HESTER’S DINNER
‟ISN’T it splendiferous!” cried Betty, as they reached the beach.
“Hester Laverack, you are the most exasperating girl! You just sit there
like a bump on a log. Why don’t you shout, or turn a handspring, or do
something to express your delight?”
“Let dogs delight
To bark and bite,”
said Hester; “’tisn’t _my_ nature to. I’m enjoying it all just as much
as you are, but I don’t make such a fuss about it.”
“Well, I don’t see how any one can look at that great, boiling blue
ocean, and those jolly big waves coming up ker-smash! and not feel like
yelling. I shall have to burst into song. ‘Co_lum_bia the _gem_ of the
_o_-shun!’”
“Betty, you haven’t a speck of romance in your nature,” said Hester,
laughing. “Now if Daisy were here she’d quote an appropriate ditty
instead of howling a national air.”
“Pooh! I’d rather have _real_ patriotism than all Daisy’s make-believe
romantic notions. She puts on all that, but she can’t fool me.”
“Oh, I don’t think she pretends always.”
“Yes, she does; she’s never sincere; and that’s the one thing I can’t
stand. I’d rather be honest and say what I mean than to be the petted
favorite of everybody, as she is.”
“Marguerite has so many talents,” put in Hester; “she does everything so
well that people can’t help praising her.”
“She _doesn’t_ do things well,” went on Betty; “she pretends to. But
she’s lazy, and she thinks whenever she gets half a chance—”
“Oh, dear!” said Hester. “Don’t let’s be so hard on poor Daisy,
especially when she’s hard at work getting our breakfast. Let’s take a
run to the end of the board walk and back, and then go up to the house,
for even a snail would have breakfast ready by that time.”
The girls got up and shook off a flying shower of sand which nearly
buried poor Timmy Loo. But he did some shaking on his own account, and
scampered along beside them. All at once he gave a squeal and darted
ahead, and then flew back with a great news written all over his funny
little face.
“He’s found somebody,” said Hester. “Who is it, Tim?”
Tim flew round the corner of an old pier, the girls followed, and there,
leaning cozily against a post, were Marguerite and Nan.
“Did you come for us?” said Marguerite. “We were just going to start.
We’ve been here a long while, and we’ve had the loveliest time.”
“You have!” exclaimed Hester. “How did you get here?”
The two scapegraces laughed, and Nan said: “Well, you see, it was such a
pleasant morning, and such a short walk, we left our hats to home, and,
not to disturb the rest of you, we climbed out of our window, and
crawled down that low sloping roof, and jumped off.”
“Then you didn’t get our note?” said Betty.
“What note?”
“Oh, girls, there’s no breakfast ready—or anything.”
“Well,” confessed Marguerite, “when we jumped down by the shed steps,
there was the pail of milk, and—we just took a drink, and, truly, we
didn’t mean to stay so long; but Nannie’s been writing a poem, and I
hated to interrupt her till she finished.”
“Yes, yes,” said Betty, “that’s all very well; but I’m hungry as a bear,
and I’m going home to forage.”
The others agreed to this, and Betty and Hester led their wheels, while
they all walked along together.
Half-way home they met Helen and Jessie coming down to the beach. A
general explanation followed, and Marjorie exclaimed:
“Well, we are the best set of housekeepers I ever _did_ see! But perhaps
that duck of a Millicent has a gay old breakfast all ready for us. It
would be just like her to do it, and I say let’s hurry up and not keep
her waiting.”
Helen and Jessie turned back with them to see the fun; and the six, with
Timmy Loo at their heels, burst into the house. No one was in sight; but
as the little dog wagged his sagacious tail and hopped upstairs, they
all followed and bundled into Millicent’s room.
That absurd damsel was still in bed, propped up against a pillowy
background; a red shawl draped her shoulders, and a wabbly wreath of
goldenrod lay gracefully on her black curls, while a shaking mound under
the bed-covers was the only indication of Marjorie’s presence. Rosie sat
on the edge of a chair, her hands tightly clasped and her eyes wide
open, enthralled by the tales of magical experiences that Millicent was
dramatically pouring forth.
