“To think,” said Mrs. Atterton, raising cold beef to her lips at luncheon, “that it is all over; and that we have food in this house to feed a hundred people!”
“What!” said Bill, jumping up with a sort of war-whoop and flinging down his napkin. “Girls—do not eat cold beef when a banquet waits without! Hi! Minion!” to the convulsed Sims, who adored him and regarded his vilest pun as the essence of refined art, “Fetch forth the baked meats which the seneschal has basted for the morrow’s feast.”
“A seneschal isn’t a cook, you idiot!” laughed Norah.
“There is some boned turkey, ma’am,” suggested Sims at Mrs. Atterton’s elbow, “and a good many of the sweets are made.”
“Come and let’s see for ourselves,” shouted Bill, who was rather beyond himself with all the excitement. “Andy—Elizabeth—Father, come on! Norah, don’t be grand to-day. Sims, lead on to the larder!”
So, pulling, pushing, shouting, dancing by Mrs. Atterton’s side like a lunatic at large, did that insane Bill manage to get his family out of the dining-room and into the great still-room, where the fine dishes that were ready for the luncheon next day had been already placed. It was only when the cook hurried in, flushed and indignantly astonished, that they knew how utterly ridiculous they were.
“Now, cook,” said the brazen Bill, the only one not abashed, “as we can’t have a wedding feast to-morrow, we’ll have one to-day. We’ll take the six best sweets and the boned turkey, and you can have a jollification in the servants’ hall with the rest.”
“Madam!” said the cook, turning upon her mistress. It was all she could say, but it saved her from bursting.
“Bill—this is really too——” began Mrs. Atterton when the queer spirit which had inspired her husband at the dancing class, months ago, took possession of him again and made him seize a tall tower made of pink and white cream, step forward jauntily, and call back over his shoulder a reckless—
“I’ll lead—everybody a dish. Now—Tum-tum-te-tum-tum-tum-tum!”