“How jolly!” she exclaimed. “That lets me out of a tennis match with the Bensons and Ted Farnum, and we can have the afternoon clear for this.”
“Then will you excuse me for a few minutes, Mary?” Betty asked anxiously. “Our cook has gone, and I’m taking her place. I want to be sure that you’ll have some luncheon.”
Mary lifted haughty eyebrows. “Can’t one of the second maids see to that?” she asked, getting up and going over to the window. “Oh, well, if it’s going to put you out, I won’t stay. Besides, it looks clearer already, so we may play tennis after all. Oh, no, thank you, I shouldn’t think of staying if you’re going to make company of me, as they say in the country. I remember at my aunt’s in New Hampshire, they never could have any one for Monday dinner, because it was wash-day. Well, we’ve got a good deal done. I’ll drop in at Milly’s, perhaps, on my way home, and see what she thinks about our cast.”
Without waiting to find her apron, Betty rushed to the kitchen, fully expecting to find Mrs. Wales and Maggie there, and lunch well under way,—which would have been rather a disgrace to the young lady who had begged to be allowed to act as cook, but on the whole a comfortable arrangement. Instead, however, the kitchen was deserted.
“Oh, dear!” soliloquized Betty sadly. “I wonder what mother meant to have. I remember now that she went out. I wonder what there is to have. Maggie might know—but she probably wouldn’t. I’ll ask her, though, if she’s down setting the table.”
Maggie was laying the table, but she had no ideas on the subject of possible luncheon dishes. So Betty found some eggs, got a chafing-dish ready, and had all her preparations made for a delicious omelette, when Will came in, exasperated at Cousin Joe’s fussiness, and very hungry, and reminded her that he hated eggs.
“Oh, Will! I’m so sorry! Well, anyhow you love strawberry jam.”
“Bread and jam aren’t specially filling,” grumbled Will.
“Couldn’t you begin on that?” suggested Betty bravely. “And in the meantime I’ll find you something else that is filling.”
“When are we going to have a cook, anyhow?” demanded Will, when Betty had taken her seat again, having instructed Maggie to slice some cold roast beef.