THE DISTRACTIONS OF MARTHA . OF CAHF. IOS THE DISTRACTIONS OF MARTHA BY MARION HARLAND r ' la r wr / o ,> * ILLUSTRATED BY R. EMMETT OWEN NEW YORK CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 1906 COPYRIGHT, 1906, BY CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I THE FIRST CANTO OP THE DOMESTIC IDYLL . 3 II DAMPERS ... III A "TOPPED AND TAILED" DINNER IV JOHN HAS A NOTION . . , V WHAT MAY BE DONE WITH A CALF'S HEAD VI A CROQUETTE DINNER VII AN ANGEL UNAWARES . . VIII JOHN EATS AND MORALIZES . IX ENTER BRIDGET . X EXIT BRIDGET . .... XI THEIR FIRST DINNER-PARTY XII JOHN BRINGS HOME FRIENDS TO DINNER . 147 XIII "THE IDEAL WAITRESS" .... 164 XIV THE COMMUTER ..... 183 XV JACK TAKES THE MATTER IN HAND . . 208 ILLUSTRATIONS ALL WERE ON THEIR FEET IN A SECOND Frontispiece FACING PAGE "GLASS-TOWELS ABOVE, POT-TOWELS BELOW; ALSO GRADED WASH-CLOTHS" . . . .10 "I'LL BE GORMED IF I DON'T BELIEVE YOU AIN'T THOUGHT TO OPEN ONE ON 'EM*.' . _ . _- : . 30 SHE THREW OPEN THE OVEN DOOR WITH DRAMATIC EFFECT . . . . . . . . 50 IT WAS HOPELESSLY UNPALATABLE A FITTING CLIMAX TO A DAY OF DISASTERS . . 56 MARTHA HAD FORGOTTEN THE "THING" UNTIL IT WAS BROUGHT INTO THE GRAY-AND-BLUE KITCHEN 58 MARTHA GOT UP TO REMOVE THE PLATES AND BRING IN THE SALAD ...... 78 "On, YOU POOR, POOR DEAR! GIVE ME THAT BOOK" 92 "I DON'T MIND TELLING YOU THAT MORE MEN ARE DRIVEN TO DRINK BY BAD COOKING THAN BY ANY OTHER ONE THING 1 - .... IO2 "HOW DARE YOU SPEAK SO OF A LADY?" . 126 THE DISTRACTIONS OF MARTHA CHAPTER I THE FIRST CANTO OF THE DOMESTIC IDYLL To fireside happiness, to hours of ease, Blest with that charm the certainty to please. SAMUEL ROGERS. THE Gentlemanly Principal accepted Miss Burr's resignation with conventional regret that was yet flavored with sincerity. He was a man of routine, and never demon- strative, and a large percentage of women teach- ers had tendered their resignations to him in similar circumstances. But Miss Burr's methods had harmonized with his; her temper was even; her address was pleasant, and it occurred to him today, for the first time, that she was comely to look upon. " I am sorry, really very sorry, that we are to lose you," he reiterated. " You have been with us a long time. Let me see ! six years, isn't it ? " " Seven, Mr. Fielding," in crisp, clear accents and the careful enunciation every teacher ac- quires in the practice of the profession. " As long as Jacob served for Rachel." 3 The Distractions oj Martha The Gentlemanly Principal raised his eyebrows in an interrogative smile. " And Mr. Purcell may I ask if he has stood and waited as long? Milton defines that as service, you know." Decidedly she was pleasing to the sight, he said to himself, as a pretty flush warmed cheeks paled by the winter's drudgery. She answered bravely enough, a prideful spar- kle in the gray eyes he now saw were hand- some and expressive. " Barely that number of months. But we have been friends for several years." The Gentlemanly Principal bowed, the grave smile gallantly significant. " He has made ex- cellent use of his time. I shall make it my busi- ness and my pleasure to say as much to him, and how heartily I congratulate him, when I meet and know him, as I hope you will let me do some day." Martha Burr had risen to take her leave, the Principal rising from his chair behind his desk at her motion. Instead of meeting his half-extended hand, she leaned slightly toward him, and spoke ear- nestly, quick little breaths of excitement breaking her speech into short lengths: " I hope you will, Mr. Fielding ! You may con- sider me very presumptuous to think of such a 4 The First Canto of the Domestic Idyll thing, but we are to be the marriage a very quiet affair is to be early in October and I should be very happy should esteem it a great honor if you would give me away. You see " hastening to quench the surprise kindled in his eyes by the unforeseen request " I am almost alone in the world. My father died when I was a baby. You may recollect that my mother left me three years ago ? " The Principal bowed again, now in sympathizing reminiscence. " My only brother is in South America. You have been most kind to me ever since I began to teach at eighteen. I have no older friend. I hope I believe I shall be very happy in my new life. But at such a time, you comprehend " In her nervous agitation she pressed the tips of gloved fingers upon the table to steady her- self. They were long, supple fingers, the rus- set gloves had not a wrinkle; the curve of her wrist was graceful. The Gentlemanly Principal laid his hand upon hers in a semi-caress that was all-fatherly. " I do comprehend, my child. You have honored me by the request. Mrs. Fielding and I will be at your marriage, and I shall gladly perform the little service you ask of me. You must let us come to see you when you are settled. You will not leave New York, I hope." 5 The Distractions of Martha Her face was suddenly radiant; seriousness broke up into curves and dimples as innocently happy as the pleasure of a child. " Oh, no! We have taken a cottage in Budfield, and mean to go at once to housekeeping. You see " falling unconsciously into an ingenuously confidential tone, as if sure of sympathy in what most inter- ested herself " neither of us has had a real home since we were mere babies. Mother and I have always boarded! " She lingered upon the word in fine disdain. " And Jack Mr. Purcell, I mean " the pale cheeks were a painful pink at the lapsus lingua " has done the same since he was fifteen years old. Home means a great deal to us. You can't know how much ! " " You like housekeeping, then ? Cookery, and the rest of it?" Her joyous confidence lured him on to the question. " I shall revel in home-making, I know ! Minor details, cookery and the like can be eas- ily mastered. Don't misunderstand me ! " for Mr. Fielding, whose wife's reputation as an ul- trafastidious housewife had never reached the teacher, had smiled knowingly. " I shall set my- self seriously to work along those lines this vaca- tion. I shall take a course of lessons in a cooking- class, and study the best manuals upon Household 6 The First Canto of the Domestic Idyll Economies as I would study German or the higher mathematics." " A big contract to be filled in three months ! " Martha's arch smile and saucy nod were oddly girlish, yet becoming. " ' The labor we delight in physics pain ! ' I am not afraid! Thank you again and a thou- sand times ! Good-by ! " The bride of a week reviewed the dialogue, section by section, during the swift toilet that followed her first night in the Budfield cottage. They had reached New York at six o'clock the preceding evening after a brief wedding tour, and had supper in the restaurant of the Jersey City Ferry. Refreshed in body and jubilant in spirit, they found themselves at eight o'clock upon the threshold of the neat frame cottage the plen- ishing of which had consumed all their spare hours since the end of the school-term. A charwoman of indubitable reputation had been engaged to air and dust the rooms twenty- four hours prior to their arrival. When John had let themselves into the front door with the latch-key attached to a steel chain festooned in modest ostentation upon his thigh, and struck a match to light the gas in every room on the first floor, they kissed solemnly under the parlor chan- 7 The Distractions of Martha delier, and each said John huskily, Martha with a tearful tremble in her voice " Welcome home, darling!" Then Martha nestled her face against the bosom of John's negligee shirt, and sniffed a lit- tle because it was " all too heavenly to be true, and was John sure she wouldn't wake up pres- ently and find she had to begin school again to- morrow ? " Consoled by his assurance that she was " the most angelic goose that ever lived," she forth- with insisted that they make the rounds of the house then and there. They went all through it. Everything was in prime order. Martha had spent three days out of the last week of her singlehood alone in the cottage. Her own hands had made the beds, set every room in order, hung towels in the bath-room, set the table for breakfast, even to putting the napkins by their plates, and laid the kitchen fire ready for lighting. This was her first home-coming surprise to John, and his delighted amazement met her fullest expectations. The kitchen was the cli- max. . " I never dreamed an earthly kitchen could look like this ! " said the satisfied spouse, stand- 8 The First Canto o) the Domestic Idyll ing in the middle of the floor and staring about him. His awed admiration would have been dra- matic had it been less palpably sincere. " I used to think my mother's kitchen the pleasantest place in the house but it was not like this ! " Martha reached up to nip his ear. " ' An earthly kitchen ! ' There'll be no cooking in Heaven, silly boy ! " " I suppose not. They'll live upon breadfruit and the like, from the tree that bears a different dish every month," said literal John. " More's the pity! I don't mean to be irreverent, but a piping-hot oyster-stew and a blood-rare steak are