A COQUETTISH COOK
"Hello, Pattypet," said Mona, appearing at Patty's bedside next
morning. "How's your chocolate? Does it suit you?"
"Delicious," said Patty, who was luxuriously nestling among her pillows
while she ate her breakfast.
"Well, make the most of it, for you'll never get anything more fit to
eat or drink in this happy home."
"What DO you mean?"
"Listen to my tale of woe. The chef and his wife have both left."
"Francois? And Marie! Why, whatever for?"
"Your English is a bit damaged, but I'll tell you. You see, Aunt
Adelaide flew into one of her biggest tantrums, because her shirred egg
was shirred too full, or her waffles didn't waff,--or something,--and
she sent for Francois and gave him such a large piece of her mind that
he picked up his Marie and walked off."
"Have they really GONE?"
"They really have. I've telephoned to the Intelligence Place, and I
can't get a first-class cook down here at all. I shall have to send to
the city for one, but, meantime--what to do! What to do!"
"H'm,--and you've guests for luncheon!"
"Yes, the whole Sayre tribe. The captain just CAN'T keep away from YOU!
Patty, do you know you're a real belle? Everybody was crazy about you
last night."
"Fiddlesticks! Just because I had on a green frock and let my hair hang
down."
"Your hair is WONDERFUL. But I didn't come up here to tell you of your
own attractions! I want your able advice on how to have a luncheon
party without a cook."
"Oh, pooh! that's TOO easy! Give me a helper of some sort, and I'll
cook your old luncheon. And I'll promise you it will be just grand!"
"Cook! You? I won't let you. What do you take me for? No, you come with
me, and we'll go somewhere where cooks grow and BUY one."
"There won't be time, Mona. What time is luncheon to be?"
"Half-past one; and it's about ten now."
"Oceans of time, then; I tell you, I'll see to the kitchen for
luncheon. But of course, you must have a cook, for permanent use."
"Well, rather. But I'll get one from New York by to-morrow morning. And
you know Adele Kenerley's friends are coming to dinner to-night. What
about that?"
"Leave all to me. I will arrange. But I want somebody to help me. How
about Daisy?"
"Daisy's no good at that sort of thing. And I don't like to ask Adele.
Say, Patty, let Bill help you; he's a fine cook, I've been on camp
picnics with him, and I know. And maybe he wouldn't be GLAD to help you
in anything! Ah, there, Patty, you're blushing! I feared as much! Oh,
Patty, DO you like him?"
"'Course I like him. He's a jolly chap, and we're good chums."
"But is that all? Patty, tell me; I won't tell."
"There's nothing to tell, Mona. I like Little Billee a whole lot, but
I'm not in love with him, if that's what you mean."
"Yes, that's what I mean. I hoped you were."
"Well, I'm not. And I'm not going to be in love with anybody for years
and years. I'm fancy-free, and I mean to stay so. So don't try to tease
me, for you won't get any fun out of it."
"That's so; you're too straightforward to be teased successfully.
Patty, you've been a real lesson to me this summer. I've learned a lot
from you. I don't mean to gush, but I DO want to tell you how I
appreciate and cherish all the kindness you've shown me."
"Dear old Mona, I'm glad if I've said or done anything to make you feel
like that! You're a trump, girl, and I'm glad to have you for a friend.
Now, vanish, my lady, and as soon as I can scrabble into a costume,
I'll meet you below stairs, and solve all your kitchen problems for
you."
"But, Patty, I CAN'T let you go into the kitchen!"
"You can't keep me out, you mean! I'm delighted to have the chance.
Aprons are terribly becoming to me."
"Do you want one of the parlourmaid's aprons?"
"I do not! I want a big, all-enveloping cook's apron."
"Well, I suppose you don't want a man's. I'll find you one of Marie's."
"I don't care whose it is, if it's big. Skip, now!"
Mona vanished, and Patty jumped out of bed, and dressed for her new
work. She chose a pink-sprigged dimity, simply made, with short sleeves
and collarless neck. A dainty breakfast cap surmounted her coil of
curls, donned, it must be confessed, because of its extreme
becomingness. Mona provided a large, plain white apron, and going to
the kitchen, Patty considered the situation.
The viands for the luncheon had arrived, but were not in the least
prepared for use. A large basket showed a quantity of live crabs, which
lay quietly enough, but a twitching claw here and there betrayed their
activity.
"Mercy!" cried Mona, "let's throw these away! You can't do anything
with these creatures!"
"Nonsense," said Patty, "I'm versed in the ways of crabs. I'll attend
to them. What else, Mona?"
"Oh, here are some queer looking things from the butcher's. I don't
know what they are. Can they be brains?"
