DOROTHY COOKS
DOROTHY and her mother had a room in a house near the trolley gate. When
they had first come to Chautauqua the year before a sign in front of the
house had attracted their attention. It read:
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| LIGHT HOUSE |
| KEEPING |
| PERMITTED |
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Light housekeeping was just what Mrs. Smith wanted to do, so she made
inquiries and was able to complete arrangements so satisfactory that she
went to the same place when she returned for this second summer.
There were several reasons why she did not want to go to a boarding
house. In the first place she wanted to have her expenses as small as
possible, and in the next she wanted to teach Dorothy something about
cooking, for she believed that every girl ought to know something of
this important branch of home-making and in the wandering life they had
led it had not always been possible for them to live otherwise than in a
boarding house.
"You can take the domestic science work at the Girls' Club," she had
said, "and then we can have our little home here and you can apply your
knowledge for our own benefit."
So well had this plan worked and so competent had Dorothy become in
simple cooking that this summer she was specializing in cooking for
invalids.
"It's mighty lucky I took the invalids' cooking," she exclaimed as her
mother came in from the art store at noon the day after the fire, and
sat down to the nice little dinner that Dorothy had prepared.
"It's one of the things that may be valuable to you in many ways and at
any time."
"It's valuable now. Have I told you about my friends at the Girls' Club,
two cousins, both named Ethel Morton?"
"Morton? What are their fathers' names? Where do they live?" said Mrs.
Smith, speaking more quickly than was usual with her.
"I don't know their fathers' names--their fathers aren't here."
"Oh!" Mrs. Smith leaned back in her chair as if she were especially
weary.
"They live in the cottage that was burned yesterday."
"They do! I wonder, then, if it wasn't one of them that brought a little
boy to the art store while the fire was going on."
"Did she call him Dicky?"
"Yes, Dicky."
"Did the girl have blue eyes or brown?"
"I didn't notice--or, yes, I believe I did--they were blue."
"That was Ethel Blue, then. They call the other one Ethel Brown to tell
them apart. This morning they didn't come to the club because they had
so much to do to put their new cottage in order, but Ethel Brown ran in
just for a minute to ask me if I could cook some special things for her
grandfather while he was sick. He was hurt yesterday at the fire."
"Oh, poor man."
"It's not very serious, Ethel Brown says, only he's bruised and he
swallowed a lot of smoke and he can't eat what the rest of them do."
"Haven't they a maid?"
"They only have one here, and she has been Dicky's nurse until a little
while ago, and he got so scared yesterday that he's almost sick to-day
and keeps calling for Mary all the time. So Mrs. Morton is cooking for
the family and she can't manage to do special things for her father."
"Do they want you to go there?"
"The kitchen is too small. That's why the grandmother or the older
sister doesn't do it. They want me to make broths and jellies and things
at home here and take them down there."
"You must do your very best, dear. It will be a splendid chance for you
to take such a responsibility."
"The doctor says Mr. Emerson is to have chicken broth and toast at three
o'clock, so I went to their house after the club and got a tray and a
small bowl and some plates, and then stopped at the meat market on the
way home, so the broth is started now."
She waved her hand toward the corner of the room where the low-turned
flame of a gas plate was causing a soft simmering in a large saucepan.
"You put the chicken in cold water, didn't you, to draw the goodness
out?"
"Yes, indeed. I cut up the chicken and cracked the bones so that all
that inside goodness wouldn't be wasted. A quart and a pint of water
covered it well and it's going to stay on until the meat all falls to
pieces. That will be about three hours from the time I put it on."
"Are you going to put rice in it?"
"I'm going to take down the rice in a separate little bowl this time
because I don't know whether Mr. Emerson likes rice."
"Be sure you don't over-cook it. Every grain should be separate."
"I learned the very simplest way to cook rice. Wash it and put it into
boiling salted water, a quart of water to a cupful of rice. Putting the
rice in will stop the boiling, so when it boils up again you give it
just one stir to keep the kernels from sticking to the bottom of the
saucepan. You mustn't stir it any more or you'll break the grains. It
will be done in about twenty minutes. Then you pour it lightly into a
colander and turn it lightly from the colander into your serving dish,
and there you are, every grain separate."
"If you save the rice water it serves as a vegetable stock for a soup."
"Our teacher told us a story about the value of rice water. It was in a
famine time in India and some of the natives went to the English and
said that if they could have the water the camp rice was cooked in they
wouldn't ask for anything else."
"They knew how strong and good it is. Mr. Emerson won't want more than a
cupful of chicken broth this afternoon--what are you going to do with
the rest of it?"
"One gill of it will make chicken custard with the beaten yolks of two
eggs and a pinch of salt. You cook it in a double boiler until it is
thick."
"That ought to taste good and be nourishing, too."
"I shall put on another gill of the broth, with a teaspoonful of Irish
moss if I can find the kind that is prepared in powder form. After that
has boiled about fifteen minutes I shall strain it through a piece of
cheesecloth into a cup and when it has stiffened and I'm ready to serve
it, I'll turn it out on a pretty little plate and lay a sprig of parsley
on top."
"That will just about use up the broth from one chicken."
"I can give Mr. Emerson a variety by making mutton broth. A quart of
cold water to a pound of meat is the right proportion, and then you make
it just like chicken broth."
