miss billie married-第15部分

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she　could　not　reach　Bertram；　anyway。　　Doubtless

he　had　left　the　Winthrops'　by　this　time。



There　was　Marie。　　She　could　telephone　Marie。　

But　Marie　could　not　very　well　come　just　now；　she

knew；　and　then；　too；　there　was　Cyril　to　be　taken

into　consideration。　　How　Cyril　would　gibe　at　the

wife　who　had　to　call　in　all　the　neighbors　just

because　her　husband　was　bringing　home　a　friend

to　dinner！　　How　he　would　　Well；　he　shouldn't！　

He　should　not　have　the　chance。　　So；　there！



With　a　jerk　Mrs。　Bertram　Henshaw　pulled

herself　away　from　the　wall　and　stood　erect。　　Her

eyes　snapped；　and　the　very　poise　of　her　chin

spelled　determination。



Very　well；　she　would　show　them。　　Was　not

Bertram　bringing　this　man　home　because　he　was

proud　of　her？　　Mighty　proud　he　would　be　if　she

had　to　call　in　half　of　Boston　to　get　his　dinner　for

him！　　Nonsense！　　She　would　get　it　herself。　　Was

not　this　the　time；　if　ever；　to　be　an　oak？　　A　vine；

doubtless；　would　lean　and　cling　and　telephone；

and　whine　‘‘I　can't！''　　But　not　an　oak。　　An　oak

would　hold　up　its　head　and　say　‘‘I　can！''　　An

oak　would　go　ahead　and　get　that　dinner。　　She

would　be　an　oak。　　She　would　get　that　dinner。



What　if　she　didn't　know　how　to　cook　bread　and

cake　and　pies　and　things？　　One　did　not　have　to

cook　bread　and　cake　and　pies　just　to　get　a　dinner

meat　and　potatoes　and　vegetables！　　Besides；

she　_could_　make　peach　fritters。　　She　knew　she

could。　　She　would　show　them！



And　with　actually　a　bit　of　song　on　her　lips；　Billy

skipped　up…stairs　for　her　ruffled　apron　and　dust…

captwo　necessary　accompaniments　to　this

dinner…getting；　in　her　opinion。



Billy　found　the　apron　and　dust…cap　with　no

difficulty；　but　it　took　fully　ten　of　her　precious

minutes　to　unearth　from　its　obscure　hiding…place

the　blue…and…gold　‘‘Bride's　Helper''　cookbook；

one　of　Aunt　Hannah's　wedding　gifts。



On　the　way　to　the　kitchen；　Billy　planned　her

dinner。　　As　was　natural；　perhaps；　she　chose　the

things　she　herself　would　like　to　eat。



‘‘I　won't　attempt　anything　very　elaborate；''

she　said　to　herself。　　‘‘It　would　be　wiser　to　have

something　simple；　like　chicken　pie；　perhaps。　　I

love　chicken　pie！　　And　I'll　have　oyster　stew　first

that　is；　after　the　grapefruit。　　Just　oysters

boiled　in　milk　must　be　easier　than　soup　to　make。　

I'll　begin　with　grapefruit　with　a　cherry　in　it；　like

Pete　fixes　it。　　Those　don't　have　to　be　cooked；

anyhow。　　I'll　have　fishBertram　loves　the　fish

course。　　Let　me　see；　halibut；　I　guess；　with　egg

sauce。　　I　won't　have　any　roast；　nothing　but　the

chicken　pie。　　And　I'll　have　squash　and　onions。　

I　can　have　a　salad；　easyjust　lettuce　and　stuff。　

That　doesn't　have　to　be　cooked。　　Oh；　and　the

peach　fritters；　if　I　get　time　to　make　them。　　For

dessertwell；　maybe　I　can　find　a　new　pie　or

pudding　in　the　cookbook。　　I　want　to　use　that

cookbook　for　something；　after　hunting　all　this

time　for　it！''



