"You don't really think for a moment, do you, that the Jimpsonberrys would lend us their cook, or that she would come, or that I would ask them?" said Mrs. Idiot. "Well, I suppose not," said the Idiot. "I suppose not. _But I don't see why!_ First, the Jimpsonberrys, as our neighbors, ought to be willing to get us out of our trouble. Second, we don't ask their cook to come for nothing. By coming she will receive an addition to her wages which will help her to endow a policeman with a moderate fortune some day when she marries him. As for your asking Mrs. Jimpsonberry to lend us her cook for a few hours, that is the main objection. When one borrows one must give collateral, and it may be that it would embarrass you to offer Mike as security for the safe return of the Jimpsonberrys' cook. Anyhow, I see weak points in my plan, and we'd better abandon it. If the Jimpsonberrys' cook is the only available incendiary in the neighborhood, we'd better stop where we are. When we dined at Jimpsonberrys' last week I went away feeling that Jimpsonberry ought to collect fire insurance on that dinner. It wasn't cooked; it was a plain case of arson." It was at this precise moment, when poor Mrs. Idiot was beginning to despair of getting any advice of value from her husband, that the telephone-bell rang, and the Idiot rose up to answer the call. "Hello!" he said. "Oh! Hello, old man!" he added. "That you? Glad to see you." "Yes," he continued, after a pause. "Of course we expect you." "Seven o'clock sharp," he remarked, a moment later. "You'll surely be here?" Then after a second pause, he added: "Good! You can stay all night if you wish; we've plenty of room. Good-bye." [Illustration: "'WHO WAS IT?' ASKED MRS. IDIOT"] "Who was it?" asked Mrs. Idiot, as the Idiot hung up the receiver of the telephone. "The Poet," replied the Idiot. "He wanted to know at what hour dinner was." "Oh, dear!" cried Mrs. Idiot. "Why didn't you tell him the dinner isn't for to-night, but to-morrow night?" "Didn't need to, my dear," said the Idiot, lighting a cigarette. "We've made a slight mistake. You invited these people, it now appears, for the twenty-ninth." "Certainly," said Mrs. Idiot. "Well, my love," said the Idiot, with an affectionate glance, "to-day is the--ah--the twenty-eighth." Mrs. Idiot drew a sigh of relief. "My!" she cried, "what a blessing! I wonder how I got so mixed!" "It's economy, perhaps," suggested the Idiot. "If you will insist on buying out-of-date diaries and last year's calendars at bargain-counters because they are cheap, I don't really see how you can expect to keep up with the times." Mrs. Idiot laughed heartily. Her relief of mind was unmistakable. "What would you have done, John, if this had really been the night?" she asked later.