crisis, for I formulated a minimum demand of a leg of mutton or a pair
of fowls.

"I don't see how it's possible, dear," said my wife. "I _am_ so sorry."

"You are keeping something back from me," said I. "Tell me, whose is the
'Hidden Hand' that is running this blockade?"

"It's Cook."

"Oh, Cook."

"Yes, ever since you gave her that awful slanging about patriotism she
has been grinding me down more and more. She's always plotting and
scheming and telling me that she must keep the book down for the good of
the country. I can see that Jane isn't getting sufficient nourishment.
If I were to propose a pair of fowls for lunch I know that she would say
it was her duty to remind me that we were a beleaguered city. And yet I
don't want to discourage her...."

"That's very awkward," said I. "What in the world are we to do about the
Harrisons?"

"I know," said my wife suddenly. "Ask them on Saturday. Cook's going to
Plymouth for the week-end to see her son."

"Oh, good," said I. "And we _will_ have a blow-out."

"And we won't put it down in the book."