"Oh--oh, isn't it awful," she cried, "the mayonnaise won't may."
It was the last anxiety, and, in the matter of the pints of the Leighton girls, quite the last straw. Just when they had begun to be confident of their party, the real backbone of the thing had given out.
Dr. Harry removed a cigarette from his lips.
"Hey--what's that?" he asked. "Mayonnaise--ripping! I knew an American Johnnie who made it. Bring it here, and we'll put it right."
Mabel spread her hands mutely. "In this atmosphere?" she asked.
Oh! They had soon the windows open. Harry insisted he could make mayonnaise. "You don't meet American men for nothing, let me tell you," he said. It was fun to see him supplied with plate, fork and bottles. He looked at Mabel's attempt at dressing.
"Good gracious!" he said, "where's the egg?"
Mabel turned rather faint. "I put in the white," said she.
Dr. Harry roared. Then he explained carefully and kindly.
"Mayonnaise is an interesting affair--apart from the joys of eating it. A chemical action takes place between the yoke of an egg and the oil and vinegar. You could hardly expect the white to play up."