THE FEAST THAT FAILED
THAT night the Two D’s put off going to bed as long as possible, and
when, at last, Mrs. Fayre sent them away, laughingly, they marched
up-stairs like two deaf and dumb Drum Majors.
“What’s the matter with the kiddies?” asked Mr. Fayre, who couldn’t help
noticing their demeanour.
“I don’t know, I’m sure,” returned his wife. But Trudy laughed outright,
and said:
“I do. They’re mad.”
“Mad?”
“Yes. A school girl ‘mad,’ you know. Neither will speak first—it’s
beneath her dignity. They’ll act like this a day or two longer, and then
they’ll make up. I know ’em!”
“Better speak to them, Mother,” suggested Mr. Fayre, “and clear up
matters. Seems silly to me.”
“Oh, I don’t believe I’d better interfere. They’ll fix it up themselves,
if that’s what’s the matter. Some foolish quarrel, I suppose.”
“It isn’t like them. They rarely quarrel.” Trudy looked thoughtful. “But
I’m sure it is that. They never spoke to each other at supper, though
each was gay and chatty with the rest of us.”
“Silly babies!” said Mr. Fayre, smiling. “Let them work it out
themselves, then.”
Meanwhile the “silly babies” were tossing on restless pillows. In
adjoining rooms, Dolly and Dotty were thinking hard, though in different
moods. Dotty was tumbling about the bed, throwing her arms out and
digging her face in her pillow, in the intensity of her warring
emotions.
Dolly was lying quiet and straight, her eyes turned toward the ceiling,
her heart throbbing, as she “thought it out.”
Both rooms were flooded with moonlight, and the two girls stayed awake
far into the night.
At last, about one o’clock, Dolly finished her cogitations.
Deliberately, she rose and put on her dressing-gown and slippers. She
went to Dotty’s room, opened the door softly and walked in. Then she
closed the door behind her, and going to the bedside, said:
“You awake, Dots?”
“Yep,” came the surprised voice from the rumpled coverlets.
“Well, sit up here, then. I’ve come to talk.”
“Isn’t—isn’t it late?” and Dotty sat up, a little uncertain what
attitude to assume.
“Of course it’s late. But I’ve got to have this thing out. I can’t go on
this way.”
“Nor I either, Doll!” and Dotty leaned forward and threw her arms around
Dolly’s neck in a convulsive hug that nearly strangled her. “Aren’t we
the silly geese to—”
“Now, you wait, Dotty Rose. After I say what I’ve come to say, you may
not want—”
“Yes, I will, Dolly! I don’t care _what_ you’re going to say. You may
jump on me all you like,—I _was_ a pig, but I’m sorry, and—”
“I’m sorry, too! You shan’t be sorry before I am!”
“But I have to, Doll! You know I’m always _everything_ before you are.
I’m quicker-jointed, or something. But never mind that, I’ve got you
back, you dear old thing, and now you can go ahead and scold me, all you
want to. Oh, Doll, hasn’t it been horrid?”
“_Hasn’t_ it! Well, as we’re all right again, let’s have this Bernice
business out once and for all. If you say so, Dotty, I’ll give up trying
to make her more popular. I’ve thought it all out, and it’s this way.
You’re my best friend, and I want you to be, and if it bothers you so to
have me friendly with her,—why, I won’t be, that’s all.”
“Oh, Dollyrinda, how sweet you are! You make me feel like an awful pig.
But you see,—well, I s’pose I was jealous. I thought you’d like Bernice
more and more, till you liked her better’n everybody and better’n me.
And I just couldn’t stand it!”
“Why, Dorothy Rose! The idea of your thinking _that_!” and Dolly clasped
the tousled black head to her breast and kissed the tear-wet cheeks.
“We’re special friends, nobody could come between _us_! They’d just
better try it!”
“Then that’s all right!” and Dotty’s quick-working mentality jumped to a
happy conclusion of their troubles. “Now, look here, Doll, you don’t
have to throw Bernice over entirely.”
