Going downstairs with the tray, Winston wished he could have given in to Miss Ada, but he knew better than to do what she said when she had that little girl look. There were times it wasn't right to make a person happy, like the times she came in the kitchen and asked for a peanut butter sandwich. ``You know we don't keep peanut butter in this house,'' he always told her. ``Why, Winston,'' she'd cry, ``I just now saw you eating it out of the jar!'' But he knew how important it was for her to keep her figure.

In the kitchen, Leona, his little young wife, was reading the morning paper. Her legs hung down long and thin as she sat on the high stool.

``Here,'' Winston said gently, ``what's these dishes doing not washed?'' The enormous plates which had held Mr. Jack's four fried eggs and five strips of bacon were still stacked in the sink.

``Leave me alone,'' Leona said. ``Can't you see I'm busy?'' She looked at him impudently over the corner of the paper.

``This is moving day,'' Winston reminded her, ``and I bet you left things every which way upstairs, your clothes all over the floor and the bed not made. Leona!'' His eye had fastened on her leg; bending, he touched her knee. ``If I catch you one more time down here without stockings'' --

She twitched her leg away. ``Fuss, fuss, old man.'' She had an alley cat's manners.

Winston stacked Miss Ada's thin pink dishes in the sink. Then he spread out the last list on the counter. ``To Be Left Behind'' was printed at the top in Miss Ada; fine hand. Winston took out a pencil, admired the point, and wrote slowly and heavily, ``Clothes Stand.''