BOB HELPS TO GET DINNER
"GUESS who!" said a voice behind Bettina, as two hands blinded her eyes.
"Why, Bob, dear! Good for you! How did you get home so early?"
"I caught a ride with Dixon in his new car. And I thought you might need me to help get dinner; it's nice to be needed! But here I've been picturing you toiling over a hot stove, and, instead, I find you on the porch with a magazine, as cool as a cucumber!"
"The day of toiling over a hot stove in summer is over. At least for anyone with sense! But I'm glad you did come home early, and you can help with dinner. Will you make the French dressing for the salad? See, I'll measure it out, and you can stir it this way with a fork until it's well mixed and a little thick."
"I know a much better way than that. Just watch your Uncle Bob; see? I'll put it in this little Mason jar and shake it. It's a lot easier and—there you are! We'll use what we need tonight, put the jar away in the ice-box, and the next time we can give it another good shaking before we use it."
"Why, Bob, what an ingenious boy you are! I never would have thought of that!"
"You married a man with brains, Betty dear! What is there besides the salad?"
"Halibut steak. It's Friday, you know, and there is such good inexpensive fish on the market. A pound is plenty for us. The potatoes are ready for the white sauce, the beans are in the fireless cooker, and for dessert there is fresh pineapple sliced. The pineapple is all ready. Will you get it, dear? In the ice-box in a covered jar."
"Why didn't you slice it into the serving dish?"