“I will, if you want me to.”
“But I don’t want you to. Your idea of making her one of our set is all
right, now that I know _we’re_ all right. And I’ll help you.”
“Will you? Oh, Dot, then we can do it. We’ll have to plan it—”
“Oh, of course! You’d have to plan, if it was only to eat your dinner!”
and Dotty affectionately pulled the golden curls. “And say, old
Dollypops, we haven’t planned much for our luncheon next Saturday.”
“Couldn’t very well, when we were mad. Oh, Dot, wasn’t it horrid in the
house yesterday morning?”
“Horrid all the time. Hasn’t to-day been awful?”
“Yep. But it was funny you had to come over here to stay just now.”
“Awful funny. Now about Saturday—”
“No, sir! Not _now_ about Saturday. Do you know what time it is?”
“Nixy; and I don’t care.”
“Well, I do. It’s ’most two o’clock, and Mother will give us Jesse
to-morrow if she hears us talking so long. So you go by-by, and I will
too, and we’ll plan by daylight. Good night, old girl.”
“Good night, Dollums, and I am sorry I was horrid.”
“So’m I, that I was.”
And peace being declared and ratified, the Two D’s went to sleep so
successfully that they were late to breakfast.
* * * * *
“The country’s safe,” remarked Trudy, after the pair had started for
school.
“How do you know?” asked her mother.
“Signs. Lots of ’em. They talked _to_ each other, not _at_ each other.
And they smiled and sang, and were generally in fine spirits.”
“Well, I’m glad of it. I hate to have them so childish and silly.”
“I ’spect all girls are. They’ll outgrow it. And they are two such
sensible, nice, little girl chums, that I don’t believe it will happen
often.”
Nor did it. In all their lives, Dotty and Dolly never again had one of
those foolish “mads” that most school girls know so well.
They had differences of opinion frequently, very frequently; and often
they had hot, hasty words; but the quarrels were of short duration, and
ended amicably and lovingly.
The Saturday luncheon was duly planned. They invited Maisie, the two
Rawlins girls and Celia. Dolly would have liked to ask Bernice and Dotty
was more than willing, but they had only room for six,—and too, they
knew all the girls would like it better without the stranger, and so for
this time they decided against her, agreeing that they would invite her
some time soon.
It was to be a very festal occasion. More, the whole luncheon was to be
the work of the two girls themselves. Not everything was to be made in
Treasure House, but no one save the Two D’s could have a hand in the
preparations.
And so, when Saturday morning came, they were up bright and early to
begin their work. Dotty was still at the Fayres’; Genie, though better
was still housed, and the time was not yet up when Dotty could return
home.
“It doesn’t seem fair, Doll,” said Dotty as, swathed in big aprons, they
went into the Fayre kitchen, “for me to work over here. We’ve always
divided the work before.”
“That doesn’t matter. What do you want for the cake?”
“A big bowl and a spoon. I’ll measure out the things myself.”
“All right, and I’ll make the salad dressing now.”
Two busy bees worked all the morning, barely having time to set the
table in Treasure House and arrange some flowers there before their
guests came.
“Goodness, there they are!” cried Dotty, as she set a saucepan of lard
on their kitchenette stove to heat. “I can’t leave this, Doll, so you go
in and do the polite, and I’ll run in when I can. They won’t mind.”
So Dolly, serene and smiling, met the girls, who all came together.
“What a jolly lark!” exclaimed Maisie; “the idea of you two girls having
a lunch party!”
“And cooking everything ourselves,” added Dolly. “Dot’s in the kitchen
yet, struggling with foods. Take off your things.”
The guests complied, keeping up a perfect stream of chatter as they
looked about and admired everything in sight.
All had been there before, but not to a regular invited feast, and the
occasion was a great one.
