“Oh, certainly,” said Jo, “if there happens to be anything else you don’t care for, or that is bad for Cousin Martendijk’s inside——”
“Oh, no, thank you! We had a delicious dinner yesterday evening. Your cook is a capital hand. Oh, wait a moment, though, I had nearly forgotten. My good man is accustomed to have a cup of bouillon about eleven o’clock, and I a cup of chocolate—but it must be chicken-broth; he is not allowed beef-tea.”
“Very well,” said Jo, a vision immediately rising before her of the wrath of her cook when told that not only was she expected to make the cocoa-nut oil herself, but to prepare kaldoe[[44]] and chocolate at the very busiest hour of the morning. It was enough to make her give notice on the spot.
Mrs Van Elst, to tell the truth, stood in considerable awe of this cook, who was highly proficient in her art, used little butter, and did not appropriate much of the marketing money; and, I appeal to you, what mistress would not tremble at the thought of losing such a treasure?
She paved the way, therefore, with some friendly remarks, and even went the length of promising a new sarong before she broached the subject; and flattered herself that all was going to end smoothly, when cook all at once snatched up a basket of potatoes with one vicious jerk, and with another laid hold of the rice, and closed the door of the store-room behind her with a bang that thrilled her mistress from head to foot. Jo knew what to expect.
For the rest, Emily supplied a ready answer to the great question which haunts Indian no less than Dutch housewives: what are we to have for dinner to-day? It was virtually she who proposed the menu every day. “Do you know what I’d make to-day?” she would remark to Jo;—“one of those dishes of macaroni, with ham and cheese.” Or, “If you want to give Martendijk a treat, dear cousin, give him asparagus, he’s wild about that.” Or, “Do you never make tarts, Jo?—You do?—Well, I have a delicious recipe for one I can lend you if you like.”
It was really very kind of Emily, Jo thought; and she had little more cause to complain of her guest’s want of appetite, especially as Mrs Martendijk had taken upon herself to make sure that nothing came to table which might prove injurious to her husband’s digestion.
III.
Visiting is more of a burden than a pleasure in Holland, where people are confined within such narrow limits, and where the usual routine of daily life must be gone on with as usual.
The Dutch host may express the hope that you will “make yourself quite at home,” adding that you are perfectly free to do what you like; but when bedtime comes, he also informs you that they breakfast at eight sharp, and his wife asks you in the sweetest manner possible to be so good as not to keep the light burning; and both are rather hurt if you do not evince any great anxiety to cultivate the acquaintance of all their friends, and think it rather “strange” if you go out on your own account.