more tempting to a flesh-and-blood fellow. I say, little woman, I begin to see now why you are so set upon not keeping a girl." " Would you mind saying ' maid,' Jack ? Only country people talk of * girls ' nowadays." " We'll compromise and call her a ' Biddy.' She'd be worse than a bull in a china-shop if she were turned loose in this paradise ! " Martha shuddered, and with reason. The floor was covered with tiled linoleum, gray and blue; oil-cloth of a similar design and in the same colors was tacked smoothly and evenly upon the walls ; the ceiling was painted a soft gray. Behind the glass doors of a corner 9 The Distractions of Martha cupboard, reaching from floor to ceiling, three upper shelves bore a modest array of blue-and- white crockery really graceful in shape. The lower shelves were furnished with bake-dishes, pots and kettles in a ware John had never seen before some shiny gray, others blue-and-white. "But, I say!" he uttered again, "I thought pots and kettles and frying-pans and things! were black and where's your tinware ? " " Obsolete utterly ! Nobody in this enlight- ened age need spoil her hands with sooty uten- sils. This ware is absolutely fireproof and as easily kept clean as china. Come and look at my sink ! " Dish-pans in three sizes hung above a row of large spoons, metal skewers and dish-mops. A soap-dish was flanked by a soap-shaker. At the end of the sink was a two-storied rack for dish- towels. " Glass-towels above, pot-towels below," ex- plained Martha ; " also graded wash-cloths. All in place, as you see, and ready for use. But I think I am more proud of the artistic construc- tion in the grate as the final touch than of any- thing else I ever did in all my life. Look at it! " The range was, John averred, " a picture to behold ! " Shiny black, the nickel fittings like polished mirrors, and in the steel grate below, 10 ... " Glass-towels above, pot-towels below; also graded wash-cloths The First Canto oj the Domestic Idyll first, a substratum of paper, then, finely splintered wood, a layer of larger kindlings, and above all, lumps of glossy coal. Martha removed a lid with a lifter, pausing to show that it was a patented " cold handle," a sec- tion of wood between the metals serving as a non-conductor. " Oh, I say! " interjected John helplessly. His stock of expletives was running low. " Where did you ever learn to make a fire? You might have been a stoker for seven years instead of a school-teacher." " Never saw a fire laid in my life ! " announced Martha, triumphantly,- hanging the lifter back upon its appointed hook. " That structure is a work of art the result of a process of induction. I brought Reason to bear upon the subject. Just as I see by the light of reason, unassisted by ex- perience, that I shall save time by filling this ket- tle now, and setting it on the range, instead of waiting until to-morrow morning. Just as I instructed our worthy charwoman to take bread, ice, milk and cream for us today, and to see that the grocer sent in the fresh eggs I ordered by letter. Just as I reason within myself that housework, cookery included, should be directed by what the great painter said he mixed his paints with * Brains, sir ! ' You see before you, Mr. ii The Distractions of Martha Purcell, an Art Kitchen! And the cook means to work upon philosophical principles. There are my coadjutors ! " On one side of the French clock, jauntily nib- bling time away upon a shelf above the zinc- topped table, was a row of books. The bindings were protected by covers of stout gray linen bound with blue. Martha had lettered the titles upon the back in blue ink. The gray Holland window-shades had blue fringes. " A symphony in gray and blue, in fact ! " said music-loving Martha. " We degrade what should be noble when we make work homely. You should hear our cooking-class teacher on that point. She says we should look upon the kitchen as a Temple, and the range as a Shrine." This thought was uppermost in her mind as she entered the Temple at six o'clock that mid- October morning, and threw open the shutters to admit the pre-sunrise grayness that passed for daylight. " How short the days are getting ! " she said aloud. " We want ' light, more light,' as the dying Goethe said ! " The gas, flaming to meet the match, showed a happy face, a trim figure clad in dark blue ging- ham, a white bib-apron, and above the abundant chestnut hair a jaunty white cap with a knot 12 The First Canto of the Domestic Idyll of blue ribbon on top. She was dressed to the part. The skirt was short enough to show a pair of exceedingly neat feet. The Common-Sense shoes had dark blue rosettes. Every step in the task laid to her hand was clearly defined to her mind's eye. First: Light the fire. Second: Cut the bread for toast, not forgetting to pare off the crusts and set them aside to be dried in the oven later in the day, then crushed, and stored in a glass jar for crumbing croquettes and chops. Third: Put the sliced bacon in the frying-pan, ready to clap on the fire five minutes before break- fast is served. Fourth: Turn into a bowl enough Veata-Beater for " the two of us," in readiness for a three- minute visit to the oven, that should bring out the vitalizing properties of the " best brain-nerve- and-muscle food ever given to suffering hu- manity." Fifth: Grind the coffee, bought in the roasted berry to avoid adulteration, and kept in a close canister to prevent loss of aroma. Sixth: WAKE JOHN! Seventh: Make the coffee, and leave it to drip. Eighth: Toast the bread, and leave it in the open oven. " John likes it crisp and dry." j 13 The Distractions of Martha Ninth: Fry the bacon, and lay in the hot colan- der to drain off the fat. Tenth: Put cream, milk and butter-balls on the table. The balls were made overnight and left in ice-water. Eleventh: Dish breakfast. Twelfth: CALL JOHN! ' " A domestic idyll in twelve numbers ! " she had said, in arranging the mental programme. Swiftly and deftly she went through six instal- ments. John was still fast asleep. She threw open the windows, admitting as much of the now bleaching grayness as the room would hold. John slept on, and audibly. Not snoring, of course. To concede that would be treason. But, as he lay on his back, an arm and hand thrown over his head, queer little puffs of breath from the left corner of his mouth reminded her that the kettle downstairs might be boiling over rhyth- mically. She shook him into consciousness before kiss- ing him awake. It is only in old-fashioned poetry that lovers extract any satisfaction from oscula- tion of sleeping beauties. " Jack, dear ! I am sorry to disturb you, but it is half -past six, and you take the 7:45, you know. Breakfast will be ready before you are. No ! " soothingly, " you are not ' a selfish pig/ 14 The First Canto oj the Domestic Idyll nor yet ' a sleepy-head ! ' I was very careful not to wake you. I couldn't have forgiven myself if you had lost a delicious morning doze. Only now you haven't a minute to lose. Nor have I ! " He smiled as he heard her fleet feet skim the stairs as a swallow the waves, and laughed out- right in sheer pleasure when she broke into a carol as a swallow might twitter in the joy of flying. " By George ! She hasn't her equal in the United States of North America ! " burst from his heart and lips. The song dropped from Martha's tongue on the threshold of the artistic kitchen. A curious chill and silence greeted her there. Having touched the paper with the match, and seen a rapid red zigzag of flame dart from fold to fold, she had dismissed the fire from her mind. It was inductively laid and rationally ignited. General combustion must ensue. Absorbed in happy retrospection, imagination bounding forward to salute a smiling future, complacent in, and confident of, the wisdom of a System based upon natural laws and cemented by eternal truths, she had never once glanced at the range. Apparently, natural laws had been violated.. There was a smell of burnt paper. She wondered 15 The Distractions of Martha she had not noticed it before. A shimmer of blue haze floated breast-high through the room. The range was as cold as a Bureau of Organized Charity; the grate was lightless. In every-day kitchen English, the fire had not kindled ! 