"
Mrs. Ree had a lively sense of paltering with Satan as she sat down to
the Porne's dinner table. She had seen the delivery wagon drive to the
door, had heard the man deposit something heavy on the back porch, and
was now confronted by a butler's tray at Mrs. Porne's left, whereon
stood a neat square shining object with silvery panels and bamboo
trimmings.
"It's not at all bad looking, is it?" she ventured.
"Not bad enough to spoil one's appetite," Mr. Porne cheerily agreed.
"Open, Sesame! Now you know the worst."
Mrs. Porne opened it, and an inner front was shown, with various small
doors and drawers.
"Do you know what is in it?" asked the guest.
"No, thank goodness, I don't," replied her hostess. "If there's
anything tiresome it is to order meals and always know what's coming!
That's what men get so tired of at restaurants; what they hate so when
their wives ask them what they want for dinner. Now I can enjoy my
dinner at my own table, just as if I was a guest."
"It is--a tax--sometimes," Mrs. Ree admitted, adding hastily, "But one
is glad to do it--to make home attractive."
Mr. Porne's eyes sought his wife's, and love and contentment flashed
between them, as she quietly set upon the table three silvery plates.
"Not silver, surely!" said Mrs. Ree, lifting hers, "Oh, aluminum."
"Aluminum, silver plated," said Mr. Porne.
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