“Why, Millicent Payne!”
“Why, Marjorie Bond!”
“For goodness’ sake!”
“Well, you _are_ nice ones!”
“Look at that tray!”
“Did you ever?”
These exclamations, being all shouted at once, conveyed no intelligence,
and the serene Millicent waved her scepter, which was a long stalk of
goldenrod, and said:
“Minions and slaves, how dare you rush thus unannounced into the royal
presence? And—where in the world have you been?”
Concerted explanation followed, and Marguerite protested so prettily
that she would gladly have prepared breakfast if she had received the
notice before she jumped out of the window that of course she was
forgiven.
Timmy Loo had stationed himself before the table which held the tray of
empty dishes, and sat up motionless, his fore paw extended in his very
best beggarly manner.
“You precious poodle-puppy,” said Marjorie, catching him up. “You
haven’t had a single speck to eat this day; and I think it’s a shame, so
I do! Girls, we’re a high old cooking club; we’ve been here nearly
twenty-four hours and we’ve had _one_ meal! Now I call a conference of
the powers, and let’s settle on some definite line of action, or we’ll
have the agent from the Associated Charities down here giving us
soup-tickets. Rosie, won’t you please take Tim down to the kitchen and
give him some bread and milk? And the Blue Ribbon Cooking Club will
please come to order.”
Marjorie had on her “presidential pose,” and when that was the case the
girls always became rational and quit fooling.
But Hester broke in with her slow English drawl: “Miss President, I’ve a
suggestion to make. With the exception of Helen and myself, who were
breakfasting out, and the somewhat eccentric-looking lady in the red
scarf and her fellow-conspirator, who breakfasted in their room, our
members have had neither bit nor sup. I therefore propose that Helen and
I be excused from the meeting, with the understanding that we will agree
to any decisions the rest of you may come to, and that we go down and
get breakfast for the crowd.”
This speech was received with enthusiastic clapping of hands and cries
of “Good for you!” “Go ahead!”
“Furthermore,” Hester went on, “as it is already half after eleven, I
move we let bygones be bygones and make this breakfast a dinner.”
“All right,” said Marjorie; “go on, and cook whatever you like,
whichever way you want to.”
So the English sister and her chum disappeared.
“Now, my fellow-sufferers,” said their president, “we’ve got to have
some sort of a system. We thought it was going to be such lots of fun to
do all the work, and already we’re sneaking out of it. Do you want to
give up the scheme and go home?”
“No!” chorused the crowd.
“Well, then, here’s my plan, and any one can improve upon it who wants
to. We’ll have three meals a day, with dinner at noon and a supper or
high tea at six o’clock, and we’ll take turns by twos. Two is enough to
have in the kitchen at once besides Rosie, and then, having four pairs
of people and three meals, we won’t have to cook the same kinds of
things each time. Am I clear?”
“Clear as mud,” said Millicent; “your plan would be lucid to a doddering
idiot.”
“That’s why _you_ understand it so thoroughly,” returned the president,
with a withering glance at the enchanted princess.
“Now Helen and Hester are getting dinner to-day, so suppose Marguerite
and Nan take charge to-night; then Millikens and I will get breakfast
for you to-morrow morning,—and we’ll _do_ it, too,—and Betty and
Jessie can dine us, and so on over again.”
All agreed that the plan was fair, and Marguerite announced that any one
who felt at all incapable could call on her for assistance at any time,
and she would always be glad to cook, whether it was her turn or not.
Betty sniffed a little, and said that if Daisy was on time with her
scheduled performances that was all that would be expected or required
of her; at which Marguerite looked injured, but put her good intentions
into practice at once by running down to help Hester.
The kitchen was already a scene of action. Hester possessed
administrative power as well as executive ability, and while she roasted
the beef and made the soup she directed her helpers, Helen and Rosie, so
that everything was going on in the most systematic manner.