16 CHAPTER II DAMPERS The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men Gang aft agley, And lea'e us nought but grief and pain For promised joy. BURNS. IN dime-novel phraseology, our horrified bride fell upon her knees before the dark grate with a low cry of anguish. By now, according to inductive reasoning, the kettle should be boiling and the oven warmed by the steady glow of the ignited coal. The brutal fact was that not all the paper had been burned, and the splintered wood was scarcely scorched. In frantic haste Martha applied an- other match ; in extravagant desperation, a bunch of six matches. The paper caught at it readily, flickered, sighed, sent a puff of stifling smoke into her face, and blackened slowly. The woman of thorough measures took the lids off the range with her bare hands, forgetful of the Cold Handle Lifter (patented), tore out the contents of the grate, and rebuilt the fire The Distractions of Martha even more inductively than before. Perhaps the superincumbent weight of the anthracite had pressed the life out of the infant sparks. She doubled the quantity of larger wood, left half of the coal out, and put in dry, fresh paper. A week in the shut-up house may have dampened the first. As before, the blue flame met a prompt re- sponse in the paper, lost heart at the second puff, and began to smoke lamentably. The truth dawned upon the dismayed theorist. She had heard of chimneys that would not " draw." Doctor Franklin thought them of such dignified importance as a curse to comfort that he had written an Essay upon Smoky Chimneys. This curse had entered paradise! The hands of the impertinent nibbler of time upon the shelf pointed to fifteen minutes of seven, and six numbers of the domestic idyll were neither present, nor accounted for. A handsome copper chafing-dish, one of her wedding presents, stood on the sideboard in the dining-room. A bottle of alcohol was in the storeroom. A cork- screw was one of the might-be-needed kitchen properties. Five minutes more had been nibbled off and dropped into eternity past when she brought the three utensils together upon the zinc- topped table and filled the lamp. In ten minutes 18 Dampers she must toast the bread, make the coffee and fry the bacon. The Veata-Beater could be eaten cold at a pinch, and this was a pinch. The chafing-dish was the best of its kind, but, confronted with the demand to toast, fry and boil at one and the same time, it was found wanting. Martha was well-read in fiction, as in philosophy. Leslie Goldthwaite's immortal max- im, "Something must be crowded out" held an honorable place among quotable, because prac- tical, aphorisms. The pinch crowded out the toast on the spot. John must have his coffee, though the sky fell. She filled the deepest of the saucepans appertaining unto the chafing-dish with water, and set it over the burner. While it was in heating, she set a dish of oranges on the breakfast-table, the cold bread (this with a pang), the butter, cream and the glass bowl of Veata-Beater. Then having not one atom of superstition^ 1 in her make-up she went back to the kitchen to watch for the boiling of the pot. In five min- utes it should have reached the point of ebullition. Whereas, as if it had caught the spirit of the recalcitrant fire, at the end of eight minutes a low-spirited simmer had just begun to crimp the outer edges. At this instant the woman of rational re- 19 The Distractions 0} Martha sources thought of one. Since the bacon was knocked out of the running by the abnormal sloth of the water, she would boil two eggs in the same liquid that was to make the coffee. If washed clean, the shells would not harm the bev- erage without which she had heard John declare that he could not live and work through the day. Wrapped in a hot napkin, they would neither chill nor harden while the coffee percolated and dripped. She cleansed the eggs in two waters, wiped them dry, and dropped them into the now heav- ing water. No. i reached the bottom in safety. No. 2 struck between its predecessor and the side of the saucepan, and cracked across. One part of the wit that goes to the boiling of eggs is to slide them into the water from the tip of a tablespoon. This is one of the thousand- and-ten things everybody is expected to know. Consequently, it was not spoken of in the cook- ing-class. A grayish film coated the surface of the agitated water; yellowish nebulae slowly spread themselves below it. Martha snatched at the saucepan with her naked hand. It burned her fiercely, and she let go before it quite reached the table. Striking on the edge of the bottom, the vessel careened and went over. 20 Dampers John entering, clean-shaven, smiling, buoy- antly expectant, in his natty business suit, worn today for the first time, was just in season to get a dash of the murky geyser upon his trou- sers. The up-to-now whole egg, in its rebound from the linoleum, crashed with full force against the toe of a glossy boot. The Apostle of System, Philosophy and Re- source burst into tears as hot and heavy as the hysterical weeping of the weakest of her sex. The one possible palliation of the catastrophe would have lain in the saving sense of humor which has kept many a woman out of the lunatic asylum, and this our heroine did not possess. Even John's anathemas of the rascally fraud of a range and the maker and patentee thereof brought no light to her darkness. When the chief sufferer from the mischances of the morn- ing and who, luckily for him, could discern the funny side of a case when there was one in sight told her over his large cold orange, cold bread, cold Veata-Beater, and glass of cold milk, that he " had not expected to get into hot water so early in married life," and compared the scene revealed by the opening of the kitchen door to Marius among the ruins of Carthage, she could not force a smile. " I wish I could stay to help you out of the 21 The Distractions of Martha scrape, little girl ! " said John, with his good-by kiss. " Telephone for a plumber or a mason or somebody and have that beastly humbug over- hauled right away. I wouldn't have had you so worried and upset for ten times the worth of the infernal machine. As for me, I've had a tip- top breakfast. The sight of you at the head of your own table and mine! did me more good than a Delmonico- Hoffman -Waldorf -Astoria breakfast would have done. Keep up a brave heart, pet! All's well that ends well." Martha took the chill from the suds in which she washed the breakfast-things by a quart of water heated over the lamp of the chafing-dish. Of course, no hot water was to be had from the boiler, in the absence of a range-fire. When she had set the kitchen to rights, she looked drearily about her, wondering at the change wrought in the place and in life within twelve hours by circumstances so ignoble as a fire that would not burn, water that would not boil, and a quart-kettle that turned over. That John had gone to business on their first morning in their own home with never a warm bit or sup, seemed to her a disappointment she could never get over a mortification that must abide with her for ever. She called up the plumber, and received a 22 Dampers promise that he " would be along soon's he could get through with other jobs." Words and tone were merely those indigenous to the soil that grows the suburban mechanic, but they were another thorn-prick. Her menu for the day was prearranged in her provident mind, and her market-memoranda were made out. She had written them down and computed the cost of each item, week before last the day but one before she was married in a substantial leather-bound book lettered " HOUSEHOLD EXPENSES." At nine o'clock she was ready to sally forth, and re-read the carefully prepared menu to re- fresh a memory that seldom played her false : DINNER (No. i) Raw Oysters Soup (Mock Turtle?) Roast Beef Sweet Potatoes Green-Corn Fritters Lettuce Salad Cream Cheese and Crackers Floating Island Coffee " No frills," as John would say. A substan- tial family dinner befitting the means of two young people with an income of two thousand five 23 The Distractions of Martha hundred dollars per annum, and eminently satis- factory in the reading. John doted upon roast beef, and sweet pota- toes went well with it. Green-corn fritters were also a favorite weakness with him, and she had seen his eyes grow dreamy and wistful some- times in alluding to the floating islands his mother used to make for his Sunday dinner. Martha had taken copious and circumstantial notes of recipes of each and all of the above- named dishes as they were dressed upon the plat- form by the professorin who likened the range to a Shrine. The wife had no misgiving as to her ability to prepare the delicacy if the fire were once made to burn upon the now cold and darkling Altar. She called up the plumber again, and strove to exact a pledge that he would come to her as early as eleven o'clock. She could lunch on crackers and cheese and an apple. But John ought, and must, and should, have a dinner that would drive far from him the memory of the breakfast he did not eat. The sole result of her pleadings was a half -engagement to " try to look in somewheres about noon." " Too late to make anything but a cream soup ! " reflected the youthful caterer, ruefully. " And I had set my heart upon mock turtle ! 