box under the bed before she sought her mother in the kitchen.
"Say, ma," after a perfunctory peck on the cheek, "what you got for dinner tonight?"
"Pigs' knuckles, Minnie, the finest I've seen in Hesselman's this fall. Billy put 'em aside for me. He looks kind o pale, dearie, asked how you was and if you'd opened your bank account on Fifth Avenue yet. Said it joking. Poor Billy."
"Pigs' knuckles!" cried Minnie shrilly. "Oh, my God, ma, if that ain't my luck to ask somebody home for dinner and you'd have pigs' knuckles."
"I'd like to know who's comin' to this house that's too good for pigs' knuckles, Minnie Flynn," said her mother indignantly, "with fresh cabbage, too. Pete would rather have it than chicken stew any day."
"Of course he would. He's that common. Cabbage! Phew, what a stink! It's enough to turn anybody's stummick. We'll never get the house cleared by the time she arrives. Listen, ma, that girl I told you about, Eleanor Grant, the one who had a flat with three nigger servants, is comin' to dinner."
"Tonight?"
"Sure. She'll be here in an hour. A girl that's used to everything, ma, that wears nothin' but silk next to her skin."
Mrs. Flynn spun around helplessly. "Why didn't you make it tomorrow night, Minnie, and give me notice? I could of made a cranberry pie. Oh Lord, you do get me so upset. . . ."
"Douse the pigs' knuckles, ma, the first thing. Then set the cabbage out on the fire-escape. Is Hesselman's closed at this hour?"
"You know it is, Minnie, it's after five-thirty. But Shultz is open. He's got a pretty good line o' cooked meats now. Oh, my Lord, how you do turn things upside down!"
