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"Not that they can touch your cooking here, Miss Lulu," he said, settling himself to wait, and crumbling a crust. Dwight, expanding a bit in the aura of the food, observed that Lulu was a regular chef, that was what Lulu was. He still would not look at his wife, who now remarked: "Sheff, Dwightie. Not cheff." This was a mean advantage, which he pretended not to hear another mean advantage.
So at last Dwight said tentatively at lunch: "What if I brought that Neil Cornish up for supper, one of these nights?" "Oh, Dwightie, do," said Ina. "If there's a man in town, let's know it." "What if I brought him up to-night?" Up went Ina's eyebrows. To-night? "'Scalloped potatoes and meat loaf and sauce and bread and butter," Lulu contributed. Cornish came to supper.
"I will," she said, laughing tremulously, to prove that she too could join in, could be as merry as the rest. "And I will. There, by Jove, now have we entertained you, or haven't we?" Ninian laughed and pounded his soft fist on the table. "Oh, say, honestly!" Ina was shocked. "I don't think you ought to holy things what's the matter, Dwightie?"
These details Dwight interrupted: Couldn't Lulu remember that he liked sage on the chops? He could hardly taste it. He had, he said, told her this thirty-seven times. And when she said that she was sorry, "Perhaps you think I'm sage enough," said the witty fellow. "Dwightie!" said Ina. "Mercy." She shook her head at him. "Now, Di," she went on, keeping the thread all this time.
"A tiny wee bit more Athabasca," he added, and they all laughed and told him that Athabasca was a lake, of course. Of course he meant tobasco, Ina said. Their entertainment and their talk was of this sort, for an hour. "Well, now," said Dwight Herbert when it was finished, "somebody dance on the table." "Dwightie!" "Got to amuse ourselves somehow. Come, liven up.
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