"Well," I said, "there are no two ways about it: it must be eaten! You
may depend upon me to do my duty."

"We'll have to send out into the highways and compel them to come in,"
said Harriet ruefully.

I had several choice observations I should have liked to make upon this
problem, but Harriet was plainly not listening; she sat with her eyes
fixed reflectively on the coffeepot. I watched her for a moment, then I
remarked:

"There aren't any."

"David," she exclaimed, "how did you know what I was thinking about?"

"I merely wanted to show you," I said, "that my genius is not properly
appreciated in my own household. You thought of highways, didn't you?
Then you thought of the poor; especially the poor on Christmas day; then
of Mrs. Heney, who isn't poor any more, having married John Daniels; and
then I said, 'There aren't any.'"

Harriet laughed.

"It has come to a pretty pass," she said "when there are no poor people
to invite to dinner on Christmas day."

"It's a tragedy, I'll admit," I said, "but let's be logical about it."

"I am willing," said Harriet, "to be as logical as you like."