Part 52 (2/2)

When at last the board was decked, the candelabra alight, fresh flowers lavished everywhere, and chairs arranged, the guests were ravenous.

”Do we dress for dinner?” said Ten Eyck. Winifred threw a boiled potato at him. It grazed Mrs. Neff, who swore splendidly and was prepared to respond with a mop when disarmed.

It was one of the necessities of the feast that the entire body of guests should be also the corps of waiters. The service would have appalled the shabbiest butler. There were woeful collisions at the deadly swinging doors; wine-gla.s.ses that had been made in Bohemia and monogrammed there were splintered. A wonderful soup-tureen of historic a.s.sociations was juggled and lost. It fell on a venerable rug of every color except spilled soup. The tureen was picked up empty and badly dented.

But nothing could check the riot. There were battles around the serving-tables in the kitchen and the pantry and at the sideboard. Those who got their plates filled rushed to their places like fed dogs dispersing each with its bone.

Winifred was exhausted by her long day's work. She made no pretense of toilet, but followed her viands in and slumped into her chair with sleeves rolled up, knees apart, and the general collapsed look of cooks.

Forbes had taken off his coat for his kitchen work. Winifred would not let him put it on again.

”My butler and footmen eat with their livery on the back of their chairs,” she said. ”We'll make this a regular banquet in the servants'

hall.”

The idea pleased everybody but Willie. They had all happened into the servants' dining-rooms during the meals of those weary ministers, so now they sprawled and gobbled and chattered in the best imitation they could improvise.

”Our own people are probably eating at our own tables at home,” said Mrs. Neff, ”and pa.s.sing scandal with every plate.”

”There's the one thing missing to make this a true servant's soiree,”

said Ten Eyck--”a lot of down-stairs gossip. I am now Willie's man: 'Whatever do you suppose I turned up this morning whilst I was unpacking the mahster's bag after his trip to Philadelphia--a receipted bill for five-and-twenty dollars for Mr. and Mrs. William Jones, one night's lodging, so 'elp me!'”

Everybody glanced at Willie, but he giggled. ”You flatter me.”

Alice, with the sophistication that young women have apparently always had except in fiction, put up her hand reprovingly to Ten Eyck.

”No depravity, no depravity! Remember my young mother is present. Now I'm our second man talking to my maid: 'My Missus, for all she's so crool to her darling dorter Aluss, do you knaow the hour she come in lawst night? Nao? Four o'clock this mornin', she did! Strike me if she didn't!'”

Mrs. Neff smiled and retaliated: ”Now I'm Alice's Hibernian maid: 'At that the ould shrew had nothin' on Miss Aluss. Whilst her mother was toorkey-trattin', wasn't the darlin' child after tahkin' four dollars'

worth of baby-tahk over the telephone to that young bosthoon of a Stowe Webb.'”

”How on earth did you find out?” said Alice.

Mrs. Neff's answer was further revelation of the domestic secret service: ”It's a nice little colleen, Aluss is, and pays me liberal for smooglin' notes in and out of the house. And then the ould woman pays me still more liberal to bring the notes to her first. It's a right careful mother she is.”

Alice stared in horror, and Mrs. Neff tee-hee'd like a malicious little girl. Winifred came to Alice's rescue with a cross-fire:

”Now I'm Mrs. Neff's secretary talking to my little niece's governess.”

”Help, help!” cried Mrs. Neff. ”No fair, Winifred. I had to discharge the cat. If you dare, I'll give an imitation of your laundress talking to--”

”I surrender,” said Winifred, hastily.

”Go on,” said Ten Eyck. ”As Connie Ediss sang, 'It all comes out in the wash.'”

Mrs. Neff put up her hand. ”As official duenna of this family, I think we'd better change the game or put out the lights.”

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