I saw at once I should have to do it; you can’t run away from a thing like that without impairing your position as the head of the house.  But I dreaded it.  I have always been afraid of her, and I knew that if she began to argue I should be expected to take what my wife calls a firm line, and that is always most uncomfortable.  I wanted to have her up to my study, so that I should have the moral support of encyclopaedias and things that she doesn’t understand; but my wife was convinced that I ought to mark the importance of the occasion by presenting myself in the kitchen.  I hadn’t been down that stair for months and months.  All this happened weeks ago, when the DEVONPORT rations were proposed....

I took my stand with my back to the fire, conscious of a listening kitchen-maid behind the scullery door, and after asking if the range continued to give satisfaction I opened on the general question of submarines.  But Cook had the better of me there.  I had forgotten that she has a son on a submarine.  I spoke of the serious position of the country, and Cook cheerfully assented. (For her part she often said to Jane that we were goin’ ’eadlong into trouble.) I spoke, in general terms, of economy, and found we were in complete agreement. ("Only last night I says to Jane, ‘Waste not, want not’ must be our motter.”) Then I announced the amount of the DEVONPORT rations and repeated them twice most impressively.  Cook appeared to be going through a number of swift professional calculations. ("Six times four is twenty-four, and six times two-and-three-quarters is—­m—­m—­m—­m—­carry one—­is sixteen and a-half, but syrup might do for the batter.”) Well, Sir, she would try.  She would keep a book, “and every hounce that came into this house—­be it rabbit or be it liver—­shall be put down.”

I was so pleased with her attitude that I allowed myself to be carried away rather, and we agreed before the conference ended that we would try to improve upon Lord DEVONPORT if it was possible.  Cook, as I left her, impressed me as an heroic figure, facing a grim future with a high heart.

“You did it beautifully, dear,” said my wife as I came out.  She also had been listening behind the other door.

CHAPTER II.

Weeks passed.  My only desire was to dismiss the whole question from my mind.  Like LLOYD GEORGE in the House of Commons I had appeared and made my statement, and I was content to leave the whole matter to my wife.  I do not mean to say that I did not observe sundry innovations in the food supply.  Funny-looking scones came up that tasted rather of pea-soup; some of the meat dishes had a sort of padded-out aspect, and it was difficult to get quite away from oat-meal.  But I had no cause to complain.  It is only in the last ten days that the situation has become grave.  Barer and barer is the board.  I have even had to make suggestions.  I proposed that bacon, for instance, might be allowed to reappear on Sundays.  Very well, said my wife patiently, she would see what she could do.  I wondered if buttered toast had been finally banished for the Duration.  She hoped not.  But I gave up that policy, for I found that whenever I recovered some such fugitive from our table something else was certain to disappear.