“Oh, do let me help you!” said Marguerite. “What are you going to have?”
“I only know how to cook a few things,” said Hester, “so I’m going to
have those. Roast beef and Yorkshire pudding and browned potatoes. And I
know two soups, bean and tomato. Bean is the best, but we didn’t have
any beans, and anyway you have to soak ’em overnight; so I’m making the
other.”
“Let me see you make it; I love to watch people cook. What do you do
first?”
“Why, I’ve just put the tomatoes on to heat; one apiece,—that’s
nine,—cut up in a quart of water. Then I threw in with them a small
onion cut in bits, a couple of stalks of celery, and a little parsley. I
would put in a bay-leaf if I had it, but I haven’t. Then a tablespoonful
of sugar.”
“Sugar in soup! I never heard of such a thing.”
“Oh, yes, in tomato soup; and then a little pepper and a teaspoonful of
salt. Now while that’s cooking I put a large tablespoonful of butter in
this tiny spider. It melts quickly, and then I stir in a tablespoonful
of flour. You see it’s a thin, smooth paste. Now the tomatoes are
boiling, so I turn it in and stir while it thickens. Have you the
colander ready, Rosie? Now I strain it all through the colander into
this big bowl, and then turn it back again into the kettle, and set it
on the back of the range until we want to use it. Now that’s done.”
“And it’s beautiful, too,” commented Marguerite. “I say, Hester, let’s
have a salad.”
“No,” said Hester, decidedly; “I can’t make salad dressing, and I’m
running this dinner myself. You can have salad when it’s your turn. If
you want to help, go and set the table.” Hester’s manner was brusque and
very matter-of-fact; but she meant no offense, and Marguerite knew it.
“Come on, Rosie,” cried the merry Matron; “I’ll show you how to set the
table. Goodness! Millicent, what _are_ you doing?”
Millicent, evidently freed from her enchantment, stood on the
dining-table with a kerosene-can in one hand and a lamp-chimney in the
other. The lamp-shade was on her head, and she was with difficulty
holding the swing-lamp still while she filled it.
“Why didn’t you take the lamp down?” began Marguerite.
“Who’s Lamplighter of this establishment, I’d like to know! This is the
only correct and elegant way to fill a swing-lamp. It is a patented way,
and recommended by all the crowned heads of Europe, of which I am one.
Now, you see, I set down my can, then my chimney, replace the shade—and
there you are!” And Millicent sprang off the table and betook herself
and her can to the Grotto.
“Oh, there’s kerosene all over the table—shall I scrub it, miss?” said
Rosie, anxiously.
“No,” said the Matron; “just wipe it off with a dry cloth. Now lay the
felt and then the table-cloth—so; no, wait, Rosie, get it perfectly
straight; _almost_ straight is crooked, you know. There, that will do.”
Marguerite arranged an embroidered centerpiece in place just as Helen
came in with a dish of fruit.
“This is our dessert,” she announced.
[Illustration: “‘THIS IS THE ONLY CORRECT AND ELEGANT WAY TO FILL A
SWING-LAMP.’”]
“Set it right here,” said Marguerite; “just the thing for the center of
the table. Now, Helen, you finish showing Rosie how to set the table,
will you? I promised to help Hester make the Yorkshire pudding.”
But the pudding was already made and browning.
“Oh, I wanted to see you do it,” said the aggrieved Marguerite; “what
did you put in?”
“It’s awfully easy,” said Hester, “and yet so few people make it right.
I just took a quart of milk—no, I only took part of it at first. Well,
first of all I beat two eggs very light, and added a teaspoonful of salt
and two tablespoonfuls of flour and about a third of the quart of milk.
Then I beat all that to a nice, smooth batter, and added the rest of the
milk. Then I turned it into a boiling-hot baking-pan with about three
tablespoonfuls of nice beef dripping, and gravy from the roasting joint;
now it is nearly cooked, so I add a little more gravy from the
joint-pan.”
“Your expressions are so funny, Hester; I never heard of a ‘joint-pan’
before.”
