CHAPTER XXVIII
Just Before Dinner
THE girls, a little uneasy lest their alarmingly interested parents should insist on crooking and serving the entire dinner, were both relieved and perplexed to find that the grown-ups, while perfectly willing to help with the dinner provided that they could work in their own kitchens, flatly declined the most urgent invitations to enter the cottage the afternoon or evening of the party.
It was incomprehensible. Until noon of the very day of the feast the parents and Aunty Jane had paid the girls an almost embarrassing number of visits. Now, when the girls really wanted them and actually gave each of them a very special invitation, each one unexpectedly held aloof. For, as the hour approached, the girls momentarily became more and more convinced that something would surely go wrong in the cottage kitchen with no experienced person to keep things moving. They decided, at four o'clock, to ask Mrs. Mapes to oversee things.
"No indeed,'* said Mrs. Mapes. "You may have anything there is in my house, but you can't have me. You don't need anybody; you won't have a mite of trouble."
Finding Mrs. Mapes unpersuadable, they went to Mrs. Tucker, who next to Jean's mother, was usually the most obliging of parents.
"No," said Mrs. Tucker, "I couldn't think of it. No, no, no, not for one moment. It's much better for you to do it all by yourselves.
Still hopeful, the girls ran to Mrs. Bennett.
"Mercy no!" exclaimed that good woman, with discouraging emphasis. "I'm not a bit of use in a strange kitchen and there are reasons—Oh! I mean it's your party and it won't be any fun if somebody else runs it."
"Shall we ask your Aunty Jane?" asked Bettie. "We don't seem to be having any luck."
"Yes," replied Marjory. "She loves to manage things."
But Marjory's Aunty Jane proved no more willing than the rest.
"No ma'am!" she said, emphatically. "I wouldn't do it for ten dollars. Why! It would just spoil everything to have a grown person around. Don't even think of such a thing."
So the girls, feeling just a little indignant at their disobliging relatives, decided to get along as well as they could without them.
At last, everything was either cooked or cooking. The table was beautifully set and decorated and flowers bloomed everywhere in Dandelion Cottage. Jean and Bettie, in the freshest of gingham aprons, were taking turns watching the things simmering on the stove. Mabel looking fatter than ever in her short, white, stiffly starched apron, was on the doorstep craning her neck to see if the guests showed any signs of coming, and Marjory was busily putting a few entirely unnecessary finishing touches to the table.
The guests were invited for half past six, but had been hospitably urged by Bettie to appear sooner if they wished. At exactly fifteen minutes after six, Mrs. Crane, in her old-fashioned, threadbare, best black silk, a very-much-mended real lace collar and with her iron-grey hair far more elaborately arranged than she usually wore it, crossed the street, lifting her skirts high and stepping gingerly to avoid the dust. She supposed that she was to be the only guest, for the girls had not mentioned any other.
Mabel, prodigiously formal and most unusually solemn, met her at the door, ushered her into the blue room and invited her to remove her wraps. The light shawl that Mrs. Crane had worn over her head was the only wrap she had, but it was not as easily removed as it might have been. It caught on one of her hair pins, which necessitated re-arranging several locks of hair that had slipped from place. This took some time and while she was thus occupied, Mr. Black turned the corner, went swiftly toward the cottage, mounted the steps and rang the door bell.
Mabel received him with even greater solemnity than she had Mrs. Crane.
"I think I'd better take your hat and coat," said she. "We haven't any hat rack, but they'll be perfectly safe on the pink-room bed because we haven't any Tucker babies taking naps on it, to-day."
Mr. Black handed his things to her with an elaborate politeness that equalled her own.
"Marjory!" she whispered as she went with the guest's belongings through the dining room. "He's wearing his dress suit!"
"Sh! he'll hear you," warned Marjory.
"Well, anyway, I'm frightened half to death. Oh would you mind passing all the wettest things? I hadn't thought about his clothes."
"Yes, I guess I'd better; he might want to wear 'em again."
"They're both here," announced Mabel, opening the kitchen door.
"You help Bettie stir the soup and the mashed potatoes," said Jean, whisking off her apron and tying it about Mabel's neck. "I'll go in and shake hands with them and then come back and dish up."
Jean found both guests looking decidedly ill at ease. Mr. Black stood by the parlour table absent-mindedly undressing a family of paper dolls. Mrs. Crane, pale and nervously clutching the curtain, seemed unable to move from the bedroom doorway.
"Oh!" said Jean, "I do believe Mabel forgot all about introducing you. We told her to be sure to remember, but she hasn't been able to take her mind off of her apron since she put it on. Mrs. Crane, this is our—our preserver, Mr. Black."
The guests bowed stiffly.
Jean began to wish that she could think of some way to break the ice. Both were jolly enough on ordinary occasions, but, seemingly, both had suddenly been stricken dumb. Perhaps dinner parties always affected grown persons that way, or perhaps the starch from Mabel's apron had proved contagious. Jean smiled at the thought Then she made another effort to promote sociability.
"Mrs. Crane," explained Jean, turning to Mr. Black who was nervously tearing the legs off of the father of the paper doll family, "is our very nicest neighbour. We like her just ever so much—everybody does. We've often told you, Mrs. Crane, how fond we are of Mr. Black. It was because you are our two very dearest friends that we invited you both"
"Je-e-e-e-an!" called a distressed voice from the kitchen.
"Mercy!" exclaimed Jean, making a hurried exit, "I hope that soup isn't scorched!"
"No," said Bettie, slightly aggrieved, "but I wanted a chance, too, to say how-do-you-do to those people before I get all mixed up with the cooking. I thought you were never coming back."
"Well, it's your turn now," said Jean. "Give me that spoon."
Bettie finding both guests seated in opposite corners of the room and apparently deeply interested in the cottage literature—Mr. Black buried in "Dottie Dimple" and Mrs. Crane absorbed in "Mother Goose"—naturally concluded that they were waiting to be introduced, and accordingly made the presentation.
"Mrs. Crane," said she, "I want you to meet Mr. Black, and I hope," added warm-hearted Bettie, "that you'll like each other very much because we're so fond of you both. You're each a surprise party for the other—we thought you'd both like it better if you had somebody besides children to talk to."
"Very kind, I'm sure," mumbled Mr. Black, whose company manners, it seemed to Bettie, were far from being as pleasant as his everyday ones. Bettie gave a deep sigh and made one more effort to set the conversational ball rolling.
"I'm afraid I'll have to go back to the kitchen now, and leave you to entertain each other. Please both of you be very entertaining—you're both so jolly when you just run in."
Bettie's eyes were wistful as she went toward the kitchen. Was it possible, she wondered, that her beloved Mr. Black could despise Mrs. Crane because she was poor? It didn't seem possible, yet there was certainly something wrong. Perhaps he was merely hungry. That was it of course; she would put the dinner on at once—even good-natured Dr. Tucker, she remembered, was sometimes a little bearlike when meals were delayed.