Harshaw returned a few minutes later, dressed in pajamas and robe instead of the evening jacket he had been wearing.  One of the machines had covered his plate as soon as he was dragged away from the table; it now uncovered it for him and he went on eating. "As I was saying," he remarked, "a woman who can't cook is a waste of skin.  If I don't start having some service around here I'm going to swap all of you for a dog and shoot the dog.  What's the dessert, Miriam?"