“If I had a house like this,” declared Ethel Rawlins, “I wouldn’t ask
any more favours of Fate for twenty years!”
“Nor I,” agreed Celia. “Isn’t it wonderful! Don’t you just adore it,
Dolly?”
“Indeed we do—yes, all right!” This last in answer to a frantic call
from Dotty, in the kitchenette. “Excuse me, girls, Dot’s come to grief,
somehow. Amuse yourselves till I come back.”
Dolly hurried to the rescue, and found Dotty throwing dish-towels into
the croquette kettle.
“The old thing caught fire somehow!” she exclaimed, dancing about, “and,
I never thought of it before, but, Dolly, do you think the house is
insured?”
“Goodness, I don’t know! But never mind that, now; it isn’t going to
burn down. Can we save the croquettes, or what shall we have for lunch?”
Gingerly with a fork they picked up the towels, and found a number of
black, dried-up cylinders that had once been Dotty’s carefully shaped
croquettes.
“Nothing doing!” said Dolly, philosophically, as she gazed at the
charred remains. “You got the lard too hot, Dotsie.”
“So I notice! Well, we’ll have to cut out the croquette course.”
“No matter. I’ll skip over home and get a platter of cold lamb, there
was a lot left last night, I know. You chin with the girls, and I’ll
fly.”
Dolly scooted out at the back door of Treasure House, and across to her
own home, and soon returned with a dainty dish of sliced lamb.
Then she busied herself with her own allotment of the preparations, and
began to heat the soup.
“’Most ready?” said Dotty, flying in suddenly, and startling Dolly so
she nearly dropped the pepper-box.
“Yes, in a minute. Fill the water glasses, set the fruit thing-a-ma-jigs
on the table, cut the bread,—oh, no, we have rolls,—well, get them
fixed, and hunt up the butter and—oh, my gracious, the salad has
upset!”
“Not really!”
“Not entirely; I can straighten it out, I guess. Oh, why did we ask them
to come so early! I’ve heaps to do. You put the cocoa in the silver pot,
won’t you? and, oh Dot, the olives haven’t been opened yet!”
“I’ll do it. Where’s the opener-thing?”
“I don’t know. I guess there isn’t any over here—”
“I guess there is. Here it is, but it won’t work. You give it a pull,
Dolly.”
Both girls, together and in turn, pulled at the refractory cork of the
olive bottle,—for without olives, no school girl lunch is complete! But
it refused to budge. Now, the ways of corks are most mischievous. Just
as they were about to give it up, a last strong pull brought the cork
out with a jerk, and the two D’s fell in a heap in the middle of the
kitchenette, with such a clatter of accompanying dishes, that the guests
came running out to see what was the matter.
They found their hostesses scrambling up from the floor, laughing, but
pretty much upset withal.
“It was that old cork,” explained Dotty. “It wouldn’t come out, and then
all of a sudden it couldn’t get out quick enough! ’Scuse us girls, for
such a racketty performance, but truly, everything is going screw-wampus
to-day!”
“Let us help,” begged Grace; “oh, do let us, please.”
“Yes, do help,” said Dolly, who was at the end of her rope. “You, Grace,
see if everything is on the table that ought to be there. Ethel, please
put some sugar in this bowl,—there’s the box,—and Celia, won’t you set
these salad plates on the side table? Maisie May, you just stand around
and look pretty,—I don’t know of anything else for you to do. Now, I’ll
take up the soup, oh, no, I won’t. We must eat the fruit thingumbob
first. Come on, let’s do that. I don’t see how people _ever_ get the
things ready at the right time. Everything here is either too ready or
not enough so. Come on, friends. You sit here, Maisie, and Grace, here.”
Laughing gaily, the girls took their seats, and delightedly attacked the
dainty first course. It was a combination of various fruits,—orange,
pineapple and crimson cherries, served in delicate slender-stemmed
glasses.
“I just love this fruit muddle,” said Maisie, “and this is the best
ever! Who made it?”
