lap-robe."

As Saxon unpacked she basket she was appalled at his
extravagance. She spread an amazing array of ham and chicken
sandwiches, crab salad, hard-boiled eggs, pickled pigs' feet,
ripe olives and dill pickles, Swiss cheese, salted almonds,
oranges and bananas, and several pint bottles of beer. It was the
quantity as well as the variety that bothered her. It had the
appearance of a reckless attempt to buy out a whole delicatessen
shop.

"You oughtn't to blow yourself that way," she reproved him as he
sat down beside her. "Why it's enough for half a dozen
bricklayers."

"It's all right, isn't it?"

"Yes," she acknowledged. "But that's the trouble. It's too much
so."

"Then it's all right," he concluded. "I always believe in havin'
plenty. Have some beer to wash the dust away before we begin?
Watch out for the glasses. I gotta return them."

Later, the meal finished, he lay on his back, smoking a
cigarette, and questioned her about her earlier history. She had
been telling him of her life in her brother's house, where she
paid four dollars and a half a week board. At fifteen she had
graduated from grammar school and gone to work in the jute mills
for four dollars a week, three of which she had paid to Sarah.