tackar_, Gerda. That means 'I thank you,' _Jag tackar_. See if you can
say it, Archie. Just try, dear, to oblige me. _Jag tackar._ Now, that's
a good boy, _jag tackar_."

"I won't," I declared spitefully. "No _jag tackar_ing for a parody like
this, Letitia. You don't seem to realize that I'm hungry. Honestly, I
prefer a delicatessen dinner to this."

"'Pray, give me a piece of venison,'" read Letitia, absolutely
disregarding my mood. "'_Var god och gif mig ett stycke vildt._' It is
almost intelligible, isn't it, dear? '_Ni äter icke_': you do not eat."

"I can't," I asserted mournfully, anxious to gain Letitia's sympathy.

It was not forthcoming. Letitia's eyes were fastened on Gerda, and I
could not help noting on the woman's face an expression of scorn. I felt
certain of it. She appeared to regard my wife as a sort of irresponsible
freak, and I was vexed to think that Letitia should make such an
exhibition of herself, and countenance the alleged meal that was set
before us.

"'I have really dined very well,'" she continued joyously. "_Jag har
verkligen atit mycket bra._'"

"If you are quite sure that she doesn't understand English, Letitia," I
said viciously, "I'll say to you that this is a kind of joke I don't
appreciate. I won't keep such a woman in the house. Let us put on our
things and go out and have dinner. Better late than never."

Letitia was turning over the pages of her book, quite lost to her