At the moment of seating themselves at table, they were joined by Uncle Landis, a middle-aged farmer whose preternaturally-shining face and plastered hair, not to mention a silence unbroken throughout the meal, gave plain proof of recent rigorous social instruction on the part of his help-meet.
The memory of that supper has always been a delight to Fessenden. The omelet was all golden foam; the puffed potatoes a white-and-brown cloud. The spiced cantaloupe and brandied peaches reminded him of the wonderful concoctions his Grandmother Winthrop had made—she who would never allow any one but herself to wash the glass and silver.
The hot Maryland beaten biscuits were crusty to the smoking hearts of them, withstanding his teeth’s assault just long enough to make their crumbling to fragments the more delicious. The chocolate, in blue china cups not too small, was served as the Spaniards serve it and as it ought to be served—of the consistency of molasses candy when poured into the pan.
And then came the creamy rice pudding for dessert, whereupon Fessenden won Mrs. Landis forever by asking for the receipt and gravely jotting it down in his notebook, in spite of Betty’s laughing eyes.
Betty’s talk flashed and sparkled to his sallies. She showed a self-possession remarkable in a farmer’s daughter who was encountering a man of the world for what must have been the first time in her life, as he fancied. Once or twice he felt that she had led him on to talk of himself and to expand his own ideas to a degree unusual in him.
“Betty, you’re a witch,” he declared at last. “I’ve been clattering away here like a watchman’s rattle. You can’t be interested in all this stuff about my cart-tail speeches for honest city government.”
“But I am interested, decidedly. I like to hear about men that do something—they’re a novelty.” Her frank smile warmed him. “I know there are enough worthless men in the world to make the useful ones count all the more. ‘Satan finds some mischief still for idle hands to do.’ That’s as true in Maryland as anywhere.”
“You’re a worldly-wise small person.”
“Oh, I read and think a little, Mr. Bob White.” She nodded her head at him until the blonde braid danced.
After supper Uncle Landis abruptly vanished. Aunty Landis lingered in the dining-room on the plea of clearing off the supper things—in point of fact, Fessenden saw her no more that night. Betty led the way to a couple of steamer-chairs at a corner of the porch.