Come Out of the Kitchen! A Romance

								

never tasted such a soup--not out of Paris, or even in it."
"She probably never heard of Paris," put in Tucker.
Smithfield bowed.
"I will explain your meaning to her, sir," he said.
Dinner continued on the same high plane, ending with two perfect cups of
coffee, which called forth such eulogies from Crane that Tucker said
finally, as they left the dining-room:
"Upon my word, Burt, I never knew you cared so much about eating."
"I love art, Tuck," said the other, slapping his friend on the back. "I
appreciate perfection. I worship genius."
Tucker began to feel sincerely distressed. Indeed he lay awake for
hours, worrying. He had counted, from Mrs. Falkener's description, on
finding the servants so incompetent that the house would be impossible.
He had hoped that one dinner would have been enough to send Crane to
the telegraph office of his own accord, summoning servants from the
North. He had almost promised Mrs. Falkener that when she and her
daughter arrived the next afternoon, they would find a new staff
expected, if not actually installed. Instead he would have to greet her
with the news that the pocket Venus with the polished nails had turned
out to be a cordon bleu. That is, if she were really doing the
cooking. Perhaps--this idea occurred to Tucker shortly before
dawn--perhaps she was just pretending to cook; perhaps she had hired
some excellent old black Mammy to do the real work. That should be
easily discoverable.
He determined to learn the truth; and on this resolution fell asleep.
The consequence was that he came down to breakfast rather cross, and
wouldn't even answer Crane, who was in the most genial temper, when he
commented favorably on the omelette. In fact, he let it appear that this
constant preoccupation with material details was distasteful to him.
Crane, as he rose from the table, turned to Smithfield:
"Will you tell the cook I'd like to see her," he said. "I'm expecting
some ladies to stay, this afternoon, and I want to make things
comfortable for them. Be off, Tuck, there's a good fellow, if this sort
of thing bores you."
But wild horses would not at that moment have dragged Tucker away, and
he observed that he supposed there was no objection to his finishing his
breakfast where he was.
Smithfield coughed.
"I'm sure I beg your pardon, sir," he said, "but if you could tell me
what it is you want, I would tell the cook. She has a peculiar nature,
Jane-Ellen has, sir; has had from a child; and, if you would forgive the
liberty, I believe it would be best for you not to interview her
yourself."
Tucker looked up quickly.
"Why, what do you mean?" asked Crane.
"She is very timid, sir, very easily affected by criticism--"
"Good heavens, I don't want to criticize her!" cried Crane. "I only want
to tell her how highly I think of her."
"In my opinion, Burton," Tucker began, when an incident occurred that
entirely changed the situation.