“I think that looks quite festive,” said Mrs. Welles, surveying the effect. “Will you have autumn leaves for the buffet?”
“I confess I don’t like them in rooms, beautiful as they are on trees; I thought of filling those tall jars with these ferns and putting single sprays of them in tall champagne glasses between the dishes of sandwiches.”
“That will be prettier.”
Molly had decided, as Marta would be a shy and possibly awkward waitress, to have everything except soup and coffee arranged prettily on the sideboard, and every gentleman could help himself and a lady. The coffee and consommé would be sent round, and a small table had a tea-equipage arranged on it. Mrs. Welles would steer Marta to safety, when she should start with the waiter. It was a matter for discussion whether Marta should be called upon at all, and she was admitted to service simply as a pleasure to herself; Molly knew she would be greatly disappointed if she were not allowed to take some active part in the proceedings.
“You are a curious girl, Molly,” Mrs. Welles had said when she heard Molly’s reason. “It would not have occurred to me.”
“Nor to me, perhaps, if I had not remembered that this girl has no acquaintances about here, and to the festive German nature to sit in a quiet kitchen, and hear voices and laughter, must be infinitely more dull than making herself useful and seeing the faces of those who laugh and talk. I can see she is quite excited by the thought of numbers of people.”
The sideboard was moved into the pantry off the dining-room; two Albert biscuit boxes were put, one at each end of it, a small board (one of a set of hanging book-shelves removed for the occasion) was placed on them and then covered with a fine white napkin; at each end a vase of ferns, and along it, disposed so that the colors would show to best advantage, were the iced cakes and macaroons. On the sideboard itself another long white napkin was laid, and here were to be the dishes of sandwiches; the arrangement of this beforehand freed Molly from anxiety, and when the door of the pantry was closed it was not seen; yet with it open the sideboard was so placed that it and nothing else was visible from the room. A bracket lamp was to be fastened so as to light it up as much as the interior of the dining-room. When the arrangements were all made, Mrs. Welles and Molly repaired to the kitchen. The dinner was quietly cooking and Marta had just got through her work.
“I will clear the soup first, because I want you to see it, Marta.” Molly took the two whites of eggs and their shells left from the mayonnaise and two more; then she beat up shells and all to a froth, mixed a small cup of the cold soup with them, and poured the whole into the soup, beating all the while till it was at boiling-point again; then she drew it back from the fire and left it ten minutes. While it settled, she put a large mixing-bowl on the table, and a colander in that; then an old napkin, that she had dipped into boiling water and wrung out, was laid over the colander. In ten minutes the egg was hanging in the soup like white curds and the soup itself looked quite clear.
It was poured through the cloth and allowed to drip. Molly lifted the colander, and when the soup had run through removed it without squeezing. The soup lay in the bowl like clear weak tea. Molly added a few drops of caramel (see [Chapter XIII].), and then tasted it for seasoning. The caramel only made it a shade darker than it was, just a bright straw color. The boiling with the vegetables had reduced it to about five quarts. Intending it to be so reduced had caused Molly to omit part of the salt; if salted for eight quarts and reduced to five it would be too salt to use, as salt never evaporates.
The soup was now put into a marbleized preserving-pan, which would give no more taste than a china bowl, and be ready to boil up when required.