Finally I got tired and said,
"Cook, where will I put this coal?" Well, well, I'll never forget that
moment in years! She turned and looked at me and began, "I want you to
understand my name is Mrs. Cunningham. I'm none of your cooks, and if
you dare call me cook again while you're in this house I'll have you
sacked--discharged!" I thought I had been hit with a steam car. I did
not answer her back, and she kept right on: "I'm a lady, and I'll be
treated as such or I'll know why!" I never saw a person so mad in all my
life, and I couldn't understand why. There she was cooking, and yet she
was no cook! I thought to myself, "I guess she doesn't like her job." I
didn't blame her, because I didn't like mine either.
My heart went down into my boots. Here I had made a play for a dinner
and got left. About a week after this I was doing a little job in the
laundry when I ran across the cook, and she said, "Young man, would you
like a little bite to eat?" I answered quickly, "Yes, thank you, Mrs.
Cunningham," just as sweet as anything. No more "cook" for mine. I'll
never call people by their occupation again as long as I live. I'd had
my lesson; but I had won out on my dinner too.
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