"You mustn't forget to trim off all the fat you can before you put it
in, and to skim off any bubbles of fat that rise to the top."
"I shan't make any beef tea unless they ask for it especially, because
the doctors say nowadays that there isn't much nourishment in it, it's
just stimulating. I shall give my patient cereals and porridges made
exactly according to the directions that are on the boxes."
"A thoroughly baked white potato served piping hot is delicious. Break
it open at the last minute and put into it a dab of butter and a
teaspoon of cream and a wee bit of salt, and a dash of pepper if your
patient can stand pepper. A baked potato goes well with a broiled breast
of chicken."
"If this 'case' of mine lasts long enough so that I have to make more
chicken broth I shall cut off the breast before I cut up the chicken for
the broth."
"Broil it until it is quite brown, and after you have put it on a warm
plate ready to serve, add a tiny dab of butter and a little salt. Do the
same with a lamb chop, and be sure that every bit of meat except the
choice mouthful or two is cut away before you cook it."
"I shan't let the butcher trim it, though. Those bits that come off help
out in a soup."
"Tapioca jelly is something you must try for one of your invalid's
desserts."
"The doctor said he must have fruits mostly, but I'd like to try the
tapioca once."
"Take half a cupful of tapioca and two cupfuls of water, the juice and a
little of the grated rind of half a lemon, and a teaspoonful of sugar.
Soak the tapioca in the water for four hours. Stir in the sugar just as
you put it all in the double boiler. Cook it for about three-quarters
of an hour. You should stir it often and it ought to be perfectly clear
when it is done. Stir in the lemon at the last minute and then pour it
into cups or molds."
"That sounds good to me. I think I'll try it for our own dessert some
day."
"When you make toast always be careful to cut your slices of bread all
of the same thickness and to cut off the crusts. Then warm the slices
first and afterwards brown them delicately. When you make milk toast
butter the slices and sprinkle on a few grains of salt and then pour
over them a cupful of boiling milk thickened with half a teaspoonful of
flour. Do it carefully. It is care about little things that makes a dish
palatable for an invalid, you must remember."
"Della Watkins gave me some flowers to-day, so I shall have one to put
on the waiter."
"I want to tell you, dear, why I am especially glad that you are having
this opportunity to show that you can put your knowledge into actual
practice."
"I did last winter when I made the baskets for Christmas."
"You did wonderfully. You've noticed that I am always advising you to
learn things that will be valuable to you. I mean valuable in a money
way as well as in giving pleasure to yourself and others."
Dorothy curled up in her mother's lap and made a soft hum of assent.
"The reason I've done that is because I've seen our little stock of
money growing smaller and smaller all the time. Last winter I didn't
make quite enough at the art store to support us both, and I had to draw
on our principal in spite of your doing so splendidly with your
baskets."
"But this summer you're all right, aren't you?"
"This summer I am meeting our expenses, but I'm not laying by a penny,
and when the season ends here I don't know where we shall go or what I
can do. So you see that every cent you are able to make is a great
help."
"If I prepare these things all right for Ethel's grandfather I won't be
scared if I have a chance to do it again."
"Certainly you won't. Every success gives confidence."
"We might start a kitchen somewhere in an especially unhealthy
neighborhood and I could make invalids' stuff all the time at a hundred
dollars a tray."
Mrs. Smith laughed.
"That's not such a bad idea," she agreed. "At any rate we must always
have faith that work of some sort will be given to us. It hasn't failed
as yet, even when things looked pretty bad."
"There was a postcard in the picture booth in the pergola the other day
that said, HAVE FAITH AND HUSTLE."
"That's good advice. _Prudence_ without worry and _energy_ without
scatteration of mind and _faith_ woven into it all; that's my gospel."
After her mother had gone, Dorothy took out a pad and pencil and made a
list of broths and dishes which she already knew how to make and
another that she meant to ask her cooking teacher about. She knew that
she had only to tell her teacher that she was putting her information
into actual practice and she would have all the help that she needed.
She wanted to rely on herself as much as she could, however.
If there was just a shade of doubt in the back of her mind about the
success of her cooking it was gone when she went in to Mr. Emerson's
room to take away the tray after he had finished his first meal of her
preparation.
"Perfectly delicious, child," he whispered hoarsely, for his throat was
still sore. "I shall want to be a king and engage you for my personal
cook even after I get well. I think I can tackle another of those
excellent combinations of yours in about four hours."
Dorothy was delighted and for the whole of the busiest week of her life
she worked hard not only to have her cooking delicious, but to have the
trays attractive. She never used the same cup and saucer twice in
succession; at the shop in the business block she found funny little
jelly molds for a few cents apiece, and Mr. Emerson never failed to
notice that to-day he had a miniature jelly rabbit and the next day a
tiny jelly watermelon.
Mrs. Hancock let her forage in her china closet and she found there
bowls of many patterns, the odds and ends of the home china sent here
for summer use.
"They're exactly what I want," Dorothy cried and went off with them in
triumph. There was always a bit of parsley or watercress or a tender
leaf of lettuce with the first part of the meal and a posy with the
dessert.
"I want especially to thank you for one care you've taken," said Mr.
Emerson on the day when he regretfully dismissed his cook with a roll of
crisp bills in her capable hand. "I want to thank you for always having
the hot things _really hot_ and the cold things _really cold_."