A calm, experienced cook with the patience of a saint might have felt some slight irritability if she had been placed in Molly’s shoes that evening. Nothing could be found. There was no can opener, no ice pick, the coffeepot had a limited capacity of four cups, and there was no broiler for the steak. It had to be cooked in a pan. It must be confessed also that it was the first time in her life Molly had ever cooked an entire meal. She had only made what her grandmother would have called “covered dishes,” or surprise dishes, and she now found preparing a dinner of four courses for six people rather a bewildering task.
At last there came the sound of voices in the next room. She put on the beefsteak. Her cheeks were flaming from the heat of the little stove. Her back ached from leaning over, and her head ached with responsibility and excitement.
“Is everything all right?” demanded Judith, blowing into the room with an air of “if it isn’t it will be the worse for you.”
“I believe so,” answered Molly.
“Why did you put the anchovies on crackers?” demanded the older girl irritably. “They should have been on toast.”
“Because there wasn’t enough bread for one thing, and because there was no way to toast it if there had been,” answered Molly shortly.
No cook likes to be interfered with at that crucial moment just before dinner.
“Here are your cap and apron,” went on Judith. “You know how to wait, don’t you? Always hand things at the left side.”
“Water happens to be poured from the right,” answered Molly, pinning on the little muslin cap. She was in no mood to be dictated to by Judith Blount or any other black-eyed vixen.
Judith made no answer. She seemed excited and absent-minded.