CHAPTER XVI A CAPABLE COOK

The next Saturday morning the Grigs met at Hilda’s, and after the merry meeting was over Clementine begged Patty to stop in at her house for a few moments on her way home.

“I’d ask you to stay to luncheon,” said Clementine, as they went through the hall, “but mamma is giving a luncheon party to-day, and I can’t have anything to eat myself until after her guests have gone.”

“Oh, I must go home anyway,” said Patty; “Grandma is expecting me.”

“See how pretty the table looks,” said Clementine, as the girls passed by the open door of the dining-room.

“Beautiful!” exclaimed Patty, as she paused to look at the daintily appointed table, with its shining glass and silver, its decorations and pretty name cards. “Your mother knows just how to arrange a table, doesn’t she? How many are coming?”

“Eight; that is, there will be eight with mamma. Of course I never go to the table when she has formal company. I can have something to eat in the butler’s pantry, or I can wait until the luncheon is over and then go in the dining-room. Yes, the table will look lovely after the flowers are on and all the last touches.”

The two girls went on up to the play-room and were soon engrossed in lively chat about their own affairs.

Suddenly Mrs. Morse appeared in the door-way.

“Oh, Clementine,” she exclaimed, with an air of the greatest consternation, “I don’t know what I am to do! Cook has scalded her hands fearfully; she upset a kettle of boiling water and the burns were so bad I had to send her straight to the hospital. She’s just gone and it’s after half-past twelve now and all those people coming to luncheon at half-past one. Nothing is cooked, nothing is ready and I’m at my wits’ end.”

“Can’t Jane cook?”

“No, she’s only a waitress; and besides, I need her in the dining-room. I can’t think of anything but for you to run right down to Pacetti’s and ask them to send me a capable, first-class cook at once. I’d telephone, but I’m afraid they’d send some inexperienced person, so I think it better for you to go. Make them understand the necessity for haste; but, dear me, they’re so slow, anyway, that I doubt if a cook would reach here before half-past one. And there is so much to be done. I never was in such an unfortunate situation!”

Mrs. Morse looked the picture of despair, and indeed it was not surprising that she should. But while she had been talking to Clementine, Patty had been doing some quick thinking.

“Mrs. Morse,” she said, “if you will trust me, I will cook your luncheon for you. I can do it perfectly well and I will engage to have everything ready at half-past one, if I can go right to work.”

“My dear child, you’re crazy. Everything is all prepared to be cooked, but it is by no means a plain every-day meal. There are quail to be broiled, lobster Newburg to be prepared, salad dressing, soup, coffee, and no end of things to be looked after, besides a most elaborate dessert from the confectioner’s which has to be properly arranged. So you see, though I appreciate your kind offer of help, it is outside the possibilities.”

Patty’s eyes danced as she heard this list of the fancy dishes in which her soul delighted.

“Please let me do it, Mrs. Morse,” she begged; “I know how to do everything you’ve mentioned, and with Clementine to help me I’ll send up the dishes exactly as they should be.”

“But I don’t know a thing about cooking,” exclaimed Clementine, in dismay.

“I don’t want you to help me cook; I’ll do that. I just want you to help me beat eggs or chop parsley or things like that. You must promise to obey my orders strictly and quickly; then there’ll be no trouble of any kind. Truly, Mrs. Morse, I can do it and do it right.”

Patty’s air of assurance convinced Mrs. Morse, and though it seemed absurd, the poor lady was so anxious to believe in this apparent miracle that she consented.

“Why, Patty,” she said, “if you really can do it, it would be a perfect godsend to me to have you.”

“Indeed I can,” said Patty, who was already turning up the sleeves of her shirt-waist by way of preparation. “Just give me a big apron and wait one minute while I telephone to Grandma not to expect me home to luncheon, and then show me the way to the kitchen.”

When they reached the kitchen Patty was delighted to see how beautifully everything was prepared for cooking. The quail were already on the broiler, the bread cut for toast, the ingredients for the salad dressing measured. The dishes were piled in order and the cooking utensils laid ready to hand.

“Why, it will be no trouble at all!” she exclaimed; “your cook must be a genius to have everything so systematically prepared.”

“Are you quite sure you know how?” said Mrs. Morse, once more, looking doubtfully at the uncooked viands.

“Oh, yes, indeed!” exclaimed Patty, blithely; “it’s twice as easy as I thought it was going to be. But I must have full sway, and no interference of any sort. Now you run along, good lady, and put on your pretty gown, and don’t give another thought to your food. But please send the waitress to me, as we must understand each other.”

Mrs. Morse looked at Patty with a sort of awe, as if she had suddenly discovered a genius in one whom she had hitherto thought of as a mere child. Then she went away to dress, feeling that somehow things would come out all right.

Patty was in her element. Not only because she dearly loved to cook and thoroughly understood the concoction of fancy dishes, but more because she was so delighted to have an opportunity to help Mrs. Morse. Clementine’s mother was one of her ideal women, and Patty admired her exceedingly. Moreover, she had been very kind to Patty and the grateful girl was happy in the thought of being a real help to her good friend.

When Jane came to the kitchen Patty explained the situation to her and in a few clear straightforward orders made it impossible that any mistake should occur between the cooking and the serving. Patty unconsciously assumed an air of dignity, which struck Clementine as intensely comical, but which impressed Jane as the demeanour of a genius.

