"And why not?" demanded her husband--always do."

"Not in a top-'at," said Mrs. Jobson, shaking her head at him.

"Or a tail-coat," said Dorothy.

"One would spoil the other," said Gladys.

"I wish something would spoil the hat," said Mr. Jobson, wistfully.
"It's no good; I must smoke, mother."

Mrs. Jobson smiled, and, going to the cupboard, produced, with a smile of
triumph, an envelope containing seven dangerous-looking cigars. Mr.
Jobson whistled, and taking one up examined it carefully.

"What do they call 'em, mother?" he inquired. "The 'Cut and Try Again
Smokes'?"

Mrs. Jobson smiled vaguely. "Me and the girls are going upstairs to get
ready now," she said. "Keep your eye on him, Bert!"

Father and son grinned at each other, and, to pass the time, took a cigar
apiece. They had just finished them when a swish and rustle of skirts
sounded from the stairs, and Mrs. Jobson and the girls, beautifully
attired, entered the room and stood buttoning their gloves. A strong
smell of scent fought with the aroma of the cigars.

"You get round me like, so as to hide me a bit," entreated Mr. Jobson, as
they quitted the house. "I don't mind so much when we get out of our
street."