24 Dampers Never mind! I'll get a calf's head, and cook it in time to have it ready for to-morrow. John prefers it to any other." The suburban butcher had " no head in stock." He could telephone to the city for it, and deliver it that evening, " if that would suit Mrs. " " Purcell ! " supplied Martha glibly, at his in- terrogative pause, with the elaborate unconcern assumed by young matrons before their new names fit easily upon them, " 231 Elderberry Avenue, corner of Hackmetack Street. We have removed lately to Budfield from New York. If we are satisfied with the manner in which you serve us, we shall probably become regular customers. Your place is very convenient to us." " I hope Mrs. Purcell will have no occasion to complain of us ! " smirked the obsequious knight of the cleaver over an expanse of bib-apron that fitted his roly-poliness as the skin fits a sausage. " Now, what can I show her that we have in stock? Poultry lamb, very choice beef, ah, yes ! " at an affirmative gesture. " A prime roast ! " ordered Martha. The cook- book phrase would have betrayed inexperience if glibness and unconcern had not written " just married ! " all over her for the vender's practised eye. " Rib-roast. About five pounds in weight 25 The Distractions of Martha net. And the trimmings to be sent home with it." She had not taken two lessons in " How, When and Where to Purchase " for nothing. The rubicund tradesman pursed a doubting mouth and shook a more than doubting head. " Two ribs are the very least we recommend a lady to buy. One would make a ridiculously small roast, hardly thicker than a steak, in point of fact, when trimmed. It really would not pay Mrs. Purcell's cook to cook it. It would dry up into nothing." " I am my own cook," said Martha, flushing with consciousness of moral courage in avowing it to so ornate a personage. " Let it be two ribs, then. Fortunately I know what to do with the left-overs." " Certainly, Mrs. Purcell, certainly ! In that Mrs. Purcell is unlike many ladies in whose kitchens more is thrown away than is eaten by the family. There is the advantage of a lady being her own manager. Nothing is wasted. It is easy to see from the way Mrs. Purcell gives her orders what sort of manager she is. One of the kind spoken of in the Gospels, whose heart of a husband doth safely trust in her." All the while he was shaping and shaving the " prime roast." 26 Dampers " Eight pounds, net ! " he uttered, when the job was done to his satisfaction. " Would not Mrs. Purcell prefer to have the bones taken out, and the roast skewered into a round? The best judge of roasts mostly like it that way. It looks far handsomer when cooked." Mrs. Purcell's esthetic sense did not affect the ungainly rib-roast. It looked, as she told John afterward, " sprawling and leggy, with those two naked bones protruding from the red meat." The long, lithe blade slashed beneath and above the legginess; the bones were withdrawn and tossed upon a heap of others, the meat was curled up compactly and skewered, the artist dealing it a complacent slap with the broad flat of his palm. "Ain't it a picture? Mr. Purcell will say he has never seen a tastier dish, nor set teeth into a jucier and tenderer. Charge, I hope, Mrs. Purcell?" "By no means! " Martha took out her purse with the dignity of a cash customer. " We con- tract no bills! How much is it?" " Eight pounds at twenty-two cents per just one, seventy-six, Mrs. Purcell." " But that was before you took out the bones." The honest vender smiled, patronizingly supe- 27 The Distractions of Martha rior to the novice. His shrug was deprecatory and explanatory: " That's always done, Mrs. Purcell. We buy the animal with the bones in. Dead loss to us, those bones. But what can a man do? The ' critters ' are built that way." Evidently her injunction as to the trimmings had slipped his godlike mind, as it had Martha's. Yet she had taken full notes of an exhaustive disquisition upon the value of the stock-pot. The man's reasoning seemed cogent. The consumer should share the merchant's loss. Political econ- omy and philanthropy agreed upon that. She paid the bill, but with a secret qualm. Her dinner, according to her calculations based upon " The Science of Marketing Complete in Three Lessons," was to cost but two dollars in all. The something to be crowded out would be the raw oysters. They might be classed as frills to a family dinner, after all. John wouldn't mind, especially as the menu was her secret, shared by none. She winced again at finding sweet potatoes were a dollar a bushel. The purchase of less than half a bushel did not present itself to her analyt- ical imagination. The coveted " sweets " joined the ranks of " Crowded Outs." Green corn was what to the experienced marketer would have 28 Dampers seemed ominously cheap. A dime bought a dozen ears, which were a trifle wilted and sere as to the husks, but since the grains were to be grated from the cob, absolute freshness was not a sine qua non. Half a dozen eggs swallowed up the rest of the two dollars. The floating island must be a baked custard. She could not afford a sponge- cake for a foundation. Nor and the qualm here was a pang a can of tomatoes for the cream soup she had planned. As for the salad and cream cheese they were another " frill." She was sure John would agree with her that they would better begin as they meant to keep on. Like many another John, this particular Bene- dick was fast falling into line with Mr. Jorkins of Dickensian fame. She hurried home at ten o'clock, lest the plumber might be there before her. Of course he was not. Nor had he come when she ate a slice of bread and butter, and washed it down with a glass of water at lunch-time. She had been self -accredited for seven years with a stock of patience adequate to any force the enemy of tender years could bring against her. By one o'clock she had ceased to keep up to her miserable self the fiction of philosophical at- tendance upon fate. She flitted up and down- stairs, to the back windows commanding Hack- 29 The Distractions o] Martha, metack Street, to the front looking down the maple-shaded vista of Elderberry Avenue, linger- ing oftenest and longest in the gray-and-blue kitchen, fascinated against her will by the silent nightmare of a range, shining black and stone- cold. She was meditating a pusillanimous telephone to John, offering to meet him in the ferry-house and dine with him there, since nothing could be cooked at home, when the jangle of the door- bell produced a concussion of every joint of her vertebrae, and sent her flying down the stairs. It was the plumber red-faced, shock-haired, shirt-sleeved, and tart-tongued at the persistence of her summons. She could have fallen at his feet and clasped his baggy knees at the excess of relief and gratitude. Gasping out disjointed fragments of explanation, she led the way to the Temple, and indicated the Shrine with a tragic sweep of the arm. The fire had been relaid artistically. The bene- factor grunted, extracted a match from the pocket of his breeches, and was in the act of strik- ing it upon the seat of the same, when something arrested eye and hand. " Gee-whizz ! " he growled. Then his eyes small, and beery travelled up the pipes at the back of the stove, and he said " By gum ! " 30 "I'll be gormed if I don't believe you ain't thought to open one on "em." Dampers He jerked savagely at two mysterious iron loops above the oven door. Martha saw them now for the first time. Next he gave a twist as savage to two other loops in the smoke- pipes, rose to his feet, and glowered grinningly at the confused housewife. " I'll be gormed if I don't believe you ain't thought to open one on 'em! How could any Christyun fire do anything but go out when every blessed dra-a-ft is shet, an' nary a damper open ? Put it to yerself how long you'd draw the breath o' life if yer mouth an' yer nose was stopped up tight. It beats the Jews how ignorant folks ken be!" CHAPTER III A "TOPPED AND TAILED" DINNER Talk of haircloth shirts and scourgings, and sleeping on ashes, as means of saintship ! There is no need of them in our country. Let a woman once look at her domestic trials as her haircloth, her ashes, her scourges accept them, rejoice in them, smile and be quiet, silent, patient and loving under them and the convent can teach her no more; she is a victorious saint ! HARRIET BEECHER STOWE. AT four o'clock John Purcell had a telephone call. The voice at the Budfield end was blithe. " Is that you, Jack ? I couldn't resist the temptation to tell you that the plumber has been in and that the range is all right. The fire is burning be-yu-tif ully ! And I'm as happy as a queen, and busy as a hiveful of bees." " Good for you, little girl ! You're a brick ! I shall bring home an A No. I appetite for din- ner. Only don't overwork yourself! How's the poor burnt hand ? " " Almost well, thank you. I sha'n't think of it now that that wrongheaded range has come to its senses. Good-by ! " " He'll never think to ask what the matter was with it ! " she reflected, shrewdly, in hanging up 32 A "Topped and Tailed" Dinner the transmitter. " I know it's cowardly, but I would rather he knew nothing of it just yet. One comfort is he has never heard of a draught or a damper any more than I had. A bad beginning may make a good ending. Now for the busiest three hours of a busy life ! " She set the table before attacking the heaviest part of the task. Had she ever helped prepare gooseberries for jam or jelly, she might have bethought herself to call hers a " topped and tailed " feast. Always supposing she had pos- sessed the saving sense of humor, of which, as I have said, she was totally