“Why, what do you call it?”
“Oh, I don’t know; meat-pan, I suppose.”
Then Betty invaded the kitchen, and peeped into the soup-kettle,
remarking: “I don’t think there’s very much there; I could eat all that
myself. What else is there, Hester?”
Hester’s menu seemed small to hungry Betty, and she said so; and
Marguerite observed:
“I offered to make a salad, but Hester said no.”
“We’ll do it, all the same,” said Betty. “Hester may rule Britannia if
she wants to, but she can’t rule Hilarity Hall. Come on, Daisy; let’s
mutiny. As Peeler-in-Chief I’ll peel some tomatoes, and you stir up a
mayonnaise.”
“All right,” said Marguerite; “or rather, as Hester is managing this
dinner, she can stir while I dump in the things.”
Marguerite was “great on mayonnaise,” and she broke two eggs, daintily
separating the whites and yolks, and put the latter in a soup-plate,
stirring them round and round with a silver fork. Then she added oil,
drop by drop at first, and then a trifle faster as the dressing began to
thicken.
“Here, Hester; it’s all nonsense to say you can’t do this, and you
Stoker! Come and stir it while I hunt up some more ingrejents.”
So Hester stirred away briskly but evenly, and added oil, while
Marguerite dropped in a tablespoonful of vinegar at intervals. Then she
flirted in a dash of Cayenne and sprinkled in a teaspoonful of salt, and
then, taking the dish into her own hands, gave it a final whisk or two
and declared it completed.
Betty had her tomatoes pared carefully and cored with an apple-corer;
then Marguerite arranged them each on a few crisp lettuce-leaves, and
filled the centers with her dressing.
And now all was ready, and Betty announced dinner by sounding a
bicycle-bell. There was no table-bell to be found, so she blocked her
bicycle beside her chair, and explained to Rosie that she must answer
the summons.
The girls came flying to their places at table with the alacrity of
horses in a well-ordered fire department, and Timmy Loo was so excited
that he jumped up into Marjorie’s chair without realizing what he was
doing. The Duchess brushed him out with scant ceremony, giving him a
cracker to console himself with; but Tim spurned this, and sat up
begging for sugar.
Rosie proved to be a deft waitress, and she brought in the soup and
placed it before Marguerite, who presided very prettily.
But a hungry howl rent the air as the cover was removed, for certainly
the soup looked very scant.
“Never mind,” said the tactful Matron. “We’ll divide it evenly, and we
have several other courses.”
“Fish?” asked Jessie, hopefully, for she was fond of it.
“No,” said Hester, feeling as if she had defrauded the girls somehow;
“but there’s a beautiful salad.”
Hester’s self-respect returned, however, with the next course, for the
Yorkshire pudding was pronounced wonderful, and the roast was tender and
beautifully cooked.
“It doesn’t seem a very big roast for two dollars and ten cents, does
it?” said Marguerite, thinking of her accounts.
“Don’t be prosaic, Daisy,” said Nan; “never count the cost during the
feast.”
Then the salad was brought, and was enjoyed and much complimented; and
then the great dish of fruit was passed around.
“I didn’t make any pastry,” said Hester, apologetically; “for I had no
time, and I thought the ripe fruit would do as well.”
“Yes, indeed,” said Marjorie, “I love pears. Ow!” And simultaneously
Betty made a wry face and left the table.
“What _is_ the matter?”
“Ugh! the fruit is all kerosene.”
The luckless Lamplighter looked up at the swing-lamp, and, sure enough,
it was still dripping.
“I must have put in too much oil,” she said calmly, scrutinizing it with
interest, “and it—it overflew.”
“I should think it did,” wailed Jessie, looking at her pretty
centerpiece spotted with drops of oil.
“It won’t hurt it any,” said Marguerite. “I’ll wash it for you myself.
Is there any more fruit?”
But there wasn’t, and the girls didn’t care very much anyway; and
leaving the table to Rosie, they all went out on the veranda.