The tears of pain were stinging into Joyce’s eyes but she shook her head and tried to smile.
“No, thank you,” she said, “I haven’t time to wait. I’ll just put it in cold water a minute to take the smart out, and then if you have some baking soda I’ll cover it up and it’ll be all right. It’s not much of a burn anyway, and it was my fault your meat burned. If I hadn’t hindered you, you wouldn’t have forgotten it. I’m afraid you were going to have company too. I think I ought to pay for that meat.”
“Oh, no, it wasn’t your fault. I ought not to have left that grease in the pan. I knew it was there and I just forgot it. But I don’t know what I’m going to do about the chops. It’s Wednesday afternoon and all the stores are closed. My company comes on the five o’clock train, my cousins from New York on their way up from Florida, and they’re only going to stop over till the nine o’clock train. I don’t see them very often and I’d like to have a little something extra, and now I don’t know what I am going to do. I shouldn’t have broiled them so long beforehand only I wanted to get the smell out of the house before the folks came, and I knew I could keep them warm in the warming oven all right. Now what in time am I going to do for meat?”
“Haven’t you got anything at all in the house?” asked Joyce turning from dusting her burns with soda.
“Nothing but some ham. Got plenty of that on hand, bought a whole one the other day, but one doesn’t want to give New York City folks fried ham for dinner. That’s kind of farm food. I wanted a little something nice.”
“Did you ever bake it in milk?” asked Joyce, wishing she knew some way to help the woman for she understood her distress and felt that she was really to blame for having bothered her when she was busy.
“No, I never tried it. I’ve heard some say they cook it that way, but I don’t know how. Do you? I don’t see how that would be any different from stewed ham.”
“Oh, but it is! It’s delectable. If you can get the things quickly I’ll fix it for you. You’ve just about time if you want dinner at five. It has to bake an hour. Have you plenty of milk? And mustard?”
“Loads of milk. We have a cow, and mustard too, but what do you want with mustard?”
“You’ll see,” said Joyce. “Cut the ham in thick slices, as much as you want. My! That’s nice ham, nice and pink looking and good and big. How many people? Yes, I guess you need two slices. Can I use these two iron frying pans? I think it bakes best in iron. You light the oven please, turn it on full power. Now, see, I take a handful of mustard and rub it into the meat, all over thickly, and put it into the pan. Then fill it up with milk till it almost covers the meat. Put it into the oven and bake it just an hour, a good hot oven, and it will be the sweetest, tenderest thing you ever put into your mouth. There, there’s just room enough for both pans, and you needn’t worry about meat. They’ll like that I know. I found the recipe in an advertisement of ham in a magazine and I tried it. Everybody loves it. Now I must go, but I just wish I could wait and help you to make up for spoiling those chops. You don’t know anywhere I could go that they would rent me a piece of land, do you?”