's the matter," Wallie defended, promptly. "I think it's a bum cake," declared Pinkey, callously. "I think you don't know what you're talking about until you try it," Wallie retorted with asperity. Pinkey looked at him thoughtfully and changed the subject. "I see you're playin' a tune on the washboard." Wallie replied stiffly: "Yes, I'm doing a little laundry." Pinkey's criticism of the cake still rankled. "You ain't washin' that blue shirt a'ready?" Pinkey demanded, incredulously. "You only bought it Thanksgivin'." "The front of it bent like rubber-glass and I couldn't stand it any longer." He added reminiscently: "There was a time when I wore a fresh shirt daily." Pinkey stared at him awe-stricken: "I wouldn't think changin' as often as that would be healthy." The clothes in the dishpan on the stove boiled over, and as Wallie jumped for the broom-handle to poke them under, Pinkey demanded: "Are you bilin' your flannens?" "Certainly." "A ten-year-ol' boy can't git in that suit of underwear onct you're done cookin' it," Pinkey explained, and added, disgustedly: "Wallie, don't you know nuthin'?" Wallie looked his consternation. "I'll know better next time," he said, humbly. Pinkey consulted his watch and hinted: "Don't you want me to make the bread?" "No, I have some biscuit to warm over, we'll boil potatoes, thaw the cake out, open some pineapple, and with what I have in the oven we will have a dinner that'll be nothing short of a banquet." "Great! I'm so hungry I could eat with a Digger Injun." Wallie opened the oven door. "They're browning beautifully!" he reported. "Chickens?" Wallie shook his head: "I shan't tell you until you've passed upon them." "If you've got enough of whatever it is--that's all that's worryin' me," declared Pinkey, hungrily. "You'd ought to build you a root cellar next winter--if you're livin'," he remarked as the potatoes rattled when Wallie dropped them in the kettle. "Do you suppose I could grow potatoes? Is it too dry?" "This is a great country for potatoes. There's somethin' in the soil that gits in the potatoes' eyes and makes 'em water so they irrigate themselves. Shore! you can grow potatoes."