“I did,” said Dolly, with pardonable pride. “It took most of the
morning, though, that’s why everything else fell behind. It isn’t hard
to make, but it takes forever.”
The Two D’s were to take turns in changing the plates, so Dolly rose to
bring in the soup. Very pretty it looked, in the bouillon cups, but
after the first taste Celia hurriedly caught up her glass of water.
“Look out!” she cautioned, but too late. Nearly every girl had taken a
spoonful of soup, before she discovered it was burning hot with pepper!
When Dotty had come upon Dolly in the act of seasoning the soup, she
startled her so, that far more pepper went in than was meant, and the
result was appalling.
Eagerly the girls sipped the cold water, and with tears running down
their cheeks from the pungent taste and odour, they protested that “they
didn’t mind it!”
“I like peppery soup,” said Grace, politely.
“But you don’t like soupy pepper, do you?” gasped Dotty, “and that’s
what this is!”
Then Dolly, crestfallen and chagrined, but trying to be merry, took away
the soup, and brought the cold lamb, and the salad.
The lamb was all that it should be; but the salad dressing had separated
itself into its original ingredients, after the manner of some
ill-natured salad dressings. This was harrowing, but Dolly smiled
bravely, and acknowledged it was her first attempt.
“Don’t you mind, Doll,” said Grace, comfortingly; “not one of us could
make a better one. And with the olives and all, you don’t notice
anything the matter.”
But the crowning blow came with the dessert. The girls had made lovely
home-made ice cream, and had frozen it with the greatest care. This they
felt sure would be right, for they had made it before many times.
But, alas, by some oversight, the freezer had been left outdoors in the
sun, the ice had been insufficient, and the result, instead of a finely
moulded form, was a lot of thick creamy liquid.
“Don’t you care!” cried Ethel. “I just _love_ soft ice cream. Call it a
pudding, and let it go at that. Come, Dot, brace up. Who cares for the
occasional slips of young housekeepers? Cut the cake and pass it to us,
and give us some of that delicious-looking ice cream custard!”
The cake had turned out fairly decent, but not up to the mark. Dotty was
a good cake maker but making it in a strange kitchen and baking it in a
strange oven had made a difference, and the fluffy sponge cake she
usually achieved, showed up a close, almost soggy, and very sticky
compound.
“I’m just ready to cry,” said Dotty, as she looked at the dessert, from
which they had hoped such great things.
“Don’t do anything so foolish,” said Dolly. “We slipped up on ’most
everything, but we tried hard enough, goodness knows! If you’re hungry,
girls, there are cookies in the cupboard, and there’s plenty of cocoa.”
“I’ll take some, please,” said Maisie, so plaintively, that they all
laughed. And then they all fell to on the previously despised cookies,
and under the cheer and raillery of their guests, the two D’s finally
regained their poise, and laughed themselves at their chapter of
accidents.
“Call it ‘The Feast That Failed,’ and let it go at that,” said Dotty.
“It wasn’t a failure at all,” protested Celia. “We’ve had heaps of fun.”
“Yes, it _was_ a failure,” insisted Dotty; “and we’ll have to learn to
do better. Why, when the boys come home, they’ll make all sorts of fun
of us, if we can’t do better than this.”
“We _will_ do better than this,” declared Dolly. “We’ll ask you again,
girls, and show you how great an improvement second attempts are!”
“Then I’m glad of this frolic,” said Grace, “for it means we get two
parties instead of one.”
“Just what you might have expected,” said Trudy, laughing till the tears
rolled down her cheeks at the D’s’ account of the feast. “You little
geese, not to know that you couldn’t do it! Now, I’ll take you in hand,
and give you a few practical lessons, and then when the boys come home,
you can astonish them with your skill and dexterity.”
“All right,” said Dolly. “I’ll try to learn, won’t you, Dots?”
“Well, I rather just guess yes!” exclaimed the other D.