destitute more's the pity! The beef now emphatically the piece de re- sistance was shapely, even to her unaccustomed eyes. It was moist and ruddy and mottled artis- tically with snowy suet. Recollecting the ab- stracted ribs, she weighed it. The poetical pro- fessorin was sternly practical in recommending each pupil to include a pair of accurate scales among her kitchen effects. " Six pounds, scant weight. That means forty- four cents thrown away. I call it Iniquitous! " There was no time for nursing righteous wrath. She took down the fattest of her plump coadjutors. The truth had flashed upon her that she had never seen a piece of beef roasted. How 33 The Distractions of Martha could it be done in cooking-lessons just sixty minutes long? Omelets, salads, timbales, chicken au supreme, breaded chops, broiled birds and steaks mignon, Chateaubriand, a la jardiniere, with onions, with mushrooms, with Bearnaise sauce, au naturel oysters in twenty various ways, entrees innumerable, and desserts by the score, had been concocted in her sight, and the modus operandi punctiliously transcribed in her note-book. The coarser and more tedious proc- esses of cookery were slurred over, as was in- evitable. A professor whose terms were one dol- lar an hour for each pupil, could not boil a leg of mutton or roast a turkey as an object-lesson any more reasonably than she could waste time pre- paring vegetables. The former must be taken for granted; the vegetables must be laid to her hand ready for instant use. To expect anything else was like demanding instruction in the multi- plication table and simple division from a pro- fessor in higher mathematics. Rudiments are a foregone conclusion. And what need, when Madame Romaine had prepared and published, and a majority of her disciples had paid for (discount of twenty per cent, for teachers) , " THE PERFECT FLOWER OF COOKERY," six hundred and eighty petals strong, bound in a calyx of washable morocco, 34 A "Topped and Tailed" Dinner and illustrated so bountifully and gorgeously, that, as more than one mother testified, " children cried for it " ? " Armed with this incomparable Manual, an intelligent child of ten may with ease prepare a banquet fit for the gods a veritable Feast of lyUCUllUS." Thus the advertisement that heralded the ad- vent of the Daniel Lambert of cook-books. Martha turned the leaves until she alighted upon " Weights and Measures" " BEEF : To roast rare, eight to ten min- utes per pound." " I am sure John likes it rare ! " meditated the wife, her head tipped thoughtfully toward the left shoulder. " Ten minutes for each pound. That would be just one hour. I'll put it in at six o'clock. Meanwhile, I'll make the fritters." She looked to her marching-orders: " Two cupfuls of grated sweet-corn, or the same of canned, chopped fine. Beat together two eggs, two teaspoonfuls of melted butter and half a pint of milk. Stir in the corn, salt to taste, add flour at discretion, and drop by the great spoonful into deep, hot fat. Drain, and serve." " First, grate your corn," uttered Martha, reminiscent of Mrs. Glasse and the hare. She hummed a merry tune in beginning the 35 The Distractions oj Martha easy task. The cheap corn was tough, the with- ered grains yielding reluctantly to the grater. She laid to it more muscle, tearing down well into the cob. The dozen ears panned out two ctipfuls of damp chaff. She set it aside, cleared away the debris, washed her hands, and forged onward. " Next, melt the butter ! " Set upon the range, by now roaring and red- hot, the butter turned black while she was break- ing the eggs into a bowl. A second supply was watched during the minute that changed it to oil. She poured it upon the eggs, added the milk and salt, and put in the revolving egg-beater. One energetic whirl spattered the mixture into her face. She manipulated it more carefully after that; still it slopped over occasionally. Surely a quart bowl must be large enough for the mix- ing (she said, " the incorporation ") of half a pint of milk, two tablespoon fuls of butter and a couple of eggs. In the very teeth of calm Reason, as the com- pound foamed, it dashed over the brim. It would quiet down when the corn went in. It was sedate enough when flour at discretion was added. There was so much of the paste pres- ently that she wisely transferred it to another bowl. The final vigorous stir was given at five 36 A "Topped and Tailed" Dinner minutes of six. Being a novice, she had taken three times as long in the task as was necessary. Practice would give her speed. The song thrilled forth again as she advanced upon the piece de resistance. It died abruptly in the middle of a bar. "If you roast in the oven " began the " P. F. of C." Where else, in the name of all that was feasible and commonsensible, could she roast it? A wild idea that it might be cooked upon the red plates of the Shrine assailed her, and was dis- missed as preposterous. The meat should be cooked in the oven, willy-nilly. In what receptacle ? was the next query. Read- ing over the formula carefully, she came upon a dark allusion to a dripping-pan. At her pupil's request, Madame Romaine had drawn up and given to her, with her blessing, a list of kitchen " must-bes " and " may-haves." Martha's pot-closet was fitted up in strict con- formity to this list. She knew each article by name and by sight, and some by touch. She did not identify the title of dripping-pan with any one of them. She drew, almost at random, upon her stores, and hit upon a biscuit-tin. The beef went into it, after the doubt as to whether it should lie on the side or back was dispelled by 37 The Distractions oj Martha reference to a colored cut of " Roast Beef," face uppermost. "Don't wash it!" was an emphatic clause in the code of directions. Otherwise, she would have soaked it, to get rid of the gory look. " Dash a small cupful of boiling water over it when ready for roasting, to cicatrize it and retain the juices." She had none ready. A low growl from the boiler reminded her that it was getting hot. The small cup was filled from the faucet. It smoked satisfactorily in running over the embryonic roast. " Dredge with Hour." Time was flying. Un- able to lay her hand at once upon a dredger, albeit she knew there was such a thing upon her list, she sprinkled a handful of flour over the raw surface, sufficient in quantity to make a bis- cuit or two. She put the biscuit-tin, in which the roast was a close fit, into the oven, and shut the door. " Cook fast for ten minutes or so," was the next marching-order. " Then, slacken the heat." The temperature of the oven was low, although the fire was red and roaring; all the draughts and dampers were wide open, as the disdainful range-doctor had left them. She read on: " An infallible test of baking and braising heat 38 A "Topped and Tailed" Dinner is to hold the bare arm in the oven. If the heat do not become unbearable while you can count twenty, you may safely commit bread, cake, pud- ding or roast to the tender mercies of the oven." Martha stripped her short sleeve to the shoul- der, and plunged her arm into the dark cavern. When she had counted fifty she was entirely com- fortable. At seventy-five she could still hold her arm in place above the dredged roast. Closing the door, she made test of the other oven, counting one hundred slowly while the bare arm was ex- tended to the back of the oven. She slammed the second door, and stood up- right, staring at the enigmatical Shrine, her fore- head puckered, her heart thumping painfully. Her professor and " The Perfect Flower of Cook- ery " made prodigal use of the terms, " a quick oven," " a moderate oven," " a slow oven," " a steady heat." How to accelerate, moderate or retard was a professional secret she had not divined. " Tickety-tick ! nibble-nibble ! " went the imper- tinent clock. She would do the duty that lay nearest her hand. That assuredly was the cus- tard. A boiled custard it would better be, in view of the unknown quantities and qualities of the oven. She consulted the index : " CUSTARD boiled, plain Page 378." 39 The Distractions oj Martha " Four eggs. Four tablespoonfuls of sugar granulated. Vanilla or other flavoring extract one teaspoonful. One quart of fresh milk." ff Great heavens! " Martha sat down suddenly. " The Perfect Flower of Cookery," grown all at once too heavy for her hand, fell to the floor, where it lay upon its back, the leaves spreading widely and idiot- ically. There was not a drop of milk in the house! The last of the quart left in the morning had gone into the fritters. She had forgotten until this minute that John had drunk two glasses and she one. She might telephone to the grocery six blocks away, but it could not be there in time. She could not " run around " for it, as a me- chanic's wife might. She was not dressed for the street, and she could not leave the dinner. For a dessert John must, for once, be content with sweet wafers. She had laid in two boxes for the afternoon teas that were to give airy grace to her modest " entertaining." She picked up the prostrate " P. F. of C.," and turned again to " BEEF : To roast." " Then, slacken the heat." (That was palpa- bly needless.) " Baste every ten minutes with the generous juices that ooze from the hot meat." Martha peeped into the darksome interior. 