As the meal progressed it became evident that all were enjoying it and the men at least were loud in their praises of each new dish as it arrived.
“Well, I say. These peas taste as if they had just been picked,” said the guest, and his host replied:
“Say, Anne, these sweet potatoes beat anything we ever had. Get her to stay if you can. Pay her fifty dollars a week if you want to, only get her to stay!”
Mrs. Powers turned a languid smile of disgust on her woman guest and answered scornfully:
“Now, isn’t that just like a man? Candied sweet potatoes and a pretty face! That’s all they think about. I wish you’d see how she left the kitchen floor! And she had plenty of time to clean it up before she began to get dinner.”
“Well, if you ask me,” said her husband heartily, “I’d say cleaning kitchen floors wasn’t her job.”
All these things she heard in stage whispers that were not intended for her ears, as she went back and forth bringing dishes and serving new courses.
At the salad even the ladies waxed a little kindly, but when the ice cream came on and with it the two great luscious cakes there was loud applause from the gentlemen, and it was evident that if a position in high school depended upon making good cake Joyce had won it. She hastily placed the last coffee-cup and retired precipitately from the diningroom, afraid that after all she was going to break down and cry. She was so tired!
But cry she wouldn’t. She had one more thing yet to do before anybody had a chance to come out in that kitchen. She would scrub that kitchen floor if it took the last bit of force she had left in her body.
So she closed the pantry and kitchen doors, donned her gingham apron again, and got down upon her knees with hot water, soap, and scrubbing-brush, and a great drying cloth she had found in the laundry. Such a scrubbing as that inlaid linoleum had it never had had before and never would likely have again!