CHAPTER VI
HESTER’S DINNER
‟ISN’T it splendiferous!” cried Betty, as they reached the beach. “Hester Laverack, you are the most exasperating girl! You just sit there like a bump on a log. Why don’t you shout, or turn a handspring, or do something to express your delight?”
“Let dogs delight
To bark and bite,”
said Hester; “ ’tisn’t my nature to. I’m enjoying it all just as much as you are, but I don’t make such a fuss about it.”
“Well, I don’t see how any one can look at that great, boiling blue ocean, and those jolly big waves coming up ker-smash! and not feel like yelling. I shall have to burst into song. ‘Columbia the gem of the o-shun!’ ”
“Betty, you haven’t a speck of romance in your nature,” said Hester, laughing. “Now if Daisy were here she’d quote an appropriate ditty instead of howling a national air.”
“Pooh! I’d rather have real patriotism than all Daisy’s make-believe romantic notions. She puts on all that, but she can’t fool me.”
“Oh, I don’t think she pretends always.”
“Yes, she does; she’s never sincere; and that’s the one thing I can’t stand. I’d rather be honest and say what I mean than to be the petted favorite of everybody, as she is.”
“Marguerite has so many talents,” put in Hester; “she does everything so well that people can’t help praising her.”
“She doesn’t do things well,” went on Betty; “she pretends to. But she’s lazy, and she thinks whenever she gets half a chance—”
“Oh, dear!” said Hester. “Don’t let’s be so hard on poor Daisy, especially when she’s hard at work getting our breakfast. Let’s take a run to the end of the board walk and back, and then go up to the house, for even a snail would have breakfast ready by that time.”
The girls got up and shook off a flying shower of sand which nearly buried poor Timmy Loo. But he did some shaking on his own account, and scampered along beside them. All at once he gave a squeal and darted ahead, and then flew back with a great news written all over his funny little face.
“He’s found somebody,” said Hester. “Who is it, Tim?”
Tim flew round the corner of an old pier, the girls followed, and there, leaning cozily against a post, were Marguerite and Nan.
“Did you come for us?” said Marguerite. “We were just going to start. We’ve been here a long while, and we’ve had the loveliest time.”
“You have!” exclaimed Hester. “How did you get here?”
The two scapegraces laughed, and Nan said: “Well, you see, it was such a pleasant morning, and such a short walk, we left our hats to home, and, not to disturb the rest of you, we climbed out of our window, and crawled down that low sloping roof, and jumped off.”
“Then you didn’t get our note?” said Betty.
“What note?”
“Oh, girls, there’s no breakfast ready—or anything.”
“Well,” confessed Marguerite, “when we jumped down by the shed steps, there was the pail of milk, and—we just took a drink, and, truly, we didn’t mean to stay so long; but Nannie’s been writing a poem, and I hated to interrupt her till she finished.”
“Yes, yes,” said Betty, “that’s all very well; but I’m hungry as a bear, and I’m going home to forage.”
The others agreed to this, and Betty and Hester led their wheels, while they all walked along together.
Half-way home they met Helen and Jessie coming down to the beach. A general explanation followed, and Marjorie exclaimed:
“Well, we are the best set of housekeepers I ever did see! But perhaps that duck of a Millicent has a gay old breakfast all ready for us. It would be just like her to do it, and I say let’s hurry up and not keep her waiting.”
Helen and Jessie turned back with them to see the fun; and the six, with Timmy Loo at their heels, burst into the house. No one was in sight; but as the little dog wagged his sagacious tail and hopped upstairs, they all followed and bundled into Millicent’s room.
That absurd damsel was still in bed, propped up against a pillowy background; a red shawl draped her shoulders, and a wabbly wreath of goldenrod lay gracefully on her black curls, while a shaking mound under the bed-covers was the only indication of Marjorie’s presence. Rosie sat on the edge of a chair, her hands tightly clasped and her eyes wide open, enthralled by the tales of magical experiences that Millicent was dramatically pouring forth.
“Why, Millicent Payne!”
“Why, Marjorie Bond!”
“For goodness’ sake!”
“Well, you are nice ones!”
“Look at that tray!”
“Did you ever?”
These exclamations, being all shouted at once, conveyed no intelligence, and the serene Millicent waved her scepter, which was a long stalk of goldenrod, and said:
“Minions and slaves, how dare you rush thus unannounced into the royal presence? And—where in the world have you been?”
Concerted explanation followed, and Marguerite protested so prettily that she would gladly have prepared breakfast if she had received the notice before she jumped out of the window that of course she was forgiven.
Timmy Loo had stationed himself before the table which held the tray of empty dishes, and sat up motionless, his fore paw extended in his very best beggarly manner.
“You precious poodle-puppy,” said Marjorie, catching him up. “You haven’t had a single speck to eat this day; and I think it’s a shame, so I do! Girls, we’re a high old cooking club; we’ve been here nearly twenty-four hours and we’ve had one meal! Now I call a conference of the powers, and let’s settle on some definite line of action, or we’ll have the agent from the Associated Charities down here giving us soup-tickets. Rosie, won’t you please take Tim down to the kitchen and give him some bread and milk? And the Blue Ribbon Cooking Club will please come to order.”