"No, they're sweetbreads, and fine ones, too. And here is the romaine
for the salad, and lovely squabs to roast. Oh, Mona, I'm just in my
element! I LOVE to do these things; you know I'm a born cook. But I
must have a helper."
"I know; Marie always helped Francois. They were a splendid pair. It's
a pity Aunt Adelaide had to stir them up so,--and all over nothing."
"Well, don't cry over spilt eggs. I'll do up this luncheon, and I'll
fix it so I can slip up and dress, and appear at the table as if
nothing had happened. The waitress and the butler can manage the
serving process?"
"Oh, yes. I HATE to have you do it, Patty, but I don't know what else
to do. Here, I'll help you."
Patty had already filled a huge kettle with boiling water, and was
about to put the crabs in it.
"All right, Mona; catch that side of the basket, and slide them in, all
together. It seems awful to scald them, but the sooner the quicker.
Now,--in they go!"
But in they DIDN'T go! One frisky crab shot out a long claw and nearly
grabbed Mona's finger, which so scared her that she dropped her side of
the flat basket, and the crabs all slid out on the floor instead of
into the kettle.
With suddenly aroused agility they scuttled in every direction, some
waggling to cover under tables and chairs, and some dancing about in
the middle of the floor.
Hearing Mona's shrieks and Patty's laughter, Daisy came running down.
But the sight was too horrifying for her, and she turned and sped back
upstairs. Poor Daisy was not so much to be blamed, for having lived all
her life in Chicago, she had never chanced to see live crabs before,
and the strange creatures were a bit startling.
She flew out on the veranda and caught Big Bill by one sleeve, and
Roger by another.
"Come! Come!" she cried. "Patty and Mona are nearly killed! Oh, hurry!
You'll be too late!"
"Where, where?" cried Roger, while Farnsworth turned white with the
sudden shock of Daisy's words. He thought some dreadful accident had
happened, and fear for Patty's welfare nearly paralysed him.
"This way! That way!" screamed Daisy, darting toward the kitchen
stairway, and then flying back again.
Down the stairs raced the two men, and into the kitchen. There they
found Patty standing on a side table, armed with a long poker, while
Mona danced about on the large table, brandishing a broom in one hand
and a mop in the other. Patty was in paroxysms of laughter at Mona's
antics, but Mona herself was in terror of her life, and yelled like a
wild Indian.
"Get down! Go 'way!" she cried, as an adventurous crab tried, most
ineffectually, to climb the table leg.
Roger sprang on to the table beside Mona. "There, there," he said, "you
rest a while, and I'll holler for you. Go 'way! Get down! Go 'way, you!"
His imitation of Mona's frightened voice was so funny Patty began to
laugh afresh, and Farnsworth joined her.
"Get up here on my table, Little Billee," cried Patty. "You'll be
captured and swallowed alive by these monsters!"
Big Bill sat on the corner of Patty's table and looked at her.
"You make a charming little housewife," he said, glancing at the cap
and apron.
"Help me, won't you?" Patty returned, blushing a little, but ignoring
his words. "I'm going to cook the luncheon, and first of all we must
boil these crabs. Can't you corral them and invite them into that
kettle of water? We had them started in the right direction, but
somehow they got away."
"Right-o!" agreed Bill, and placing the toe of his big shoe gently on a
passing crab, he picked it up by the hinge of its left hind leg, and
deftly dropped it in the boiling water.
"That's just the right way!" said Patty, nodding approval. "I can pick
them up that way, too, but there are so many sprinkled around this
floor, I'm afraid they'll pick me up first."
"Yes, they might, Apple Blossom. You sit tight, till I round them all
up. Lend a hand, Farrington."
So Roger poked out the unwilling creatures from their lairs, and Bill
assisted them to their destination, while the two girls looked on.
"Good work!" cried Patty as the last shelly specimen disappeared
beneath the bubbles. "Now, they must boil for twenty minutes. They
don't mind it NOW."
The girls came down from their tables, and explained the situation.
"Don't worry, Mona," said Farnsworth, in his kind way. "Patty and I
will cook luncheon, and this afternoon I'll go out and get you a cook
if I have to kidnap one."
"All right, Bill," said Mona, laughing. "Come on, Roger, let's leave
these two. You know too many cooks spoil the broth!"
"So they do!" called Bill, gaily, as Mona, after this parting shaft,
fled upstairs. "Do I understand, little Apple Blossom," he observed,
gently, "that you're really going to cook this elaborate luncheon all
yourself?"
"Yes, sir," said Patty, looking very meek and demure.
"CAN you do it?"
"Yes, sir." Patty dropped her eyes, and drew her toe along a crack in
the floor, like a bashful child.
"You little rascal! I believe you can! Well, then, you can be chef and
I'll be assistant. I WAS going to arrange it the other way."
