"
"Well considering the taste I've had of the quality of his friendship, I
hope you won't be surprised at the statement that I feel highly honoured,"
said Mr. Winton, leading the way, while the others thoughtfully followed.
With four days' work the Harding home began to show what was being
accomplished. The song of the housewife carried to the highway. Neighbours
passing went home to silent, overworked drudges, and critically examined
for the first time stuffy, dark kitchens, reeking with steam, heat, and
the odour of cooking and decorated with the grime of years. The little
leaven of one home in the neighbourhood, as all homes should be, set them
thinking. A week had not passed until people began calling Mrs. Harding to
the telephone to explain just what she was doing, and why. Men would stop
to ask Peter what was going on, so every time he caught a victim, he never
released him until the man saw sunrise above a kitchen table, a line in
the basement for a winter wash, kitchen implements from a pot scraper and
food pusher to a gas range and electric washing machine, with a furnace
and hardwood floors thrown in.
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