Marjorie had on her “presidential pose,” and when that was the case the girls always became rational and quit fooling.
But Hester broke in with her slow English drawl: “Miss President, I’ve a suggestion to make. With the exception of Helen and myself, who were breakfasting out, and the somewhat eccentric-looking lady in the red scarf and her fellow-conspirator, who breakfasted in their room, our members have had neither bit nor sup. I therefore propose that Helen and I be excused from the meeting, with the understanding that we will agree to any decisions the rest of you may come to, and that we go down and get breakfast for the crowd.”
This speech was received with enthusiastic clapping of hands and cries of “Good for you!” “Go ahead!”
“Furthermore,” Hester went on, “as it is already half after eleven, I move we let bygones be bygones and make this breakfast a dinner.”
“All right,” said Marjorie; “go on, and cook whatever you like, whichever way you want to.”
So the English sister and her chum disappeared.
“Now, my fellow-sufferers,” said their president, “we’ve got to have some sort of a system. We thought it was going to be such lots of fun to do all the work, and already we’re sneaking out of it. Do you want to give up the scheme and go home?”
“No!” chorused the crowd.
“Well, then, here’s my plan, and any one can improve upon it who wants to. We’ll have three meals a day, with dinner at noon and a supper or high tea at six o’clock, and we’ll take turns by twos. Two is enough to have in the kitchen at once besides Rosie, and then, having four pairs of people and three meals, we won’t have to cook the same kinds of things each time. Am I clear?”
“Clear as mud,” said Millicent; “your plan would be lucid to a doddering idiot.”
“That’s why you understand it so thoroughly,” returned the president, with a withering glance at the enchanted princess.
“Now Helen and Hester are getting dinner to-day, so suppose Marguerite and Nan take charge to-night; then Millikens and I will get breakfast for you to-morrow morning,—and we’ll do it, too,—and Betty and Jessie can dine us, and so on over again.”
All agreed that the plan was fair, and Marguerite announced that any one who felt at all incapable could call on her for assistance at any time, and she would always be glad to cook, whether it was her turn or not.
Betty sniffed a little, and said that if Daisy was on time with her scheduled performances that was all that would be expected or required of her; at which Marguerite looked injured, but put her good intentions into practice at once by running down to help Hester.
The kitchen was already a scene of action. Hester possessed administrative power as well as executive ability, and while she roasted the beef and made the soup she directed her helpers, Helen and Rosie, so that everything was going on in the most systematic manner.
“Oh, do let me help you!” said Marguerite. “What are you going to have?”
“I only know how to cook a few things,” said Hester, “so I’m going to have those. Roast beef and Yorkshire pudding and browned potatoes. And I know two soups, bean and tomato. Bean is the best, but we didn’t have any beans, and anyway you have to soak ’em overnight; so I’m making the other.”
“Let me see you make it; I love to watch people cook. What do you do first?”
“Why, I’ve just put the tomatoes on to heat; one apiece,—that’s nine,—cut up in a quart of water. Then I threw in with them a small onion cut in bits, a couple of stalks of celery, and a little parsley. I would put in a bay-leaf if I had it, but I haven’t. Then a tablespoonful of sugar.”
“Sugar in soup! I never heard of such a thing.”
“Oh, yes, in tomato soup; and then a little pepper and a teaspoonful of salt. Now while that’s cooking I put a large tablespoonful of butter in this tiny spider. It melts quickly, and then I stir in a tablespoonful of flour. You see it’s a thin, smooth paste. Now the tomatoes are boiling, so I turn it in and stir while it thickens. Have you the colander ready, Rosie? Now I strain it all through the colander into this big bowl, and then turn it back again into the kettle, and set it on the back of the range until we want to use it. Now that’s done.”
“And it’s beautiful, too,” commented Marguerite. “I say, Hester, let’s have a salad.”
“No,” said Hester, decidedly; “I can’t make salad dressing, and I’m running this dinner myself. You can have salad when it’s your turn. If you want to help, go and set the table.” Hester’s manner was brusque and very matter-of-fact; but she meant no offense, and Marguerite knew it.
“Come on, Rosie,” cried the merry Matron; “I’ll show you how to set the table. Goodness! Millicent, what are you doing?”
Millicent, evidently freed from her enchantment, stood on the dining-table with a kerosene-can in one hand and a lamp-chimney in the other. The lamp-shade was on her head, and she was with difficulty holding the swing-lamp still while she filled it.
“Why didn’t you take the lamp down?” began Marguerite.
“Who’s Lamplighter of this establishment, I’d like to know! This is the only correct and elegant way to fill a swing-lamp. It is a patented way, and recommended by all the crowned heads of Europe, of which I am one. Now, you see, I set down my can, then my chimney, replace the shade—and there you are!” And Millicent sprang off the table and betook herself and her can to the Grotto.
“Oh, there’s kerosene all over the table—shall I scrub it, miss?” said Rosie, anxiously.