"Oh, no, sir! I'll give the orders." And Patty looked as wise and
dignified as a small bluebird on a twig.
"You bet you will, my lady! Now, first and foremost, shall I pare the
potatoes?"
"Oh, Billee, there must be a scullery maid or something for that!"
"Don't see any, and don't want any! I'm not afraid of staining my
lily-white fingers. You'd better put those sweetbreads in cold water to
blanch them, and cut up some bread to dry out a little for the squab
stuffing."
"For goodness gracious sake! Do you know it all?" exclaimed Patty,
looking at him in amazement.
"Yes, I know everything in all the world. I'm a terrible knower!"
"You are so! How did you learn it all?"
"Born so. Are you going to have that sort of a grape fruit muddle in
glasses?"
"Yes; with candied cherries in it. Don't you love it?"
"Yes, if you do. What thou lovest, I will love, and thy discards shall
be mine also."
"Amiable boy! Now, don't talk to me, I have to measure these things
very carefully."
"Oh, I say! Let me make the salad dressing. I'm a hummer at it, and I
don't measure a thing."
Patty looked at him coldly.
"If you turn out to be a BETTER cook than I am," she said, "I'll never
speak to you again!"
"Oh, I'm not! I'm a FEARFUL cook! I spoil everything I touch! DON'T ask
me to make that dressing! DON'T!"
Patty couldn't help laughing at his foolishness, and the work went
merrily on.
But picking out the crabs was a tedious task. It was easy enough, and
Patty was deft and dainty, but it took a long time, and the sharp
shells cut her fingers now and then.
"Let me do it, dear," said Farnsworth, quietly, and he took from her
the fork she was using.
"Oh, thank you!" she said, gratefully. "You ARE a help, Little Billee."
"I'm always ready to help YOU, Patty girl; call on me any time,
anywhere; if ever you want me,--I'm right there."
"I think somebody else might have helped us with these crabs, anyway."
"They would, if we asked them. I like it better this way. Alone with
thee,--just you and me,--the crabs to free,--is bliss for we!"
"Speak for yourself, John! I don't see any bliss in picking out crabs.
I've cut and scratched every single solitary finger I possess!"
"Poor little girl! But, you see, I offer you my hand,--both hands, in
fact,--there's ten extra fingers at your disposal, if you want them.
And all willing and eager to work for you."
"Mr. Farnsworth, how do you suppose I can make croquettes if you talk
to me like that? One tablespoonful of flour,--two of butter, three
eggs--"
"Pooh, can't you read a recipe and be proposed to at the same time?"
"Yes, I CAN," Patty flashed back, "but,--I pay attention only to the
recipe!"
"'Twas ever thus," Bill sighed.
"What! EVERY time you've proposed?" said Patty, roguishly.
"No, because I've never proposed before. Don't you think I do it well
for a beginner?"
"Not very."
"Not very! You little scamp, what do you know about it? Have you had a
wide experience in proposals?"
"I shouldn't tell you if I had. One of flour, two of butter, three--"
"Three blithering wheelbarrows! Apple Blossom, have you any idea how I
love you?"
"Don't put me out, Bill. One of flour, two of butter, three eggs--"
"Now, isn't she the limit?" mused Bill, apparently addressing the
crabs. "I express my devotion in terms of endearment, and she babbles
like a parrot of flour and butter!"
"If I don't, you'll have no croquettes," and Patty moulded the mixture
into oval balls, and arranged them in a frying sieve.
As the time grew shorter they worked away in earnest, and soon after
one o'clock everything was ready. The finishing touches and the serving
of the hot dishes were left to the butler and waitress, who were none
too willing to do anything outside their own restricted sphere, but
whom Patty cajoled by smiles, till they were her abject slaves.
"Now go and tidy yourself up," Patty said to Bill, "and I will too, and
see who can get down to the drawing-room first."
"Huh, I haven't to arrange a lot of furbelows. I'll beat you all to
pieces."
But he little knew Patty's powers of haste in emergency, and when
fifteen minutes later he descended to the drawing-room, where the
guests were already arriving, Patty was there before him.
She was in a soft, frilly white frock, with knots of pale blue ribbon
here and there, the knots holding sprays of tiny pink rosebuds. A blue
ribbon banded her head, and save for an extra moist curliness in the
soft rings of hair on her temples, no one could have guessed that the
serene looking girl had worked hard and steadily for three hours in a
kitchen.
"I surrender," whispered Bill; "you're the swiftest little piece of
property I ever saw!"
"Please address me in less undignified language," said Patty, slowly
waving a feather fan.
Bill bent a trifle lower, and murmured close to her ear, "Mademoiselle
Apple Blossom, you are the sweetest thing in the world."