“Yes, I know that.”
“But you should hear Mrs. Henshaw tell the story now, or Bertram. It seems she knew nothing whatever about cooking, and her trials and tribulations in getting that dinner on to the table were only one degree worse than the dinner itself, according to her story. Didn't you—er—notice anything?”
“Notice anything!” exploded Calderwell. “I noticed that Billy was so brilliant she fairly radiated sparks; and I noticed that Bertram was so glum he—he almost radiated thunderclaps. Then I saw that Billy's high spirits were all assumed to cover a threatened burst of tears, and I laid it all to him. I thought he'd said something to hurt her; and I could have punched him. Great Scott! Was that what ailed them?”
“I reckon it was. Alice says that since then Mrs. Henshaw has fairly haunted the kitchen, begging Eliza to teach her everything, every single thing she knows!”
Calderwell chuckled.
“If that isn't just like Billy! She never does anything by halves. By George, but she was game over that dinner! I can see it all now.”
“Alice says she's really learning to cook, in spite of old Pete's horror, and Eliza's pleadings not to spoil her pretty hands.”
“Then Pete is back all right? What a faithful old soul he is!”
Arkwright frowned slightly.
“Yes, he's faithful, but he isn't all right, by any means. I think he's a sick man, myself.”