"Eh?" says I, gawpin'.

"For Marion," says she. "Don't you see?"

"But she's no perambulatin' rotisserie, is she?" says I.

"She might be," says Vee. "And she shall."11

11

"Oh, very well," says I. "If you've decided it that way, I expect she will. But I don't quite get you."

When Vee first connects with one of her bright ideas, though, she's apt to be a little puzzlin' in her remarks about it. As a matter of fact, her scheme is a bit hazy, but she's sure it's a winner.

"Listen, Torchy," says she. "Here are all these Harbor Hills people—perhaps a hundred families—many of them with poor cooks, some with none at all. And there is Marion with that perfectly splendid old Martha of hers, who could cook for all of them."

"Oh, I see," says I. "Marion hangs out a table-board sign?"

"Stupid!" says Vee. "She does nothing of the sort. People don't want to go out for their meals; they want to eat at home. Well, Marion brings them their meals, all deliciously cooked, all hot, and ready to serve."

"With the kitchen range loaded on a truck and Martha passin' out soup and roasts over the tailboard, eh?" says I.

But once more I've missed. No, the plan is to get a lot of them army containers, such as they send hot chow up to the front trenches in; have 'em filled by Martha at home, and delivered by Marion to her customers.

"It might work," says I. "It would need some capital, though. She'd have to invest in12 a lot of containers, and she'd need a motor truck."

12

"I will buy those," says Vee. "I'm going in with her."

"Oh, come!" says I. "You'd look nice, wouldn't you!"

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