They were talking together of the recently popular fifty-cent luncheons and fifty-cent dinners, the Woman of Small Means, the Man of the House, and the Friend of the Family.

"My greatest achievement," said the Woman of Small Means, with modest pride, "was when I had a luncheon for three people for ninety cents."

"You mean ninety cents apiece," said the Friend of the Family.

"No ; ninety cents for all three."

"Did you give them pork and beans? " queried the Man of the House, with an attempt at jocularity.

"No; I gave them five courses, exclusive of the coffee and crime de menthe at the end.''

The Man of the House is a gentleman, and he suppressed a half-uttered whistle, and instantly indemnified himself for it.

"Oh, come now," he said. (He has the easy contempt most men feel for women's financial estimates.) "You may have spent only ninety cents in direct outlay, but you didn't count the things you already had in the house."

"Yes, I counted every one," insisted the Woman of Small Means.

The Man of the House said no more, but his countenance proclaimed incredulity in loud tones.

"Tell us how you did it," said the Friend of the Family.

"The bill-of-fare was bouillon, oyster pates, chops, and potatoes a la Duchesse, salad, crackers and cheese, grape fruit with rum and sugar, coffee and crime de menthe.''

A smothered ejaculation from the Man of the House. The Woman of Small Means turned her back upon him and addressed herself to the Friend of the Family.

" Of course," she said, apologetically, " I had to plan for my luncheon in order to get it at that price. If I had gone out and bought everything without consideration, the expense would have been much more. As it was, the actual cost of the food did not exceed ninety cents.

"Take the bouillon, for instance. I bought a twenty-five-cent quart can. That holds enough to fill five of my bouillon-cups. I had used two cupfuls the day before, so I estimated the cost of the three cups served at luncheon at fifteen cents.

" It was the same way with the oysters. I had planned oyster-soup for my dinner, and had bought a quart of oysters for thirty cents. I filched a dozen oysters and a gill of the liquor from the supply for the soup, and had quite enough with the sauce to fill the three pate shells I had bought for ten cents at the French baker's. I allowed eight cents for the oysters, seven for the gill of milk, the one egg, and the bit of butter used in preparing them.

"My economical genius had been at work in the purchase of the meat also. I had bought a fore-quarter of lamb at twelve cents a pound. You know this includes the shoulder for roasting, the neck and breast for stewing, and the chops. Three of these weighed less than a pound. The tiny Duchesse loaves of potatoes took only a cupful of mashed potatoes, and you pay six cents a quart for old potatoes. So my third course did not cost more than thirteen cents.

"A head of lettuce was five cents; a Neufchatel cheese - we didn't eat half of it, and had the rest for dinner - was five cents more.

"The grape fruit - big ones - were three for a quarter, and we had half a one apiece, and there was a teaspoonful of rum in each. Call it fifteen cents.

"So you see," jotting down figures on the back of a card, "the first course was fifteen cents; the second, twenty-five; the third, thirteen; the fourth, ten ; the fifth, fifteen. That makes a total of seventy-eight cents. Twelve cents will cover the three small cups of coffee, the tiny portions of creme de menthe - I used cordial glasses, and they were filled with ice - the bread, butter, oil, vinegar, etc. That is how it was done," she said, with a glance of triumph over her shoulder toward the Man of the House.

But he had kept silence too long to be "downed" in this fashion. He fancied he saw his opportunity, and seized it.

"May I ask," he said, assuming the labored patience and deliberation a man exhibits when he wishes to crush an illogical woman, "where in all this beautiful estimate do you put the cost of the fire, the skill of the cook, the services of the waitress? " i* Oh, those don't count," replied the Woman of Small Means, calmly. '' They never allow for the salary of the chef in the fashionable fifty-cent luncheons and dinners."

And the Man of the House, "sad, surprised, astounded by the sovereign strength of woman's - "logic, said no more.

C. T. H