Part 10 (1/2)
”Well, we did fetch some choice tid-bits,” Jane acknowledged, ”and my paper bag broke, spilling the loveliest gooy-goo eclairs. Tim, the elevator boy, looked at me first fiercely, then as he scented the mix-up he smiled and--”
”Since then he has licked it up,” contributed the irrepressible Judith.
”I don't blame him. Yum-yum, Jane, you are a born housekeeper. You may have my next s.h.i.+ft.”
”Judith Stearns, if you attempt to duck your household responsibility once more we shall expel you. See if we don't. I have a mind right now to curtail your rations, and make you eat your pie without cheese.”
”Spare me,” pleaded Judith, ”I might manage meat without spuds, but pie without cheese--”
Helen was enjoying the persiflage and serving her savory dishes at the same time. A well-balanced menu was the pride of Jane and her housekeeping. She had taken one course in domestic science, and the knowledge thus acquired she was trying on, as Judith put it.
”Think of home-made baked potatoes!” Jane exclaimed, as Helen untied the dainty little linen cover that hid the important vitamine dish.
”Oh, yes, and I will eat all the skin, Jane, so don't trouble to admonish me. I know the salts are in the skin, and I need the vitamines.”
”What you need more than vits, Judy, are calories. You plainly need energy. As I recall the lesson, it says, an average person requires from two thousand three hundred, to three thousand five hundred calories daily. The lesser amount is given to desk workers, and the greater to the manuals, but as you are neither I should say you might need five thousand daily, then we might reasonably expect you to do your own K. P., all of which sounds like a Liberty Loan speech, doesn't it?”
”Janie Allen, since you are so expert, maybe you know that you require absolutely no carbohydrates. You are too sweet for anything in that stunning flannel check. I have always known that gray and pink make a perfectly wonderful picture, when done on a background of a good sized check. Now your gray eyes, and your pink cheeks--”
”Fen, fen, no fair,” begged Jane. ”You are mixing your standards. This is a domestic science lesson. You may thank Helen for these goodies.”
Helen was proudly ”serving” from a particularly savory ca.s.serole.
”Oh, indeed not. Jane chose the menu,” Helen amended. ”And our caterer knows us so well now, he always gives us the best.”
”That's just the way, blessings brighten as they banish, and we are on our way to Wellington. But, Helen, I want to learn a few more Polish words. I am going to count them in on my foreign language list. I flunked in French, that is, I lost two points. Now what do you call meat in Polish?”
”Just meat is 'mieso,' but there are kinds of meat--”
”Oh, one kind will do me. And what is b.u.t.ter?”
”b.u.t.ter is 'malso.'”
”And bread? I should have to have bread.”
”Bread is 'chleb.'”
”Then here is my order in a foreign tongue-with personal service of course. That's the kind you get where they make the pancakes in windows,” and Judith took her share of the ca.s.serole supply.
”I shall order this way: Donnez-moi sil vous plait, une morceau de chleb, une hunk of mieso, and one ball of malso. There, does not that embrace three perfectly good languages?” asked Judith.
Helen laughed merrily at Judith's absurd mixture. ”It would be very funny if they served you that way. The flavors would be very mixed,”
she said archly.
”Yes, Judy, you would get an allied menu. Better, I think, to win each battle separately, and eat in each country as you go along. Personally, I have a weakness for 'grub and chow.' After that selection I make it civilized to the extent of three courses but never five. You see, we have three, Judy. You may have your dessert this time also.”
Helen seemed preoccupied, and in spite of the chatter she stopped often and looked intently at Jane. Finally Judith, vanquis.h.i.+ng the very last of her eclair, asked teasingly:
”What's on your mind, Helen dear? Met any more big men with long whiskers?”