In　the　kitchen　Billy　found　exquisite　neatness；

and　silence。　　The　first　brought　an　approving　light

to　her　eyes；　but　the　second；　for　some　unapparent

reason；　filled　her　heart　with　vague　misgiving。

This　feeling；　however；　Billy　resolutely　cast　from

her　as　she　crossed　the　room；　dropped　her　book

on　to　the　table；　and　turned　toward　the　shining

black　stove。



There　was　an　excellent　fire。　　Glowing　points

of　light　showed　that　only　a　good　draft　was　needed

to　make　the　whole　mass　of　coal　red…hot。　　Billy；

however；　did　not　know　this。　　Her　experience　of

fires　was　confined　to　burning　wood　in　open　grates

and　wood　in　open　grates　had　to　be　poked　to

make　it　red　and　glowing。　　With　confident　alacrity

now；　therefore；　Billy　caught　up　the　poker；　thrust

it　into　the　mass　of　coals　and　gave　them　a　fine

stirring　up。　　Then　she　set　back　the　lid　of　the

stove　and　went　to　hunt　up　the　ingredients　for

her　dinner。



By　the　time　Billy　had　searched　five　minutes

and　found　no　chicken；　no　oysters；　and　no　halibut；

it　occurred　to　her　that　her　larder　was　not；

after　all；　an　open　market；　and　that　one's　provisions

must　be　especially　ordered　to　fit　one's　needs。　

As　to　ordering　them　nowBilly　glanced　at　the

clock　and　shook　her　head。



‘‘It's　almost　five；　already；　and　they'd　never

get　here　in　time；''　she　sighed　regretfully。　　‘‘I'll

have　to　have　something　else。''



Billy　looked　now；　not　for　what　she　wanted；　but

for　what　she　could　find。　　And　she　found：　some

cold　roast　lamb；　at　which　she　turned　up　her　nose；

an　uncooked　beefsteak；　which　she　appropriated

doubtfully；　a　raw　turnip　and　a　head　of　lettuce；

which　she　hailed　with　glee；　and　some　beets；

potatoes；　onions；　and　grapefruit；　from　all　of　which

she　took　a　generous　supply。　　Thus　laden　she

went　back　to　the　kitchen。



Spread　upon　the　table　they　made　a　brave

show。



‘‘Oh；　well；　I'll　have　quite　a　dinner；　after　all；''

she　triumphed；　cocking　her　head　happily。　　‘‘And

now　for　the　dessert；''　she　finished；　pouncing　on

the　cookbook。



It　was　while　she　was　turning　the　leaves　to　find

the　pies　and　puddings　that　she　ran　across　the

vegetables　and　found　the　word　‘‘beets''　staring

her　in　the　face。　　Mechanically　she　read　the　line

below。



‘‘Winter　beets　will　require　three　hours　to　cook。　

Use　hot　water。''



Billy's　startled　eyes　sought　the　clock。



Three　hoursand　it　was　five；　now！



Frenziedly；　then；　she　ran　her　finger　down　the

page。



‘‘Onions；　one　and　one…half　hours。　　Use　hot

water。　　Turnips　require　a　long　time；　but　if　cut

thin　they　will　cook　in　an　hour　and　a　quarter。''



‘‘An　hour　and　a　quarter；　indeed！''　she　moaned。



‘‘Isn't　there　anything　anywhere　that　doesn't

take　forever　to　cook？''



‘‘Early　peas　。　。　。　green　corn　。　。　。　summer

squash　。　。　。''　mumbled　Billy's　dry　lips。　

‘‘But　what　do　folks　eat　in　January_January_？''



It　was　the　apparently　inoffensive　sentence；

‘‘New　potatoes　will　boil　in　thirty　minutes；''

