The Washington herald., 1915-08-15

Hetty took her stew-pan to the rear of the third
floor hall According to the advertisements of the
Vallambrosa there was running water to be found
there. Between you and and the water-meter,
it only ambled walked through the faucets but
technicalities have place here. There also
a sink where housekeeping roomers often met to
dump their coffee grounds and glare at one an
others kmonos.
At this sink Hetty found girl with heavy, gold
brown, artistic hair and plaintive eyes, washing
two large Irish" potatoes. Hetty knew the VAL
lambrosa we'll any not owning double
hextra-magnifying eyes" could compass its mys-
teries. The kimonos her encyclopedia, her
Who's What?" her clearinghouse of news, of
goers and From rose-pink kirono edged
with Nile green she had learned that the girl with
the potatoes was miniature-painter living in a
kind OF attic-or Studio" they prefer to call it
on the top floor. Hetty not certain in her
mind what miniature was; but it certainly wasn't
house; because house painters although they wear
splashy overas and poke ladders in your face
the street. are known to indulge in a riotous pro-
fusion of food at home.
The potato girl was quite slim and small. and
handled her potatoes old bachelor uncle
handles baby who is cutting teeth. She had
dull shoemaker's knife in her right hand and she
had begun to peel one of the potatoes with it.
Hetty addressed her in the punctliously formal
tone of who intends to be cheerfully familiar
with you in the second round.
Beg pardon she said, "for buttng into what's
not my business, but if peel them potatoes you
lose out. They're Bermudas. You want to
scrape 'e1n. Lemme show you"
She took potato and the knife, and began to
demonstrate.
"Oh, thank you," breathed the artist a didn't
know And did hate to see the thick peeling go;
it seemed such a waste. But though they always
had to be peeled. When you've got only potatoes
to eat, the peelings count you know"
Say, kid" said Hetty, staying her knife, you
amt up against it, too, yous"
The miniature artist smiled starvedly.
81 suppose am Art-or, at least, the way in
terpret it-doesnt be much in demand
have only these potatoes for my dinner. But they
aren't so bad boiled and hot with little butter
and salt"
Child" said Hetty, letting brief smile soften
her rigid features, Fate has sent me and you to-
gether I've had it handed to me in the neck too;
but I've got chunk of meat in my room as big
as lap-dog. And I've done everything to get po-
tatoes except pray for EN-. Let's me and you
bunch commssary departments and make
stew Of 'em. Wen cook it in my room. If we
only had onion to go in it, Say. kid, you haven't
got couple OF pennies thatve slipped down into
the lining of your last winters sealskn have YOU
I could step down to the corner and get on at old
Giuseppes stand. stew without an onion is
worsen a matinee without candy"
You may call me Cecilia" said the artist NO;
I spent my last penny three days ago"
Then we'll have to cut the onion out instead of
scing it in,' said Hetty. I'D ask the jantress
for one, but l don't want 'em hep just yet to the
fact that I'm pounding the asphalt for another job
But wish we did have an onion
In the shop-girls room the two began to pre-
pare their supper. Cecilia's part to sit the
couch helplessly and beg TO be allowed to do some
thing, in the voice of cooing ring-dove Hetty
prepared the rib beef putting it in cold salted water
in the stew-pan and setting it the one burner
gas-stove.
81 wish we had an onion said Hetty as she
scraped the two potatoes.
On the wall opposite the couch pinned
flaming, gorgeous advertising picture OF of the
new ferryboats of the P. U. F. F. Railroad that
had been built to cut down the time between Los
Angeles and New York City one-eighth of min
ute
Hetty, turning her head during her continuous
monologue, running from her guests
eyes she gazed the idealized presentment of
the speeding, foar-girdled transport.
why, say, Cecilia, kid" said Hetty, posing her
knife is it bad art as that, l amt critic; but
thought it kind of frightened up the OF
course, manicure painter could tell it was bum
picture in a minute. I'll take it down if you say
so. l wish to the holy Saint Potluck had an
onion
But the miniature miniature painter had tumbled
down. sobbing with her nose indenting the hard