40 A "Topped and Tailed" Dinner The beef loomed up like a snowball in the half- light. She touched it. It was hardly lukewarm under the dry flour. " As sure as I live, I'll put it into a frying-pan if it doesn't brown in half an hour ! " cried the woman of method, in irrational desperation. " While I am waiting I'll fry the fritters. I've seen that done often enough to rise superior to circumstance ! " She fetched forth a deep saucepan, filled it half- way to the top with lard, and set it at the side of the range to heat gradually. In ten minutes it began to hiss. The top of the range was hot at least, if not the ovens. A kettle of water was boiling vociferously, and the boiler over the sink gurgled spasmodically, as if it had wind on the stomach. She brought the saucepan to the front, and prepared " to drop the corn mixture by the great spoonful into deep, hot fat." The fat was deep; the fat was hot. It began to hiss and bubble and splutter upon the red plate of the range. She dug the great spoon into the stiff dough. It had surely thickened since she stirred in flour " at discretion ! " Extricating a spoonful from the gluey mass she tried to drop it. It stuck fast and hard. She shook the spoon. The contents fell heavily into the saucepan. A jet 41 The Distractions of Martha of scalding fat shot upward and spread outward. That which reached the range blazed up with an evil glare. The spray that touched her bare arm stung and scorched like a tongue of flame. When she could see for the water pain drove to her eyes, the deep fat was boiling to within an inch of the top of the saucepan, noisily and angrily, the shapeless fritter bobbing up and down in it, and both were as black as coal. The Art Kitchen was full of the smoke and stench of burn- ing grease. Wrapping her hand in a dish-cloth, she seized the infernal thing and carried it to the sink. There she poured out the pitchy horror. Next morning the coagulated fat had choked up the escape-pipe. She did not think of that danger in her distress. If she had thought of it, there was nothing else to be done. Ten minutes thereafter, having covered the burn with baking-soda and bound up her arm, she heroically took another look at the piece de resistance, now indeed worthy of the distinction. The biscuit-pan was quite hot, and odors, faint but goodly, stole from the meat. There were, as yet, no generous juices, and the flour on the top was still virgin white. She could hold the uninjured arm in the oven while she counted eighty. She stopped there. The hateful clock had nibbled the hour down 42 A "Topped and Tailed" Dinner to twenty minutes. She had laid out a white muslin frock on the bed upstairs ready to be slipped on in half a minute when she should hear the whistle of John's train. This accomplished, she would trip gayly down the stairs to dish din- ner ready for serving by the time her lover-hus- band got to the foot of the porch steps. The meeting, just within the vestibule, screened by vines from prying eyes across the way, would be to the domestic idyll in ten parts what the bunch of late roses she had gathered from their own yard was to the table set out with the Field- ings' wedding-gift a Limoges dinner-set. She took in each forlorn feature of her failure at one swift glance the raw dough that was like untempered mortar; the blackened saucepan and greasy sink ; the red-hot range with the lukewarm heart. Then I record it with honest satisfaction and to the credit of the heroine whom, I fear, the reader is ready to regard as but a poor and weak pretender her fighting blood arose to her help. 43 CHAPTER IV JOHN HAS A NOTION Up! let's trudge another mile! CHRISTINA ROSSETTI. JOHN PURCEU, had lunched upon a sandwich and a cup of coffee. For one thing, it was the beginning of his busy season, and work had ac- cumulated mountain-high while he was off upon his wedding-trip. By taking this frugal meal at his desk, he saved half an hour's time. His main motive in making it frugal was the recol- lection of a talk upon ways and means Martha had held with him yesterday. " We must look out for the little leaks, the tiny economies," moralized that excellent help- meet. " That doesn't mean petty saving and scrimping, by any means. Real economy has a dignity of its own. Madame Romaine our Cu- linary Professor, you know never tired of harp- ing upon that string. She illustrated it by a series of economical entrees one week. It is amazing how much can be saved and utilized to advantage in a household where every one has a system of 44 John Has a Notion never spending a dollar when a quarter can be made to do as well." John paid twenty cents for coffee and sand- wich. He called the sum " an inside price " to him- self, chuckling while he swallowed it. There was a good deal of his anatomy, all told six feet in one direction and the twenty cents' worth of sustenance did not go far toward filling him up. He was rather glad of his canine hunger as he jumped from the train at ten minutes after seven. There had been a detention on the line that lost a quarter of an hour. Glad, because he could do more and unfeigned justice to the tiptop din- ner his jewel of a wife would have ready for him. " Somehow or other, I've a notion that she'll have roast beef to-night," he ruminated in the rapid walk that made him happier and hungrier at every step. " It may be instinct, or telepathy or maybe because I know she knows what I like in that line. And if ever there was a hus- band-spoiler, that blessed little girl of mine is one. I'm the luckiest dog alive ! " He took the three steps of the veranda at a bound, and let himself into the house. An odor that was not the wooing exhalation of roast beef hung in the air. He knew it, and mentally classi- 45 The Distractions of Martha fied it as the " boarding-house smell." It was really the impression left upon the air by scorched fat when the smell had cooled off. Involuntarily, John resented the association of it with his newly made paradise. Loyally putting down the feel- ing, he called, "Little girl! Patty! Sweet- heart!" There was a swift patter of heels upon the floor overhead, a rush and swish of draperies on the stairs, and the representative of the three pet names was in his arms. Panting and flushed from speed or excitement, she put up a smiling mouth to kiss him. She had on the white gown, one of the late roses was in her belt, and the flavor of cold calcined fat was in her hair. John was a practical man, but he had ideals, and one sustained a faint but distinct shock as he noticed the " boarding-house smell " he hoped he had left behind him forever. He fought it as he would have " downed " a sin. " A bit late ! " he said, blithely. " No motive for it except a locomotive. Have I damaged dinner? " "Not in the least!" She would not let the words stick in her throat. " In fact, things are a little behindhand at this end of the line. Run up and get rid of business dust. You'll find me in the dining-room when you come down." 46 John Has a Notion He found the chafing-dish there also. As he entered, his wife turned an omelet out of it upon a hot dish. It stuck in the middle and at both ends, refusing obstinately to fold over, landing in a discomfited heap at one side of the platter. Martha bit her lip. " ' The total depravity of inanimate things ! ' she quoted. " Luckily, breakages won't affect the taste. It's a cheese omelet, my dear boy! I recollect your calling for one, the first restaurant supper we ever took together. Sit down please ! You must know that while the fire burns furi- ously in the range-grate, the ovens are so slow that the beef I put into the hotter of the two won't be done before midnight." " Ah, I was thinking you'll recollect my liking for roast beef ! " struck in John from his end of the table. He had taken up the carving-knife, and was whetting it mechanically. Somehow, the action had pathos in it for the wife. She plunged ahead, valiantly : " So, as I knew my poor darling would not wait that long for his dinner, I thought I'd toss up an omelet, and make a cup of strong coffee for him. Do you know, those roses grew on one of our very own bushes? I discovered it in a corner of the yard. There's a row of chrysan- 47 The Distractions of Martha themums there, too, all in full bud, that will keep us in flowers for the table until frost kills them." " Indeed ! " said John, pluckily, albeit absent- minded. " That's capital ! " " I'm rather ashamed of the toast ! " regretted Martha. " It caught a little on the edges. But the top of that evil-minded range is red-hot. Help yourself to fried potatoes ! " " That's bully ! " quoth John, shovelling some into his plate. They rattled drearily in his ears. He thought of dead leaves. Martha hoped he might think that she had cooked them. Whereas, he knew the cut and taste of Saratoga chips as well as if he had seen her turn them into the