CHAPTER VI.

AFFORDS SOME ENTERTAINMENT.

ere is a letter from Basil, Jennie,” said Marion, as they settled down to work after dinner. “It came the first thing this morning, but you went away without noticing it.”

“Thank you,” said Jennie, with great dignity, “I saw the letter quite well, but I know better than to open an epistle from a school-boy brother on the first of April before twelve o’clock. If he thinks he is going to play his tricks on me, he is vastly mistaken. You see I have waited until the witching hour of half-past seven, so the joke turns against himself now. I wonder the masters at Oundle don’t keep him better employed.”

Marion suggested that it was more than probable that this letter, if its contents were as Jane suggested, had not been submitted to the masters for their perusal. She added further that perhaps the weight of advancing years was having a sobering effect on his unruly spirits, and that possibly the letter was only an ordinary one after all.

“Open it, Jennie,” said Ada. “Brace yourself up for the effort, and don’t keep us any longer in suspense.”

So Jane opened it. The others watched her face, and laughed heartily as they saw her expression of triumphant indignation as she read her mischievous brother’s letter.

“I knew what it would be,” she exclaimed. “It is not a letter at all! Just a set of nonsense rules for housekeepers.”

“Read it out,” laughed Marion. But now Jane was laughing herself too much to do so. So Marion took up the paper and began.

“‘Rules for the Guidance of Young Housekeepers.

“‘Rule 1. If you wish to chop suet but have no chopper, go to the coal-cellar and take the coal-hammer. A good housewife will always do this.’”

“The idea!” cried Jane. “He once heard me reading out the notes I had made on a demonstration to working women that one of the teachers at the cookery school gave to the students. She was always telling us how to contrive cleverly, but she certainly never said that!”

Marion continued:—

“‘Rule 2. If a dainty savoury is required at a short notice, carefully remove the jam from some raspberry tarts of the first water, and fill in the vacuum thus obtained with selected portions of curry-powder mingled with lard.’”

“Is that another reminiscence of yours, Jennie?” laughed Ada.

“No, certainly not. But it reminds one of the sort of advice given in some of the ‘answers to correspondents’ in the cookery columns of a fashion paper. He must have bought one and got the style without the substance. He and Jimmy Spriggins must have concocted this between them.”

Jimmy Spriggins was Basil Orlingbury’s chosen friend, and was known as his companion in mild practical jokes of this nature. Jennie took the paper from Ada and read on.

“‘Rule 3. A highly cultivated Gorgonzola cheese is a source of true ekonomy.’ (Oh, the spelling!) ‘It is not necessary to eat it at all, as the full flavour may be obtained by holding pieces of bread on a toasting-fork before the cheese for ten minutes.

“‘Rule 4. To make sure nobody does eat the cheese, gum a notice on it: “You are requested not to worry the Gorgonzola!!”

“‘Rule 5. It is quite time another cake came this way. Please see that the plums in it are well within shouting distance. The last was rattling good.’”

“Is that the end?” asked Marion.

“I should think so, and quite enough, indeed,” said Jane. “The impudence of those two boys to wind up by calmly asking for another cake! Why, it is not a month since we sent them one.”

“Well, Marion did,” said Ada; “I don’t know that you and I had much to do with it. I think the hint is to us this time.”

“Well,” returned Jane magnanimously, “I was young once myself, so I forgive the young people. They shall have their cake and eat it,” she added, with the air of quoting a proverb. “I will make a cake between the classes to-morrow, and let it bake during the last class.”

Jane had from twelve o’clock until two o’clock to herself, and her last class was from two until four.

True to her promise she made a substantial cake. We will copy the recipe out of her note-book.

Basil’s Cake.

Ingredients.—1½ lb. flour, 1 lb. dripping, ¾ lb. currants, ¾ lb. raisins, 1 lb. sugar, 1 dessertspoonful of baking powder, 5 eggs, ½ gill of milk.

Method.—Work the dripping to a cream; work in the sugar and cream that; beat in the eggs one by one, putting a little flour with each to prevent their curdling; stir in the currants, washed, dried and floured, and the raisins, stoned and chopped; mix in the flour and baking powder, and lastly the milk. Bake about two hours.

This cake was baked in a good hot oven, in a tin lined with greased paper and standing on a baking-sheet spread with a thick layer of sand.

Jane left it in her class-room on a sieve all night, and brought it home the next day when it was cold; and she and Ada packed it up and sent it to Basil at Oundle, where it was received with much rejoicing, and where it soon disappeared.

“It is just this, you know,” said Jane meditatively, as she curled herself up in the armchair, one evening after dinner. “It is just this. I expect people are making jokes about our housekeeping and wondering how we are getting on.”

“I daresay they are, my dear,” remarked Marion with equanimity, as she looked up from her lace-work.

“No doubt many of our acquaintances are quite confident that we live chiefly on bread and dripping, with cold porridge as an occasional variation,” said Ada, “but don’t let that fact worry you, Jane. Think of the delicious soup we have just had and be thankful.”

“Oh, I would not care if they did say so, of course. But don’t you think it would be quite delicious to give a little luncheon party and ask——”

“A very good idea, Jennie,” broke in Marion. “Certainly we will have a luncheon party, but it must be on a Saturday, so that you can help me to cook.”

“We will ask Julia and Mary Holmes, then,” said Ada, “I have not seen them for an age, and I know they would like to know how we are getting on.”

The Holmes were two school friends of the Orlingburys, who had come to London to study music and were living in a boarding-house in Bayswater.

