thirty.

She walked with Van Emmon, dodging machinery all the way, across the big
car to the little kitchenette over which he had presided. There, to his
dismay, the girl took off her coat, rolled up her sleeves, and announced
her intention of helping.

"You're a good cook, Van--I mean, Mr.--"

"Let it go at Van, please," said he hastily. "My first name is Gustave,
but nobody has ever used it since I was christened."

"Same with my 'Edna,' she declared. "Mother's name was Williams, and I
was nicknamed 'Billie' before I can remember. So that's settled," with
great firmness. The point is--Van--you're a good cook, but everything
tastes of bacon. I wish you'd let me boss this meal."

He looked rebellious for an instant, then gave a sigh of relief. "I'm
really tickled to death."

A little later the doctor and Smith, looking across, saw Van Emmon being
initiated into the system which constructs scalloped potatoes. Next, he
was discovering that there is more than one way to prepare dried beef.

"For once, we won't cream it," said E. Billie Jackson, dryly, as Van
Emmon laid down the can-opener. "We'll make an omelet out of it, and see
if anything happens."

She was already beating the eggs. He cut up the meat into small pieces,
and when he was finished, took the egg-beater away from her. He turned