“Two clergymen,” counted Winona, “one wife, father, Louise, Tom, me—Florence is going out to supper, she said this morning. You’ll just make eight, Billy. Come and welcome, only please leave the fish-sauce alone.”
But Billy had already tied himself into a big pink apron, and was mixing butter and flour in a saucepan with every sign of knowing what he was about.
There was a brief, tense silence while the chicken, some white potatoes and onions, were put on to boil, sweet potatoes laid in the oven to be baked, and Clay sent into the garden for lettuce and radishes. They did not light any of the gas-stove burners except the one under the late Henry, because the afternoon was yet long. They went out on the porch and talked for a couple of hours. There was a general feeling that they mustn’t get too far away from the dinner.
About four Winona remembered to say to Tom, “Have you any bait-clams or oysters? We need them for our first course.”
“Bait!” said Tom. “Considering we’ve stolen the meat from the neighbors, and robbed the poor of the soup, and I caught the fish, we can afford to buy a few blue-points. I’ll go down and get them. Is there anything else you’d like while I’m down town?”
“Is it too late to order ice-cream?”
“I’m afraid so,” he said. “The ice-cream places won’t be open till five-thirty, and then only for an hour, you know.”
“The dairies are,” Winona remembered. “Please buy some cream on your way back, and we’ll find a receipt and make it. There are nuts and raisins in the house. Crackers—cheese.... I think we’ll have enough for dinner.”
“I shouldn’t wonder!” said her brother thoughtfully, as he walked away to get his wheel.
The others went back to the kitchen, and Billy went on with his sauce hollandaise—that is, he took it out of the bowl of water where it had been cooling, and put it in the ice-chest.