"Haven't you seen the little circular?
Here's one, 'Extra meals to regular patrons 25 cents.' And no more trouble to order than to tell a maid." 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.

"They've learned how to do it at last.