"I'd like to," the cook answered wistfully, "if I could dig me up a pair of socks sommeres."
"Ben Evanses warsh came home day 'fore yestiday," said Mr. Brindell significantly.
"Aw, he watches it too clost." The cook's tone was despondent. "Besides, he'd take them socks off'n me at the dance if he happened to see 'em."
"Do you know, Joe," he went on pensively, "we all has our ambitions. In every human heart they is an ambition if you can jest find it. Some is to kick up a gold mine, some is to waller in a sea of aigs—fraish aigs—some is to hold up a train and git away with it, some is to go to the Legislator, but mine is for socks!
"A barrel of socks—a barrel of socks with toes and heels in 'em! If I could jest wake up in the mornin' and lie there on my piller sayin' to myself: 'Well, what will it be to-day, Clarence? Them pea-green beauties with the vines up the side, er the purple boys with the red stripes!' Say, wouldn't that be heaven, Joe?" The cook rolled his eyes in ecstasy.
