neether.... So don't you drink no more, Miss Lucy."

"I can't," admitted Lucille--and indeed, to Dam, who regarded his
"cousin" with considerable concern, it did seem that, even as Cook's
poor young sister of unhappy memory, Lucille had "swole"--though only
locally.

"Does _beer_ make you swell or swole or swellow when you swallow,
Cooker?" he inquired; "because, if so, _you_ had better be--" but he
was not allowed to conclude his deduction, for cook, bridling,
bristling, and incensed, bore down upon the children and swept them
from her kitchen.

To the boy, even as he fled _via_ a dish of tartlets and cakes, it
seemed remarkable that a certain uncertainty of temper (and figure)
should invariably distinguish those who devote their lives to the
obviously charming and attractive pursuit of the culinary art.

Surely one who, by reason of unfortunate limitations of sex, age,
ability, or property, could not become a Colonel of Cavalry could
still find infinite compensation in the career of cook or
railway-servant.

Imagine, in the one case, having absolute freedom of action with
regard to raisins, tarts, cream, candy-peel, jam, plum-puddings and
cakes, making life one vast hamper, and in the other case, boundless
opportunity in the matter of leaping on and off moving trains,
carrying lighted bull's-eye lanterns, and waving flags.

One of the early lessons that life taught him, without troubling to