He finished his dishwashing and began another of the loathed housekeeping tasks, that of rummaging the pantry and seeing what eatables were available for his luncheon and the evening meal.
He spread the various odds and ends on the kitchen table, preparatory to taking account of stock.

A part of a slab of bacon, a salt codfish, some cold clam fritters, a few molasses cookies, and half a loaf of bread.

He had gotten thus far in the inventory when a shadow darkened the doorway.
He turned and saw Mrs.Bascom, the bungalow housekeeper.
"Good mornin'," said Mrs.Bascom.
Brown answered coldly.

Why on earth was it always his luck to be present when these female nuisances made their appearance?
And why couldn't they let him alone, just as he had determined to let them alone--in the future?
Of course he was glad that the caller was not Miss Graham, but this one was bad enough.
"Morning," he grunted, and took another dish, this one containing a section of dry and ancient cake, Seth's manufacture, from the pantry.
"What you doin'?
Gettin' breakfast this time of day ?" asked the housekeeper, entering the kitchen.

She had a small bowl in her hand.
"No," replied Brown.
"Dinner, then?
Pretty early for that, ain't it ?" "I am not getting either breakfast or dinner--or supper, madam," replied the helper, with emphasis.