"Lave em to me, miss," he said. The "miss" passed unnoticed. "I mayn't
give em a Turkish bath, which is what you are describin', but I'll get
the grease off all right. I always clean up while the missus is in bed
with a young un."
He rolled up his sleeves, found a brown checked gingham apron behind
the door, and tied it around his neck with the ease of practice. Then
he cleared off the plates, eating what appealed to him as he did so, and
stopping now and again for a deep-throated chuckle.
"I'm thinkin'," he said once, stopping with a dish in the air, "what a
deuce of a noise there will be when the vaccination doctor comes around
this mornin'. In a week every one of us will be nursin' a sore arm or
walkin' on one leg, beggin' your pardon, miss. The last time the force
was vaccinated, I asked to be done behind me ear; I needed me legs and I
needed me arms, but didn't need me head much!"
He threw his head back and laughed. Mr. Harbison laughed. Oh, we were
very cheerful! And that awful stove stared at me, and the kettle began
to hum, and Aunt Selina sent down word that she was not well, and would
like some omelet on her tray. Omelet!
I knew that it was made of eggs, but that was the extent of my
knowledge. I muttered an excuse and ran upstairs to Anne, but she was
still sniffling over her necklace, and said she didn't know anything
about omelets and didn't care. Food would choke her. Neither of the
Mercer girls knew either, and Bella, who was still reading in the den,
absolutely declined to help.
"I don't know, and I wouldn't tell you if I did. You can get yourself
out, as you got yourself in," she said nastily. "The simplest thing, if
you don't mind my suggesting it, is to poison the coffee and kill the
lot of us. Only, if you decide to do it, let me know; I want to live
just long enough to see Jimmy Wilson WRITHE!"
Bella is the kind of person who gets on one's nerves. She finds a
grievance and hugs it; she does ridiculous things and blames other
people. And she flirts.
I went downstairs despondently, and found that Mr. Harbison had
discovered some eggs and was standing helplessly staring at them.
"Omelet--eggs. Eggs--omelet. That's the extent of my knowledge," he
said, when I entered. "You'll have to come to my assistance."
It was then that I saw the cook book. It was lying on a shelf beside the
clock, and while Mr. Harbison had his back turned I got it down. It was
quite clear that the domestic type of woman was his ideal, and I did
not care to outrage his belief in me. So I took the cook book into the
pantry and read the recipe over three times. When I came back I knew it
by heart, although I did not understand it.