was thinking,” he said. “And not only dinner, but everything else she eats. But we’ll have to insist that Brogg prepare nothing for her. He may, at the most, warm up the things I send. And someone must watch him while he does that, preferably Mrs. Vale. Brogg might be able to intimidate Louise. But if Mrs. Vale is concerned about her daughter’s weight she shouldn’t be distressed by the extra duty.”
Mrs. Hill looked extremely pleased.
15
When the scale arrived, a practice weigh-in was held. Only Harold was absent, having already left for the mill. Ester joined in, but without any real interest. She did so only because her mother asked her. But she said that when the others were through, she was going to bring down each one of her kitties and weigh him.
“Do you want them to gain or lose?” Conrad asked her.
Ester replied that she wanted them to lose. She was very emphatic about it: “They’re too fat. They can’t even climb trees. And who ever heard of a kitty that couldn’t climb a tree?”
The following Monday they had their first real weigh-in. Each person noted down his weight on a chart. Mrs. Hill, with Conrad’s help, had drawn up charts for all of them. There was also one for Daphne and two for her parents.
When the ceremony was over and Conrad went back to the kitchen to put the finishing touches on dinner, he found Maxfield waiting for him, looking more bitter than ever.
“Hoping the dinner would burn?” Conrad inquired smoothly.
“In most households the cook’s place is in the kitchen,” Maxfield replied, “not with the family.”
“I’m sure it is. But the scale is in the antechamber—care to know how much I weigh?” Conrad brandished his chart under Maxfield’s nose. “Or the rest of the family?”
Maxfield sneered and backed away. “So now you’re a member of the family? I’m sure they would like to know how you think of yourself.”
Conrad ignored him, and set about getting dinner ready; this was the crucial time in the kitchen. Conrad moved fast, intently, like an enormous white praying mantis. Several times he had to push Maxfield out of the way. This he did unceremoniously, without a word, and each time the butler’s face turned red and then white. At last Conrad pushed him aside so viciously that he tottered and almost fell to the floor. When he recovered his footing he stammered through trembling lips:
“I’m going to speak to Mr. Hill tonight and demand that he turn you out of this house. You’re a—monster!”
Conrad laughed. “When you talk to him, tell him I too have a request: you’re to stay out of my kitchen. If you come here again unbidden, I can’t be responsible for your safety. You’re a sick old man. You’re liable to fall against the stove and burn yourself. Badly,” he added, interrupting his chores for a moment to turn a black stare on Maxfield. “Is that clear?—Eggy!” he called, turning away from the alarmed butler. “Find Rudolph and tell him we’re going drinking tonight.”
Earlier in the evening the temperature had dropped, and by the time Conrad was ready to start for Shepard’s it had started to snow. Rudolph walked beside him, struggling to maintain the rapid pace. He was carrying several jars of paté; he was tired and already half drunk, but the thought of more free drink was enough to entice him along. Besides, he wouldn’t have dared to say no to Conrad’s invitation. Harold’s three dogs ran before them, frisking in the falling snow.
“Sobering up?” Conrad asked when they were about halfway there.
They walked on for several minutes before Rudolph answered that he was cold.
Conrad laughed heartily.
“Just cold, eh?” he exclaimed, slapping Rudolph on the back. “Very conservative response. Just symptoms, no diagnosis. You’d make someone an excellent patient.”
When they got to Shepard’s, Conrad greeted the assembled drinkers with a wave of his hand and a cheerful hello, and told Nell to fetch some
Mrs. Hill looked extremely pleased.
15
When the scale arrived, a practice weigh-in was held. Only Harold was absent, having already left for the mill. Ester joined in, but without any real interest. She did so only because her mother asked her. But she said that when the others were through, she was going to bring down each one of her kitties and weigh him.
“Do you want them to gain or lose?” Conrad asked her.
Ester replied that she wanted them to lose. She was very emphatic about it: “They’re too fat. They can’t even climb trees. And who ever heard of a kitty that couldn’t climb a tree?”
The following Monday they had their first real weigh-in. Each person noted down his weight on a chart. Mrs. Hill, with Conrad’s help, had drawn up charts for all of them. There was also one for Daphne and two for her parents.
When the ceremony was over and Conrad went back to the kitchen to put the finishing touches on dinner, he found Maxfield waiting for him, looking more bitter than ever.
“Hoping the dinner would burn?” Conrad inquired smoothly.
“In most households the cook’s place is in the kitchen,” Maxfield replied, “not with the family.”
“I’m sure it is. But the scale is in the antechamber—care to know how much I weigh?” Conrad brandished his chart under Maxfield’s nose. “Or the rest of the family?”
Maxfield sneered and backed away. “So now you’re a member of the family? I’m sure they would like to know how you think of yourself.”
Conrad ignored him, and set about getting dinner ready; this was the crucial time in the kitchen. Conrad moved fast, intently, like an enormous white praying mantis. Several times he had to push Maxfield out of the way. This he did unceremoniously, without a word, and each time the butler’s face turned red and then white. At last Conrad pushed him aside so viciously that he tottered and almost fell to the floor. When he recovered his footing he stammered through trembling lips:
“I’m going to speak to Mr. Hill tonight and demand that he turn you out of this house. You’re a—monster!”
Conrad laughed. “When you talk to him, tell him I too have a request: you’re to stay out of my kitchen. If you come here again unbidden, I can’t be responsible for your safety. You’re a sick old man. You’re liable to fall against the stove and burn yourself. Badly,” he added, interrupting his chores for a moment to turn a black stare on Maxfield. “Is that clear?—Eggy!” he called, turning away from the alarmed butler. “Find Rudolph and tell him we’re going drinking tonight.”
Earlier in the evening the temperature had dropped, and by the time Conrad was ready to start for Shepard’s it had started to snow. Rudolph walked beside him, struggling to maintain the rapid pace. He was carrying several jars of paté; he was tired and already half drunk, but the thought of more free drink was enough to entice him along. Besides, he wouldn’t have dared to say no to Conrad’s invitation. Harold’s three dogs ran before them, frisking in the falling snow.
“Sobering up?” Conrad asked when they were about halfway there.
They walked on for several minutes before Rudolph answered that he was cold.
Conrad laughed heartily.
“Just cold, eh?” he exclaimed, slapping Rudolph on the back. “Very conservative response. Just symptoms, no diagnosis. You’d make someone an excellent patient.”
When they got to Shepard’s, Conrad greeted the assembled drinkers with a wave of his hand and a cheerful hello, and told Nell to fetch some
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