Part 16 (1/2)
I was sorry to have to admit that my education in the culinary art had been sorely neglected.
It must have been about two hours after partaking of our Christmas breakfast, which consisted of bread and b.u.t.ter, cheese and tea, that we had managed somehow to sc.r.a.pe together, that Fielding said to me: ”Why, William, there is the conductor, and the driver, and the fireman--perhaps one of them knows enough to roast that beef in the larder. Suppose you go and interview them. There is enough meat there to make a dinner for the lot of us.”
The suggestion struck me as being a good one, and I wondered that I had not thought of questioning them about the matter earlier in the morning. I soon had the trio marching behind me into our car, to be examined as to what they knew of the now much-to-be-desired art of cooking.
With divers sincere regrets, the conductor protested that he had not the slightest knowledge of this housewifely accomplishment. But old Joe Robbins, the driver, a sterling, dogged Yorks.h.i.+re man, and one of our oldest employes to whose speech still clung a goodly smattering of the Yorks.h.i.+re dialect, raised Fielding's sinking hopes by saying that although he did not know how to roast, he was pretty well posted in the art of frying. He further explained, and this time to the gratification of us all, that he had in a box, on the tender of the engine, a ten-pound turkey that he had bought up the line to take home for Christmas, and which we were quite welcome to. The only drawback to the bird was that it was frozen as hard as a rock, and would probably take a lot of thawing out. If we wished, however, he would do his best to thaw it and give us fried turkey for dinner.
Fielding, after declaring that he would not forget to give the man who acted as cook that day a souvenir when he got back to town, was just about to accept the kind offer, when Ovide Tetreault, the French-Canadian fireman, a dark-skinned, comical-looking little fellow, pushed past Robbins, and said eagerly to Fielding and myself, in amusing broken English: ”Messieurs, I'm know how for mak de rost turkey, and rost turkey she's goodder dan de fry turkey. And I'm know, too, how for mak--how for mak--” He rubbed his pointed little chin vigorously to jog his laggard memory, and then continued, triumphantly: ”_Ah, oui! ah, oui!_ how for mak what de Anglish call de Creesmis plum-puddin', and if you lak I will do de cookin' for you.”
Turning to me, Fielding said in a low voice: ”Do you really think that queer-looking specimen knows more about cooking than old Robbins?
Would it be safe to let him try and roast the turkey? It would never do to have it spoiled, you know.”
Now, from the eager manner in which the little chap had spoken, he impressed me, in spite of his insignificant appearance, with being less commonplace than he looked, and believing that our dinner, under his generals.h.i.+p, would be a much better one than old Robbins would be likely to provide, I strongly urged Fielding to bestow the commission of cook upon my favorite. ”What possible reason can he have for saying he can roast turkeys and boil plum-puddings if he cannot?” I urged as a clincher. Of course he had no good argument to meet such a question, and so, turning to Ovide, he said: ”All right, my good fellow, go ahead, and give us roast turkey and plum-pudding. I am glad that after all we shall not be without a Christmas dinner.”
During this conference Robbins had been eyeing his fireman with growing disfavor, and as Fielding ceased, he strode suddenly up to Ovide and said to him with ill-suppressed wrath: ”Before thou begins thy duties as cook, it is only right that thou shouldst say how thou larned to cook, and just how much thou knows about it. For my part, I believe thou knows nought about it; I know thee and thy foolish way of thinking that thou canst do anything thou hast seen anyone else do.”
Now, as I knew the old driver heartily disliked his little fireman--whom he always dubbed an intruding foreigner--and had more than once reported him to me on the ground of incompetency, I concluded his remarks were not wholly disinterested, and was about to reprove him, when Ovide, with much heartiness, replied: ”Dat's not your bizness to ax me question lak dat; I'm not on de engine now.” He then raised his shoulders commiseratingly and continued: ”You not be 'fraid, Monsieur Robbin; for when I rost dat turkey and boil dat puddin' you will find her so good dat you will eat more dan de odders.”
The dogged old driver was now too angry to be influenced by our amused smiles, and turning contemptuously away from Ovide, he looked to us to press his demand for our cook's credentials.
”Oh, I am sure, Robbins, he will cook the dinner all right. And then you know,” I added reprovingly, ”this is Christmas Day, and there should be no hard feeling among us.”
My reply only the more incensed our doughty old engineer. He pointed prophetically at the now thoroughly defiant Ovide, and said, ”I suppose I'm interfering; but, mark my words, that foreigner there'll make you before the day's out forget all about that motto of peace and good-will.” His prophetic arm fell to his side, and he seated himself in a position from which he could command a good view of the little kitchen at the end of the pa.s.sage, where his watchful eyes never failed to fasten on Ovide as he swaggered about, arrayed in our regular cook's long, white ap.r.o.n.
For the next two hours I thought very little of Ovide, my attention being occupied by a game in which Fielding, the conductor and I were engaged.
Suddenly Fielding exclaimed, ”Gracious, William, but this car is hot!”
I myself had been uncomfortably warm for some time, and had been dimly conscious, too, of the conductor frequently wiping his face, and casting anxious glances in the direction of the kitchen, whence came blasts of hot air heavily laden with the appetizing odor of roast turkey.
Involuntarily I glanced over at Robbins, who was still on guard, although pretending to read a newspaper, and as I caught the grim look of satisfaction on his profile, doubts as to the ability of our new cook for the first time stole over me, and I made my way out to the kitchen.
The moment I opened the door, and stepped into Ovide's new sanctum, I thought the last great day of conflagration had surely come, and that the elements were melting with fervent heat. Never before had I experienced such withering heat and choking smoke as proceeded from that little range, nor such dense vapor as came from the mouth of the boisterous kettle upon it--many a locomotive would have been proud to spout forth such a body of steam!
Finally my half-blinded eyes found out Ovide, who looked truly like an emissary of the evil one among it all, as he stood with his wet scarlet face, his feet buried in turkey feathers, and his arms up to the elbows in a bowl of flour.
”Ovide!” I called, faintly.
When he saw me, a pleased, triumphant look lit up his face.
”Do you want to burn down the car?” I asked, shortly, when I got him into the pa.s.sage.
”Oh, no fear for dat,” he answered in a somewhat patronizing tone.
”You know,” he went on, good-naturedly, ”big turkey can't be cook if not have pretty good fire. But I'll open de window and den de fire she'll all go out. For me, you know I'm not mind de heat, for I'm used to dat when I fire de engine.”
”But surely, Ovide, you will burn the turkey all up,” I insisted, in a milder tone--for, as I have already stated, I was in no wise an authority on cooking, and from the patronizing way in which he spoke, I began to feel that I had been interfering unnecessarily.
”Well,” he replied ponderingly, ”p'rhaps she do a little too quick, and I'll tak her out; aldo she's only be in a few minute.”
As I glanced at his flour-bedecked arms, he said, ”Oh, yes, I'm find de raisin, and de curran, and de peel, and lots powder, dat makes de flour come big, and I'm mix dem all together when you come in, and we going to have fine Creesmis puddin' sure. It's too bad, do, dat I find a hole she's born in de bottom of de sospan, so dat I must put de puddin' in de kettle, which has not got big mouth; but she's pretty big around de middle, so I suppose de puddin' she's cook just as well dare.”