through his glasses; next he bent his head and looked over them; then he took them off and stared. Then he looked up at Annie. "I've never seen that girl here before, have I?" he asked.
"No, sir. She's a new one, just out from the Old Country. She don't know much yet. I've got to take her in hand."
"Well, well." He turned with a sigh, and picked up the bill-of-fare.
Delight, in her close, black dress that strained darkly to cover her exuberant charms, swayed above the boarders. She was happy. These hungry men, with the odours of their occupations hanging about them, seemed like her little children whom she was about to feed. She had been told by Mrs. Bye, the cook, to ask them whether they would have oatmeal porridge or Force. Force was a breakfast food of the day. As she bent over each she asked gently:
"Oatmeal porridge or Forces?"
For some reason she did not like the sound of the singular Force. It was a harsh, disagreeable word. It made her think of wife-beating. But Forces—that was different—she had heard of forces at work. Well, these men must work, so why not work on Forces! From her the word seemed a caress, as she softly rolled the r.
The boarders preferred the good porridge, but it was impossible to resist the seduction of that tone.
"F-or-rces," softly rolled each deep voice after hers.
In the kitchen cook was aghast, outraged. "Whatever has come over the men?" she exclaimed. "Here's my whole pot of porridge going to waste, and package after package of that breakfast food opened. Mrs. Jessop'll be in a fine taking."
"It's that new girl," replied her husband. "You may
