Mr. Bullington is burdened with flesh and a weeping wife. He is the adipose head of a small family consisting principally of himself. Though he has an emotional wife, with headaches, tears and nerves, so have other men. Bullington has something more important than a wife in these strenuous days; he has an appetite, and when his meals are not cooked and served to meet his inner cravings he rises from the table, demands a new deck of cards, and sends his wife down to the kitchen to discharge the cook. All the resolution delicate and refined she can summon is destroyed in one blow of the cook's mighty fist on the kitchen table. The house jumps and weeping wifey flees to hubby. It is now his turn, and the scene that follows is highly amusing without breaking any crockery. After a second cook receives the same fate, Bullington decides that he will do the cooking, and he does. Fat and fussy, he sweats and swelters, scorches himself and scalds himself, seasons retail soup with wholesale condiments, but he sticks to it. He and wifey sit down to a self-prepared meal, and the rest is told by facial expression such as moving pictures seldom bring out. Bullington and his wife are desperate. They try living on Uneeda biscuits and a bottle of milk, but these are properties of the regulation motion-picture "poor room," where mother is fading away from the effects of a racking cough when the landlord comes to collect the rent. They learn over the phone that they can get a good cook, but she is an Englishwoman with three children. In spite of these manifest disadvantages, they take her, and she appears before them with her three children. The new cook's methods are startling in the extreme, but they are effective in the end. The wrecked kitchen resumes its normal cheer, and the dinner most formally served is without fault or flaw.