"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.




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