It was rather shabby-looking externally, being sadly in want of paint, but Mrs. Palmer's rooms on the second floor were neatly², though plainly furnished, and scrupulously³ clean.

There was an outside staircase, so that the second floor was independent of the first.

Paul ran up stairs, and opened the door, entering at once into the sitting-room⁴, where his mother and sister were seated.

Mrs. Palmer's face brightened at the sight of Paul. He was always full of life and gayety, and his coming never failed to cheer her.

"So you are back again, Paul," she said, smiling a welcome.

"Yes, mother, and I am hungry, I can tell you. Is supper most ready?"

"It will be in five minutes," said his mother, folding[Pg 26] up her work and going into the adjoining room. "I have got some dipped toast for you to-night."

"Just what I like."

"But I delayed putting the toast into the dip till you came. There is some minced⁵ meat."

"In other words, hash," said Paul, laughing.

"I think you will find it good, in spite of the name."

"Oh, I am sure to like it, since it is home-made. At the restaurants I am a little afraid; I don't know but it may be made of dogs or cats."

"Do they make it of dogs or cats, Paul?" asked his little sister, curiously⁶.

"I don't know," said Paul; "I won't swear to it. All I know is that there's a lot of dogs and cats that disappear mysteriously every year in Chicago."

Meanwhile Mrs. Palmer had been busily completing her arrangements for supper, and it was ready within the five minutes mentioned.

"Supper's ready, Paul. I haven't made you wait long," she said.

"No, mother; you're always on time, like an express train."

"What sort of a day have you had, Paul? Did you sell much?"

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