chair, swinging an idle foot.

"I wish I could cook!" she fretted.

"Can't you, Sandy?" her father asked.

"Oh, some things! Rabbits and fudge and walnut wafers! But I mean
that I wish I understood sauces and vegetables and seasoning, and
getting things cooked all at the same moment! I don't mean that I'd
like to do it, but I would like to know how. Now, Mother'll scare up
some perfectly delicious soup for dinner, cream of something or
other, and I could do it perfectly well, if only I knew how!"

"Suppose I paid you a regular salary, Sandy--" her father was
beginning, with the untiring hopefulness of the American father. But
the girl interrupted vivaciously:

"Dad, darling, that isn't practical! I'd love it for about two days.
Then we'd settle right down to washing dishes, and setting tables,
and dusting and sweeping, and wiping up floors--horrors, horrors,
horrors!"

She left her perch to take in turn an arm of her father's chair.

"Well, what's the solution, pussy?" asked Kane Salisbury, keenly
appreciative of the nearness of her youth and beauty.

"It isn't that," said Sandy decidedly. "Of course," she pursued,
"the Gregorys get along without a maid, and use a fireless cooker,
and drink cereal coffee, but admit, darling, that you'd rather have