that　brought　fresh　terror　to　Billy's　soul；　and　set

her　to　fluttering　the　cookbook　leaves　with　renewed

haste。　　If　it　took　_new_　potatoes　thirty　minutes

to　cook；　how　long　did　it　take　old　ones？　　In

vain　she　searched　for　the　answer。　　There　were

plenty　of　potatoes。　　They　were　mashed；　whipped；

scalloped；　creamed；　fried；　and　broiled；　they　were

made　into　puffs；　croquettes；　potato　border；　and

potato　snow。　　For　many　of　these　they　were　boiled

first‘‘until　tender；''　one　rule　said。



‘‘But　that　doesn't　tell　me　how　long　it　takes　to

get　'em　tender；''　fumed　Billy；　despairingly。　　‘‘I

suppose　they　think　anybody　ought　to　know　that

but　I　don't！''　　Suddenly　her　eyes　fell　once　more

on　the　instructions　for　boiling　turnips；　and　her

face　cleared。　　‘‘If　it　helps　to　cut　turnips　thin；

why　not　potatoes？''　she　cried。　　‘‘I　_can_　do　that；

anyhow；　and　I　will；''　she　finished；　with　a　sigh　of

relief；　as　she　caught　up　half　a　dozen　potatoes　and

hurried　into　the　pantry　for　a　knife。　　A　few　minutes

later；　the　potatoes；　peeled；　and　cut　almost　to

wafer　thinness；　were　dumped　into　a　basin　of　cold

water。



‘‘There！　now　I　guess　you'll　cook；''　nodded

Billy　to　the　dish　in　her　hand　as　she　hurried　to　the

stove。



Chilled　by　an　ominous　unresponsiveness；　Billy

lifted　the　stove　lid　and　peered　inside。　　Only　a　mass

of　black　and　graying　coals　greeted　her。　　The　fire

was　out。



‘‘To　think　that　even　you　had　to　go　back　on　me

like　this！''　upbraided　Billy；　eyeing　the　dismal

mass　with　reproachful　gaze。



This　disaster；　however；　as　Billy　knew；　was　not

so　great　as　it　seemed；　for　there　was　still　the　gas

stove。　　In　the　old　days；　under　Dong　Ling's　rule；

there　had　been　no　gas　stove。　　Dong　Ling　disapproved

of　‘‘devil　stoves''　that　had　‘‘no　coalee；

no　woodee；　but　burned　like　hellee。''　　Eliza；

however；　did　approve　of　them；　and　not　long　after　her

arrival；　a　fine　one　had　been　put　in　for　her　use。　　So

now　Billy　soon　had　her　potatoes　with　a　brisk

blaze　under　them。



In　frantic　earnest；　then；　Billy　went　to　work。　

Brushing　the　discarded　onions；　turnip；　and　beets

into　a　pail　under　the　table；　she　was　still　confronted

with　the　beefsteak；　lettuce；　and　grapefruit。　

All　but　the　beefsteak　she　pushed　to　one　side

with　gentle　pats。



‘‘You're　all　right；''　she　nodded　to　them。　　‘‘I

can　use　you。　　You　don't　have　to　be　cooked；

bless　your　hearts！　　But　_you_！''　Billy　scowled

at　the　beefsteak　and　ran　her　finger　down　the　index

of　the　‘‘Bride's　Helper''Billy　knew　how　to

handle　that　book　now。



‘‘No；　you　don'tnot　for　me！''　she　muttered；

after　a　minute；　shaking　her　finger　at　the

tenderloin　on　the　table。　　‘‘I　haven't　got　any　‘hot

coals；'　and　I　thought　a　‘gridiron'　was　where　they

played　football；　though　it　seems　it's　some　sort

of　a　dish　to　cook　you　in；　herebut　I　shouldn't

know　it　from　a　teaspoon；　probably；　if　I　should

see　it。　　No；　sir！　　It's　back　to　the　refrigerator　for

you；　and　a　nice　cold　sensible　roast　leg　of　lamb　for

me；　that　doesn't　have　to　be　cooked。　　Understand？　

_Cooked_；''　she　finished；　as　she　carried　the

beefsteak　away　and　took　possession　of　the　hitherto

despised　cold　lamb。



Once　more　Billy　made　a　mad　search　through

cupboards　and　shelves。　　This　time　she　bore　back

in　triumph　a　can　of　corn；　another　of　tomatoes；　and

a　glass　jar　of　preserved　peaches。　　In　the　kitchen

a　cheery　bubbling　from　the　potatoes　on　the　stove

greeted　her。　　Billy's　spirits　rose　with　the　steam。



‘‘There；　Spunkie；''　she　said　gayly　to　the　cat；

who　had　just　uncurled　from　a　nap　behind　the

stove。　　‘‘Tell　me　I　can't　get　up　a　dinner！　　And

maybe　we'll　have　the　peach　fritters；　too；　‘‘she

chirped。　　‘‘I've　got　the　peach…part；　anyway。''



But　Billy　did　not　have　the　peach　fritters；　after

all。　　She　got　out　the　sugar　and　the　flour；　to　be

sure；　and　she　made　a　great　ado　looking　up　the

rule；　but　a　hurried　glance　at　the　clock　sent　her

into　the　dining…room　to　set　the　table；　and　all

thought　of　the　peach　fritters　was　given　up。







CHAPTER　X



THE　DINNER　BILLY　GOT





At　five　minutes　of　six　Bertram　and　Calderwell

came。　　B