V
When he returned home it was almost dinner time. His mother and Ethel and Robert were still out. The Cook met him with a lugubrious face.
“Now, Master William,” she said, “can I trust you to give a message to your Ma.”
“Yes, Cook,” said William virtuously.
“Me cold in me ’ead’s that bad I can’t stand on me feet no longer. That ’ussy Ellen wouldn’t give up ’er night hout to ’elp me—not she, and yer Ma said if I’d leave things orl ready to dish hup I might go and rest afore dinner ’f I felt bad. Well, she’ll be hin hany minute now and just tell ’er it’s hall ready to dish up. Tell ’er I ’aven’t made no pudd’n but I’ve hopened a bottle of stewed pears.”
“All right, Cook,” said William.
Cook took the paper-backed copy of “A Mill Girl’s Romance” from the kitchen dresser and slowly sneezed her way up the back stairs.
William was to all intents and purposes alone in the house. He wandered into the kitchen. There was a pleasant smell of cooking. Several saucepans simmered on the gas stove. On the table was a glass dish containing the stewed pears. His father hated cold stewed fruit. He often said so. Suddenly William had yet another brilliant idea. He’d make a proper pudding for his father. It wouldn’t take long. The cookery book was on the dresser. You just did what the book told you. It was quite easy.
WILLIAM WENT ON BREAKING EGGS TILL NOT ANOTHER
EGG REMAINED TO BE BROKEN.