Ollie said that she was a first-class cook, but when we dared her to prove it she forgot my wife was a lady and threw the coal-scuttle at her.
A day or two after Ollie arrived I decided to find out what merit there is in a vegetarian diet.
"All right," I said to the cook, after the last plate of hash with all its fond memories had disappeared, "this house is going on a diet for a few days, and henceforth we are all vegetarians, including the dog. Please govern yourself accordingly."
Ollie smiled Swedefully and whispered that vegetarianisms was where she lived.
Ollie said she could cook vegetables so artistically that the palate would believe them to be filet Mignon, with Pommery sauce, and then she started in to fool the Beef Trust and put all the butchers out of business.
Dinner time came and we were all expectancy.
The first course was mashed potatoes, which we just dabbled with gingerly.
The second course was potato chips, which we nibbled slightly while we looked eagerly at the butler's pantry.
The next course was French fried potatoes with some shoestring potatoes on the side, and I began to get nervous.
This was followed by a dish of German fried potatoes, some hash-browned potatoes and some potato sauté, whereupon my appetite got up and left the room.