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"Yes," agreed Steve, "any of us would make an awful mess of it. Cooking's an art." Oscar cleared his throat and frowned. "You'd have to pay a lot for a cook," he said. "It isn't hard, really. I could do it if I were going along." "That's so," George Hanford confirmed. But the rest seemed unflatteringly doubtful. The silence was almost embarrassing.
"You know how to cook a chop," she said to Ida. "And anybody who can cook a chop right can cook. Cooking's like playing the piano. If you can do the simple things perfectly, you're ready to do anything." "Wait till I have a flat of my own," said Ida. "I'll show you what eating means. And I'll have it, too, before very long. Maybe we'll live together. I was to a fortune teller's yesterday.
They both sat silent a little while, and then Beaton said, "I suppose you haven't seen Dryfoos the second time?" "No. I came in here to gird up my loins with a little dinner before I tackled him. But something seems to be the matter with Maroni's cook. I don't want anything to eat." "The cooking's about as bad as usual," said Beaton.
I've just fixed them up temporarily. Little by little they'll be improved. The woman upstairs comes in for half an hour in the morning and just cleans up when I'm gone." "And does your cooking?" "Not much!" said Julian bravely. "I do that myself. In the first place, I want very little cooking. Cooking's not natural.
"He looks at you worse an' worse," was the mate's cheering reply. "The cooking's spoiling what little temper he's got left as fast as possible." "It's the scandal I'm thinking of," groaned the skipper; "all becos' I like to be a bit pleasant to people." "You mustn't look at the black side o' things," said the mate; "perhaps you won't want to need to worry about that after he's hit you.
"Oh, there's lots to be done," Jim answered vaguely. "There's the cooking. A man's life isn't worth having if the cooking's bad." "But a gentleman keeps a cook," Beth observed. "Oh yes, of course," Jim answered irritably. "You would see what I mean if you weren't a girl. Girls have no brains. They scream at a mouse." "We never scream at mice," Beth protested in surprise.
She presumed that her admirer was a recent arrival, for she had seen nothing of him at the hotel. "The Normandie?" The dark man looked puzzled. "I know Roville pretty well by report, but I've never heard of any Hotel Normandie. Where is it?" "It's a little shanty down near the station. Not much of a place. Still, it's cheap, and the cooking's all right." His companion's bewilderment increased.
They both sat silent a little while, and then Beaton said, "I suppose you haven't seen Dryfoos the second time?" "No. I came in here to gird up my loins with a little dinner before I tackled him. But something seems to be the matter with Maroni's cook. I don't want anything to eat." "The cooking's about as bad as usual," said Beaton.
Stove bothered me a bit at first, but I can work her, and there'll be hot water and coffee for braxfast in the morning, and soup and taters for dinner. Cooking's easy enough when you knows how." There was a roar of laughter at this. "Ah, you may laugh, all on you, I don't keer. This won't hurt my leg, will it, doctor?"
That's a good healthy climate an' the hotel cooking's a lot better than it is at Sing Sing." "I can't do it," moaned the clubman. "My God, man, if it ever came out that I'd paid you money to to ruin his reputation, and that I'd run away when I could have saved an innocent man I'd be done for. I'd be kicked out of every club I'm in." "It won't ever come out if you're not here.
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