“No,” said the Matron; “just wipe it off with a dry cloth. Now lay the felt and then the table-cloth—so; no, wait, Rosie, get it perfectly straight; almost straight is crooked, you know. There, that will do.”
Marguerite arranged an embroidered centerpiece in place just as Helen came in with a dish of fruit.
“This is our dessert,” she announced.
“ ‘THIS IS THE ONLY CORRECT AND ELEGANT WAY TO FILL A SWING-LAMP.’ ”
“Set it right here,” said Marguerite; “just the thing for the center of the table. Now, Helen, you finish showing Rosie how to set the table, will you? I promised to help Hester make the Yorkshire pudding.”
But the pudding was already made and browning.
“Oh, I wanted to see you do it,” said the aggrieved Marguerite; “what did you put in?”
“It’s awfully easy,” said Hester, “and yet so few people make it right. I just took a quart of milk—no, I only took part of it at first. Well, first of all I beat two eggs very light, and added a teaspoonful of salt and two tablespoonfuls of flour and about a third of the quart of milk. Then I beat all that to a nice, smooth batter, and added the rest of the milk. Then I turned it into a boiling-hot baking-pan with about three tablespoonfuls of nice beef dripping, and gravy from the roasting joint; now it is nearly cooked, so I add a little more gravy from the joint-pan.”
“Your expressions are so funny, Hester; I never heard of a ‘joint-pan’ before.”
“Why, what do you call it?”
“Oh, I don’t know; meat-pan, I suppose.”
Then Betty invaded the kitchen, and peeped into the soup-kettle, remarking: “I don’t think there’s very much there; I could eat all that myself. What else is there, Hester?”
Hester’s menu seemed small to hungry Betty, and she said so; and Marguerite observed:
“I offered to make a salad, but Hester said no.”
“We’ll do it, all the same,” said Betty. “Hester may rule Britannia if she wants to, but she can’t rule Hilarity Hall. Come on, Daisy; let’s mutiny. As Peeler-in-Chief I’ll peel some tomatoes, and you stir up a mayonnaise.”
“All right,” said Marguerite; “or rather, as Hester is managing this dinner, she can stir while I dump in the things.”
Marguerite was “great on mayonnaise,” and she broke two eggs, daintily separating the whites and yolks, and put the latter in a soup-plate, stirring them round and round with a silver fork. Then she added oil, drop by drop at first, and then a trifle faster as the dressing began to thicken.
“Here, Hester; it’s all nonsense to say you can’t do this, and you Stoker! Come and stir it while I hunt up some more ingrejents.”
So Hester stirred away briskly but evenly, and added oil, while Marguerite dropped in a tablespoonful of vinegar at intervals. Then she flirted in a dash of Cayenne and sprinkled in a teaspoonful of salt, and then, taking the dish into her own hands, gave it a final whisk or two and declared it completed.
Betty had her tomatoes pared carefully and cored with an apple-corer; then Marguerite arranged them each on a few crisp lettuce-leaves, and filled the centers with her dressing.
And now all was ready, and Betty announced dinner by sounding a bicycle-bell. There was no table-bell to be found, so she blocked her bicycle beside her chair, and explained to Rosie that she must answer the summons.
The girls came flying to their places at table with the alacrity of horses in a well-ordered fire department, and Timmy Loo was so excited that he jumped up into Marjorie’s chair without realizing what he was doing. The Duchess brushed him out with scant ceremony, giving him a cracker to console himself with; but Tim spurned this, and sat up begging for sugar.
Rosie proved to be a deft waitress, and she brought in the soup and placed it before Marguerite, who presided very prettily.
But a hungry howl rent the air as the cover was removed, for certainly the soup looked very scant.
“Never mind,” said the tactful Matron. “We’ll divide it evenly, and we have several other courses.”
“Fish?” asked Jessie, hopefully, for she was fond of it.
“No,” said Hester, feeling as if she had defrauded the girls somehow; “but there’s a beautiful salad.”
Hester’s self-respect returned, however, with the next course, for the Yorkshire pudding was pronounced wonderful, and the roast was tender and beautifully cooked.
“It doesn’t seem a very big roast for two dollars and ten cents, does it?” said Marguerite, thinking of her accounts.
“Don’t be prosaic, Daisy,” said Nan; “never count the cost during the feast.”
Then the salad was brought, and was enjoyed and much complimented; and then the great dish of fruit was passed around.
“I didn’t make any pastry,” said Hester, apologetically; “for I had no time, and I thought the ripe fruit would do as well.”
“Yes, indeed,” said Marjorie, “I love pears. Ow!” And simultaneously Betty made a wry face and left the table.
“What is the matter?”
“Ugh! the fruit is all kerosene.”
The luckless Lamplighter looked up at the swing-lamp, and, sure enough, it was still dripping.
“I must have put in too much oil,” she said calmly, scrutinizing it with interest, “and it—it overflew.”
“I should think it did,” wailed Jessie, looking at her pretty centerpiece spotted with drops of oil.
“It won’t hurt it any,” said Marguerite. “I’ll wash it for you myself. Is there any more fruit?”
But there wasn’t, and the girls didn’t care very much anyway; and leaving the table to Rosie, they all went out on the veranda.