frying-pan out of a whitey- brown paper bag, and shake them frantically over the oft-mentioned red-hot range, the minute the grocer's boy, obedient to a " rush order " by telephone, had handed them in at the back door. The coffee was drinkable barely yet really not so bad for a first attempt in a new block-tin pot that had not been previously seasoned by half a day's simmer on the side of the stove. The omelet was bitter in spots, with the peculiar nau- seating bitterness of burned eggs. John ate a double portion of it, and kicked himself in im- agination for recalling a story he had heard his landlady tell of an " airish " Hibernian, but " six 48 John Has a Notion months in the country," who complained to her mistress, after devouring six eggs for breakfast, that " the mate corner of her stomach wasn't full." He took a second cup of coffee, getting the dregs of the pot in it, and put the spoon in the saucer with the obvious expression of one who waited for the next course. Martha pushed a plate of vanilla wafers to- ward him a species of pseudo-sweet for which he chanced to have a special aversion, considering it as nothing more than desiccated mucilage, sweetened and stamped in a crisscross pattern. As he crunched one between his teeth, his wife remarked, with the heroic sprightliness she had maintained throughout the repast, " Blame the oven, not me, for the lack of a better dessert. I had meditated a lovely baked custard." " I say ! " bolting the wretched remnant of the mucilaginous mockery with an effort, " I've a great mind to interview that rascally range when I've done supper! " The palpable hesitation in putting a name to the phantom of a meal went to the listener's soul. " You see, Patty If you've finished supper, maybe you won't mind if I light a cigar ? Thank you!" With an air of one who salutes a familiar 49 The Distractions of Martha friend in a strange land, he pulled lovingly upon the lighted weed for twenty seconds or there- abouts, before resuming speech. " You see, I happened this morning to men- tion to Sam Fair, who goes down on my train, that you were having the dickens of a time with your range, and he put me next to a fact or two about cooking-stoves and such. Did the plumber examine the draughts and dampers and all that?" " Yes," rejoined Martha, faintly, beginning to collect plates and cups preparatory to washing them. " They are all right." " Hm-m-m ! I had a notion the trouble might be there. Sam is quite a draughtsman in an ama- teur way, with a genius for mechanics. He did it all out for me on paper, and made it so plain I could almost run a range myself. I guess " pushing his chair back " since you have got to be there anyway, I'll go into the kitchen and tackle your enemy. Here! Give me that tray! You don't suppose I'm going to let you carry it ! " The fire in the grate was still red and it still roared. Martha had fed it with two scuttlefuls of coal that afternoon. Preceding her husband she threw open the oven door with dramatic effect. The floury top-dressing was coloring in patches in absorbing " generous juices." As 50 She threw open the oven door with dramatic effect. John Has a Notion much of the meat as was still visible below what looked like a rakish nightcap, was of a sickly russet. John sniffed audibly, stooping to look into the cave. " Smells good, and very natural. How long ought it to cook? " A wild hope caused the " meat corner " to throb yearningly. " If one would have it rare, from eight to ten minutes a pound," recited Martha. " That piece of meat weighs six pounds. It has been in the oven for two hours. And I can bear my naked arm in there while I could count a thousand! Oh, Jack ! I meant to have such a delicious dinner for you! And to be foiled by that mindless mass of metal ! " alliterative from force of habit. "I can't bear it!" She seldom cried, but nerves and tears had been having their way all day, and had left the conduits open. "Don't give way, sweetheart! There'll be hundreds of days when everything will go straight in spite of this dirty devil!" He raised a foot, and deliberately dealt the alliterative offending cause a kick. Martha laughed hysterically. " How silly you are!" But she felt better for the outbreak of indig- The Distractions of Martha nant sympathy. His next movement was to draw up a chair and seat himself in front of the enemy. " We'll fight it out on this line if it takes all summer, you despicable destroyer of domestic peace ! " He pulled a folded paper from his vest-pocket, and studied it for a long minute. " By George ! " he cried, so sharply that Mai> tha let a soap-shaker fall into the water she was churning into suds. " That fellow in the stove- pipe ought to be turned crossways, and it's straight up and down! And so's the one in the other pipe. All the heat is going up the chim- ney. And those two scamps directly over the ovens should be pushed in, instead of being drawn out to their full length ! " He jumped up, and, in his own lingo, " went for them," as much excited as if he had struck oil. Then he reseated himself and set a watch. Martha was grateful for anything that promised solution of her perplexity, and a new sensation was stealing into her analytical mind. Her hus- band would make himself master of a situation that had baffled her. Was she to be outgeneralled on her own ground? " I say, Patty ! " called John presently, pull- ing open the oven door, " bring that nude arm 52 John Has a Notion of yours along here, and test the humor of this party ! " Before she could wipe her hands from the dish-water, she heard the hiss, and scented the breath of hot meat. " One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven ! " she counted, her arm over the smoking roast. " Ugh! " She jerked it out. " Hot at last eh? " chuckled John. " We've solved the mystery. I say! I'm going to eat some of that beef before I sleep. I am hungry enough to bolt an ox and pick my teeth with his horns. Let the good work go on ! " Martha caught his hand as he was about to slam the oven door. " It ought to be basted ! " " Eh ! " stared John, dropping his jaw. " Basted ! " she repeated, again rising superior to the novice. " Madame Romaine told us a funny story of a woman a married woman who thought basting must involve the use of needle and thread. Now, look and learn ! " She scooped up a scant spoonful of " generous juice," and poured it upon the blackening bis- cuit on top of the roast. It hissed and was sucked up before it could trickle to the exposed sides of the meat. A second spoonful shared the same fate. There was barely enough liquid for 53 The Distractions of Martha a third, but it followed the others. Martha closed the oven and finished washing plates and cups. When she had carried them to the dining-room, another fifteen minutes had gone. The basting was to be repeated at the end of a quarter of an hour, should the meat be cooking fast. John smacked his lips expectantly on seeing her approach, spoon in hand. He shut them tightly to keep in an exclamation of dismay at the smoke and smell which rushed from the opened throat of the oven. The " biscuit " had burned to a cindery crust; the generous juices were evaporating so fast that they glazed the bottom of the pan. " It must be done! " decided husband and wife in a breath. John pushed Martha aside, laid hold of the pan, let it go with an ejaculation more hot than holy, and danced about the floor with three fin- gers and a thumb in his mouth, while the intrepid cook wrapped her hand in a damp towel, extri- cated pan and meat from the torrid zone, and transported it to the temperate region of the zinc-topped table. She left it there, smoking like a sacrificial altar, while she bound up John's blisters with linseed- oil and lime-water. "How happened you to have it so handy?" 54 John Has a Notion queried he, relaxing his contorted features when the pain abated. " I bought a bottle this forenoon while I was out." The white gown was long-sleeved, and the chain of red spots where the hot fat had sprayed her arm showed through but indistinctly. " Provident little woman ! " said admiring John. Then " Now, I say I'm going to have a hack at that beef, if only to get the better of it. We'll have a lark, and eat it out here. Your kitchen is prettier than most people's parlors. Get plates and things while I go for the carver. Ha! minion! I will have my revenge!" shak- ing his fist at the " prime roast." One slash struck off the blackened nightcap, revealing a pale, sodden surface. A second cut laid bare a purple heart just warmed through, reddish circles about it shading into a charred rim. The beef was raw in the middle ; the outside was done to a crisp. Stout-hearted John held to his purpose of eating a slice of it. Martha, sick in soul and jaded in body, got bread and butter, pepper, salt, mustard and pickles, and would brew him a glass of tea-punch. She further humored him by let- ting him lay a slice of the roast upon her plate, and forced herself to swallow a few morsels. 