"Don't come in here botherin' me," said the cook, intolerantly. "What with your mother bein' away on a visit, an' your father comin' home soon to lunch, I have enough on my mind--and that without bein' bothered with _you_. The kitchen is no place for little boys, anyhow. Run away, and don't be interferin' with my work." She frowned and made a grand pretence of being deep in herculean labors; but Jimmie did not run away. "Now--they're goin' to have a picnic," he said, half audibly. "What?" "Now--they're goin' to have a picnic." "Who's goin' to have a picnic?" demanded the cook, loudly. Her accent could have led one to suppose that if the projectors did not turn out to be the proper parties, she immediately would forbid this picnic. Jimmie looked at her with more hopefulness. After twenty minutes of futile skirmishing, he had at least succeeded in introducing the subject. To her question he answered, eagerly: "Oh, everybody! Lots and lots of boys and girls. Everybody." "Who's everybody?" According to custom, Jimmie began to singsong through his nose in a quite indescribable fashion an enumeration of the prospective picnickers: "Willie Dalzel an' Dan Earl an' Ella Earl an' Wolcott Margate an' Reeves Margate an' Walter Phelps an' Homer Phelps an' Minnie Phelps an'--oh--lots more girls an'--everybody. An' their mothers an' big sisters too." Then he announced a new bit of information: "They're goin' to have a picnic." "Well, let them," said the cook, blandly. Jimmie fidgeted for a time in silence. At last he murmured, "I--now--I thought maybe you'd let me go." The cook turned from her work with an air of irritation and amazement that Jimmie should still be in the kitchen. "Who's stoppin' you?" she asked, sharply. "I ain't stoppin' you, am I?" "No," admitted Jimmie, in a low voice. "Well, why don't you go, then? Nobody's stoppin' you." "But," said Jimmie, "I--you--now--each fellow has got to take somethin' to eat with 'm." "Oh ho!" cried the cook, triumphantly. "So that's it, is it? So that's what you've been shyin' round here fer, eh? Well, you may as well take yourself off without more words. What with your mother bein' away on a visit, an' your father comin' home soon to his lunch, I have enough on my mind--an' that without being bothered with _you_!" Jimmie made no reply, but moved in grief towards the door. The cook continued: "Some people in this house seem to think there's 'bout a thousand cooks in this kitchen. Where I used to work b'fore, there was some reason in 'em. I ain't a horse. A picnic!" Jimmie said nothing, but he loitered. "Seems as if I had enough to do, without havin' _you_ come round talkin' about picnics. Nobody ever seems to think of the work I have to do. Nobody ever seems to think of it. Then they come and talk to me about picnics! What do I care about picnics?" Jimmie loitered.