“Now,” said Patty, when Jane had returned to the dining-room, “I’ll give you fair warning, Clementine, that I shall be pretty cross while I’m doing this cooking. You know crossness is the prerogative of a cook. So don’t mind me, but just help all you can by keeping quiet and doing as I tell you. I’m sorry to seem dictatorial and horrid, but really it’s the only way to make your mother’s luncheon a success.”

And then Patty became entirely absorbed in her work. She took a rapid survey of everything, summarized what she had to do, looked up some forgotten points in a recipe book and moved around so deftly and capably that Clementine just sat and stared at her.

She put the bouillon on to heat, also a great kettle of lard; she moulded the croquettes and put the French peas on the stove.

“Now,” she said to Clementine, “have you an ice crusher?”

“I don’t know, I’m sure,” said Clementine, helplessly; “what is it like?”

Patty laughed; “I’ll find it,” she said, and after a short search she did. Then she set Clementine to crushing ice for the oysters, a task which that young woman accomplished successfully and with great pride in her own achievement.

“All right,” said Patty, with an abstracted air; “now toast these rounds of bread, while you can have the fire; and then put them in the oven to keep hot.”

This performance was not so successful, for when Clementine showed her plate of toast it was a collection of burnt crisps and underdone, spongy bread.

“For goodness’ sake!” exclaimed Patty, “can’t you toast better than that? They won’t do at all. Cut some more bread and hurry up about it!”

“You said you’d be cross,” murmured Clementine, as she cut more bread; “but you didn’t say you’d snap my head off like a raging tiger.”

Both girls laughed, but Patty toasted the bread herself, as she wasn’t willing to take any more chances in that direction.

But the real excitement began when the luncheon hour actually arrived.

Though not exactly nervous, Patty’s mind was strung to a certain tension which can only be appreciated by those who know the sensations of an amateur cook preparing a formal meal.

Precisely at half-past one Patty placed on the dumb-waiter eight plates of grape-fruit, the appearance of which caused Clementine to clasp her hands in speechless admiration. Each golden hemisphere nestled in a bed of clear, cracked ice, and was marvellously decorated with crimson cherries and glossy, green orange leaves.

After this the various courses followed one another in what seemed to the girls maddeningly rapid succession.

Clementine soon discovered that she could do only the simplest things, but her quick wit enabled her to help in other ways, by getting the dishes ready and handing Patty such things as she wanted.

It was a thrilling hour, but Patty’s spirits rose as one course after another turned out the very acme of perfection. The croquettes were the loveliest golden brown, the quail broiled to a turn, the lobster hot in its paper cases and the salad a dream of cold, crisp beauty. At last they reached the dessert. This was a complicated affair with various adjuncts in the way of sauces and whipped cream. The main part was frozen and was packed in a large tub of ice and salt. Clementine volunteered to get this out, and as Patty was busy, she let her do it.

But alas, the inexperienced girl opened the pudding-mould before taking it from the freezer, the salt water rushed in, and in a moment the delicious confection was totally uneatable.

Patty grasped the situation, Clementine fully expected she would be cross, now if ever; but, as Patty afterward explained, the occasion was too critical for that.

“The dessert is spoiled!” she said, in an awe-stricken whisper. “We must make another!”

“What out of?” asked Clementine, in the same hushed tone.

“I don’t know; what have you in the house?”

“Bread!” exclaimed Clementine, with a sudden inspiration from the loaf on the table.

“Ridiculous! there must be something else! Have you any stale cake?”

“I don’t know. Yes, wait a minute, there’s plenty of fruit-cake; but it’s locked up in one of the pantry cupboards.”

“Where’s the key? Quick!”

“Why, I don’t know; I suppose it’s in mamma’s desk.”

“Run and get it!” and Patty fairly glared at Clementine. “Fly! and don’t be gone more than half a minute!”

Poor Clementine, bewildered by the awful emergency which she had herself brought about, flew for the key, and luckily found it at once.

She returned with a huge fruit-cake, and in a second Patty’s anxious face broke into smiles.

“The country is safe!” she cried, dancing round the kitchen; “Fate cannot harm us now, nor salt water either.”

“I don’t believe mamma will like just fruit-cake for dessert,” said Clementine, dubiously.

“Huh!” said Patty, tossing her head in the air; “watch the magician! But first, have you any rather large-sized wine-glasses? Tall, you know, with slender stems.”

“Yes,” said Clementine, already disappearing in quest of them.

When she returned Patty had eight discs of cake, which she had cut from slices, and placing one in each glass, she put on each a spoonful of the sauce that had been intended for the unfortunate frozen pudding. This she topped with a shapely mound of whipped cream, on which she daintily placed candied cherries.

The desserts were ready in ample time, and after sending up the coffee Patty drew a long sigh of relief.

Then the two hungry girls sat down in the kitchen to eat their own luncheon, for which there was an ample supply of the good things left, and to talk over the exciting experience.

“You’re a wonder, Patty,” said Clementine; “I had no idea you could do things like that.”

“Oh, I’ve been a housekeeper in my day, you know,” said Patty; “and it was only after lots of failures that I learned to do those things right.”

Later on, Mrs. Morse undertook to express her gratitude to the little girl who had rescued her from so much trouble and mortification. But the good lady’s delight was too great for words, and she promised that the time would yet come when she would reward Patty in some appropriate way.

“I don’t want any reward,” said Patty, looking lovingly at her friend, “except to know that I helped you when nobody else could.”

“You certainly did that,” said Mrs. Morse.