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Show a shriek and rushes out, just as Mr. C. comes in. Clutches Mr. C. with floury hands.) Oh, Hal, there's a mouse in the flour bin. (Shudders.) I nearly put my hand on it!Mr. C. (putting cup on table). The impudent creature! I'll get that mouse in short order. (Takes tongs from hook and goes into the pantry, while Betty hovers fearfully near the door. She retreats into room as Mr. C. comes forward bearing aloft the flour sieve, the black, wooden handle of which Betty had mistaken for a mouse.)Mrs. C. (sinking into a chair, laughing hysterically). It did look like a mouse, and you needn't laugh at me, Hal Carr.Mr. C. (solemnly). It is not that I love you less, Betty, but that I------Mrs. C. (interrupting). There isn't time for frivolity if we get dinner ready to-night. Did you get some salt?Mr. C. Sure, and the lady didn't appear to be shocked at all, but said we were quite welcome. You see, I forgot to take oft' my apron and she seemed to understand the situation at once. Awfully nice young woman.Mrs. C. (severely, as she seasons the roast). Do you often discover nice young women ?Mr. C. (eyeing Betty admiringly). I discovered the nicest one in the world.Mrs. C. You say a good many foolish things, milord.Mr. C. You like me to say them, miladi.(Mrs. C. sweeps grandly by and deposits roast in oven.)Mr. C. What's next on the program,-I should say, menu ?Mrs. C. Let me see-salad dressing, that is, if there is any mustard.Mr. C. Sure. A dozen cans.Mrs. C. (aghast). Hal Carr! You're just like a man.Mr. C. (meekly). Yes, ma'am, I hope so.Mrs. C. (witheringly). Twelve cans of mustard? Is there vinegar?Mr. C. (anxiously). Why, Betty, I don't remember- guess not, .though.Mrs. C. Stupid! Is there any olive oil, then?Mr. C. N-no. Really, Betty, I don't see how I could have forgotten so many things. You see I tried to think of things we'd be most apt to forget, like cloves, and mace. I got plenty of those.Mrs. C. Well, that won't make salad dressing, so we can't have salad. I'm going to see what you really did get. (Goes into pantry while Mr. C. walks anxiously up and down.)Mrs. C. (from pantry). Where are the potatoes, dear?Mr. C. (much perturbed). Why, any one would think you were Irish, Betty. Yankees don't always eat potatoes.Mrs. C. Where are the canned vegetables-peas and things ?Mr. C. (going to door of pantry). Well-I don't believe I got any vegetables-didn't know they had 'em, but there's veal loaf and pickled tongue, and-butter and eggs? Great Scott! Haven't they come? Why, your mother was to have them sent over yesterday, so they'd be fresh for us when we got here. I'm sorry, Betty.Mrs. C. (icily). Is there mint anywhere?Mr. C. Mint? Mint? What do you use mint for? (Caesar, why did I ever insist on buying the groceries?)166 |