“Whom will you invite, Marion?” inquired Ada.

“My cousin Madge, I think.”

“Yes, do,” said Jennie. “I want to hear all about her visit to Brighton. Can I ask Dora Hopwood? She is in town. I saw her to-day; she came to my class to see me.”

Dora Hopwood had been in training at the cookery school at the same time as Jane, and the latter looked forward with a thrill of pride to showing her prowess to “one who knew.”

“That will be as many as we can seat, then,” said Marion. “If we invite any more, Abigail will have too much to do, and get flurried. Jennie, will you make a Charlotte Russe by way of a sweet? It can be made the day before.”

“Yes, I can make that in the evening when I get home, and during the day I can make a Victoria sandwich—we shall want another sweet.”

“Let me exhibit one of my few accomplishments,” said Ada laughing, “and fry some fish. Would sole be too dear, Marion? We shall have to be very economical to make up for this extravagance.”

Marion said she thought they might afford sole for once, so that was settled, and she suggested some fillet of veal by way of a meat course.

“Yes,” said Jane eagerly. “Let us have a nice little joint of fillet of veal, with mushrooms and pretty little button tomatoes round it.”

Marion reminded her that pretty little button tomatoes did not flourish in April, so she must forego them, and be content with the mushrooms, half a pound of which would suffice to garnish the dish.

“If we have mushrooms round the dish, I should think fried potato croquettes would be nice to hand with them, and some French beans,” said Jane.

“I did not know beans were in season,” said Ada.

“Not English beans, of course. These are foreign ones, at eightpence a pound. Half a pound are enough for a dish.”

“I should think that from four to four and a half pounds of veal would be sufficient for the joint,” said Marion meditatively. “Now, Jennie, here is our menu:”

The last item was Ada’s idea, and she undertook to make it herself.

The invitations were sent at once for the following Saturday, and were promptly accepted. On the Friday before, Jane made some Victoria sandwich, and brought it home in the evening. She also prepared a small round cake tin ready for the Charlotte Russe. This is her recipe for the latter—

Charlotte Russe.—Dissolve half a pint of red jelly and pour a layer into the tin to the depth of half an inch. Let this set. Cut some finger sponge cakes to the depth of the tin and arrange them round the sides, sticking them together with jelly. Melt half an ounce of gelatine in half a pint of milk, and when it is lukewarm stir it into half a pint of sweetened whipped double cream, with which two ounces of crystallised cherries have been mixed. Pour this into the prepared mould and turn out when cold.

On the Saturday morning, Ada made her custard. The fillet of veal was rolled and stuffed with a forcemeat made by boiling six ounces of calf’s liver and chopping it finely and mixing it with half a pound of breadcrumbs, two ounces of chopped suet, two tablespoonfuls of parsley, pepper and salt, and binding all together with beaten egg. The mushrooms that surrounded the joint had been peeled, rinsed and cooked separately in a little butter. Marion prepared and cooked the joint and dished it up; she also made the delicious potato croquettes, not one of which burst in the frying, and cooked the beans.

On the eventful day Jane had nothing to dish up that was hot, so behold her dressed in her best, welcoming the guests in the sitting-room, which she had decked with sweet April primroses, and which looked its brightest. The table was laid for lunch, and in the kitchen Ada was even now frying the soles and Marion dishing the veal. In a few minutes they took off their large aprons, gave the beaming Abigail a few last directions, and joined the party.

Abigail’s abilities had developed greatly of late, and she was fast becoming an intelligent waitress. On this occasion she served the fish with great promptitude, before it had time to get cold, and she contrived to keep the joint perfectly hot and crisp until it was time to carry it in, and the vegetables likewise.

The guests were delighted with everything, and the Holmes said with enthusiasm that they wished they could find a delightful third to live with them and manage for them as Marion did for the Orlingburys. Dora Hopwood told Jane that she was going to stay near Oundle in a few days, and she promised to see Basil, and give him a full and particular account of the feast, which she did; but he declared that it was all thanks to the directions given in “Hints to Housekeepers,” without which they would have known nothing.

We are glad to say that the lunch-party did not prove too great a strain upon the incomes of our three friends, as will be seen from the following lists—

Sunday.

Monday.

Tuesday.

Wednesday. (High Tea.)

Thursday.

Friday.

Saturday. (Lunch Party.)

Food List.

£s.d.
Two rabbits026
One pound of neck of mutton006
One and a half pounds of chuck steak013
Quarter of a pound of ox kidney002
Three mutton chops at 5d.013
Four and a half pounds of fillet of veal at 1s. 1d.0410½
Plaice009
Fresh haddock009
Two soles (one and a half pounds at 1s. 2d.)019
Rhubarb004
Half a pound of apples001½
Small tin of tomatoes004½
Half a pound of beans004
Half a pound of mushrooms006
Potatoes006
Finger sponge cakes006
Half a pint of cream009
One ounce of gelatine003½
Twelve eggs010
Tin of corned beef (breakfast three days)0011
Quaker oats006
Half a pound of tea0010
Flour005½
Milk019
Bread022
Two pounds of fat for rendering004
One and a half pounds of butter020
One pound of castor sugar003
One pound of loaf sugar001½
One and a half pounds of demerara002½
£180½

(To be continued.)

[“OUR HERO.”]

A TALE OF THE FRANCO-ENGLISH WAR NINETY YEARS AGO.

By AGNES GIBERNE, Author of “Sun, Moon and Stars,” “The Girl at the Dower House,” etc.