55 The Distractions of Martha Even John could not pretend to like what she characterized to herself as the " forlorn hope of the Might-have-been." It was hopelessly unpalatable a fitting climax i to a Day of Disasters the first day's work in her Art Kitchen. It was hopelessly unpalatable a fitting climax to a Day of Disasters. CHAPTER V WHAT MAY BE DONE WITH A CALF'S HEAD There is such a choice of difficulties that I own myself at a loss how to determine. JAMES WOLFE. " THE possibilities of a Calf's Head are mani- fold," read Martha aloud from "The Perfect Flower of Cookery." She was alone in the kitchen and in the house. Rising before the sun, she had followed up her rapid toilet by a series of well-planned and, in the main, successful advances upon the adverse con- ditions which had routed her twenty-four hours earlier. To begin with, she had succeeded in keeping the fire in all night. The success would tell upon the coal-bin, but she did not care for that yet! Before going to bed she had stolen downstairs, with her hair done up in a sweeping-cap, taken up cinders and ashes, put on a scuttleful of fresh coal, closed the draughts and shut the dampers, leaving the door below the range slightly ajar, that the fire might not quite smother. She was 57 The Distractions of Martha an apt pupil, and the day's lessons had been severe. When John came downstairs she had fruit and cereal, toast and grilled breakfast bacon for him. Her complexion was muddied by range-heat, and her eyes were thoughtful. Her mien was that of one who foresaw heavy and unexpected respon- sibilities and was summoning her best forces to meet them. John made talk over the table, and she was not a bad second. He saw nothing amiss, and went off with a whistle upon his lips and a rosebud in his buttonhole. He knew nothing of the ordered Calf's Head. If he had he would have trusted in the " little woman to fix it up shipshape." His faith in her ability to conquer circumstances was still sound. Martha had forgotten the " THING " until it was brought into the gray- and-blue kitchen and thumped out of the butcher boy's basket upon the table where she stood cut- ting up the wretched remnant of the costly roast to make croquettes for dinner. The "P. F. of C." was propped open before her at " ENTREES BEEF." With an elegant carver that was a wedding present, she was hew- ing the meat black at the edges, richly red at heart into slabs and hunks. Chopping-tray and knife were in readiness. 58 Martha had forgotten the "THING" until it was brought into the gray-and-blue kitchen. What May Be Done with a Calfs Head " What is that ? " she said, sharply, as the lad tumbled his burden out of the basket. " The Head ! " he answered, as brusquely. " Jus' come in on train from town." " I see ! I had forgotten the order." "We hain't!" He pitched the empty hamper up to the ceiling, caught it in one hand on the way down, and swaggered out with it on his head, helmet-wise. He was a disagreeable boy. She had seen hun- dreds of them in school, and had made for herself a reputation in training them into better manners. His manners were less than nothing to her as the Head confronted her. She did not recollect that she had ever seen one raw I before at such close quarters. It was certain that she had not expected it to look so dead I Its aspect of cadav- erous clamminess was a positive and personal affront to her sensibilities. When she compelled herself to take it up and deposit it in the middle of a platter she thought of John the Baptist and the charger. She went on cutting the meat, her eyes stray- ing continually, by a weird fascination, to the OBJECT! lying there in frozen calm, peering at her through the slits left by lashless eyelids. She could have believed that it smirked at her with the wide, smug mouth. She dropped the 59 The Distractions o] Martha carver and seized the charger, bore it off to the refrigerator, and shut it out of sight until she should get the mince off her mind. This last was not so easy as it sounds. The beef may have been tender when it entered the oven. It was toughened, first, by slow heat, then by rapid cooking, and the " P. F. of C." said naught of hewing away cinder and crust and cutting it into dice before consigning it to the tray. Slabs and hunks resisted the chopper. Every upward motion of the blade brought up an adherent morsel sometimes small, some- times large. It was only by dint of holding the pieces down with one hand while she chopped with the other that she accomplished the task. One hour was consumed thus, and her arm ached to the shoulder when the mince was finally sea- soned, pressed firmly into a bowl, and put away to await afternoon treatment. She had " read up " diligently upon croquettes before deciding in what toothsome form the uncomely left-over should reappear. Failure in fritters need not presage failure in all fried foods. Loath to waste anything that might be made edible, she had mentally recast the stiff paste that was to have been corn- fritters a de-appe- tizing mess in the light of day. A croquette din- ner would not be a bad idea, and be excellent 60 What May Be Done with a Calfs Head practice, besides. Furthermore, it would be a means of retrieving the waste of yesterday. Nothing daunted by past disasters, she wrote down her new programme while John's kiss was warm upon her mouth: Soup of Some Kind (After the apparition of the butcher's boy she specified "Mock-Turtle") Beef Croquettes Corn Croquettes Potatoes Cut Round and Boiled Whole Lettuce-and-Egg Salad the Yolks Left Entire Fried Bananas Coffee " Frugality is not inconsistent with elegance ! " was a stock motto with Madame Romaine. Her pupil made a rapid computation. Beef, corn, potatoes and coffee in the house. Likewise, eggs. Lettuce one head three cents; six bananas would cost six cents. " Nine cents outlay for to-day will reduce the average sensibly," murmured the Manager, complacently. This was conquering circum- stances. She carolled in making up beds and washing dishes, even in slashing the obdurate meat until the Head was thrust upon her. A troubled reverie ended, as we have seen, in 61 The Distractions oj Martha reference to the Inimitable, because Perfect, Flower. " The possibilities of a Calf's Head are mani- fold," opened new and tempting vistas. She went on with rising hopes of further reductions on the Average. " The liquor in which it is boiled makes delicious soup. One half of the meat stripped from the bones while hot can be breaded and baked in a mould; the other half may be made into * Imitation Tortue ' an ex- cellent imitation of the far-famed Maryland ter- rapin ; savory croquettes are made of the brains, and the tongue, with seasoned vinegar poured over it while hot, is a nice luncheon titbit." The Average came down on the run. From an amorphous Calf's Head, for which she was to pay fifty cents, could be evolved palatable dishes for three days ! This was liberal living on narrow means, such as the illiterate and unsys- tematic drudges of flats and tenement-houses recked not of. For one reckless instant she aspired to add an entree of brain croquettes to today's dinner. Prudence reined in ambition. She would content herself with the soup, and husband possibilities. " It cannot be sufficiently deplored that the devotees of ' plain roast, boiled and fried ' do not acquaint themselves with the merits of a 62 What May Be Done with a Calf's Head cheap article which is susceptible of so many and such dainty variations." First upon the list of the variations was : " CALF'S HEAD SOUP, POPULARLY KNOWN AS MOCK-TURTLE" " Put the Head over the fire in six quarts of cold water, and boil until the meat leaves the bones of its own accord. To test this, take up the Head with a pair of meat-tongs, or between two great spoons, and transfer to a broad platter. Shake gently to dislodge the flesh; pick out the denuded bones, and return to the soup-pot. (Mem. : Set aside the meat until next day for the various uses designated at the beginning of this chapter. Do not forget to pour hot spiced vinegar over the tongue.) " Cut off the ears, and chop them fine. Add them to the boiling soup with a sliced onion (fried in butter), a grated carrot, a bunch of soup-herbs minced, a cupful of strained tomatoes, a teaspoonful of Kitchen Aroma, juice of a lemon and a tablespoonful of the grated rind. Salt and paprika to taste. Simmer all together until the liquid is reduced one-third. " Then take from the fire, remove the bones with care, and let the soup get cold. It should 63 The Distractions of Martha be of jelly-like consistency. Skim off all the fat (and save for dripping). Add a great spoon- ful of butter rubbed in same of browned flour; season further with a glass of sherry and a tea- spoonful of allspice and one of mace. Stir for five minutes, and pour upon a thinly sliced lemon in the bottom of the tureen. " You may improve this superb soup by the addition of small cubes of the meat say a cup- ful or forcemeat balls made of the brains, or the yolks of six eggs extracted carefully from the whites and dropped into the tureen with the translucent slices of lemon. A few truffles are not amiss." " Sounds c?