Jasper County Democrat, Volume 7, Number 39, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 31 December 1904 — The Christmas Chef. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

The Christmas Chef .

By FRANK H. SWEET

“Did you get one, John?” Mrs. Botsford spoke eagerly, almost hysterically. Her husband drew off his gloves slowly. “Why, yes; I brought one up, Julia, of course. I sent her round to the kitchen entrance.” “Can she cook?” “She Is neat and very nice looking,” Mr. Botsford temporized defensively. “She says she can do every kind of housework from up garrent to down cellar. And she seems to be strong and willing." “But can she cook—fancy dishes, I mean?” Mr. Botsford looked embarrassed. “Wtell, you see, she was brought up on a farm,” he explained, “and hasn’t had much chance at such things. She says, however, that she had quite a reputation at home for plain, wholesome cooking, and she is willing to learn. I told her what you wanted.” Mrs. Botsford dropped upon a stool, her eyes filling. “Oh, John!” she ejaculated. “It’s 11 o’clock now, and Cousin Edward’s fiancee is coming at 3 o’clock to stay until Saturday, and she and Edward and some of her people will be here for Christmas dinner tomorrow, and you know I have never seen the girl nor any of them. We must have things nice. The girl’s worth a clear million In her own right. Oh, John, why need our cook get sick at such a time, and”— Mrs. Botsford was becoming incoherent and seemed to recognize the fact herself, for she stopped suddenly. But John nodded comprehendingly. “I see,” he said. “But what else could I do? There’s a corner on servants, especially cooks, at this season. The only suggestion of one besides Sarah was a ten dollar a day chef who commences on a regular job Monday. Of course you don’t want a chef for two days.” Mrs. Botsford sprang to her feet, her face suddenly radiant. “The very thing!” she cried. “He can do the art work and your cook the plain dishes. A chef will be so-so chic, and, you know. Miss Lenox has been used to everything. He—a chef is he. Isn’t It, John?” “Why, yes, I suppose so. That has always been my impression, though I don’t suppose there is any law against

a girl filling the position. The manager did not state In this ease, only thut a chef could be had for two days.” “Well, it's he, of course. Now, hurry to the telephone, please, before some one else gets him.” She waited until her husband returned from the telephone, nodding. “Says the chef will be up at 1 o’clock sharp, Julia. Now I’ll go, downtown and order the Christmas trimmings and things.” At 1 o’clock sharp Mrs. Botsford was at the window, expectant, anxious. But exactly as the clock struck a cab rolled up to the door and a girl alighted. Mrs. Botsford’s countenance fell a little, but rose as the girl, with a quick .glance around, opened the small gate and went toward the side entrance. It was the chef, though but a girl. And the fact of her coming In a cab and being well dressed was significant of the $lO a day. Mrs. Botsford did not wait for the chamber girl to answer the bell, but hurried to the side entrance. The occasion was too momentous for ceremony. As she threw open the door the girl was bending over a fine clump of late chrysanthemums that were smiling daringly into the very teeth of winter. Mrs. Botsford’s heart warmed toward her Instantly. She loved flowers, and a girl who could bend over flowers with that look on her face was aot an ordinary workman, but an artist. As the girl looked up, smiled, nodded and then came forward, Mrs. Botsford almost canght her In her arms. “Oh, my dear,” she cried, without giving the chef an opportunity to speak, "you don't know how glad I am to see yon. I will take yon right Into the kitchen, and Sarah will Show you where everything Is. I am so glad. I shall not make a suggestion, for I see you are perfectly capable and can do

best In your own way. Only do make It just as—«s comprehensive as you can. Miss Lenox is accustomed to everything, and—and I want to make her like me so much and to please Edward.” She had been hurrying the chef through the halt toward the kitchen, half laughing, half crying, but wholly Joyous and nntlcipative. At the door, to her surprise and almost consternation, the chef suddenly bent forward, pressing a light kiss upon her torehead. “If you are as nice to Miss Lenox as, you are to me,” she smiled, “I think she will like you. Now you may leave me in charge. I will do the best I can.”

Mrs. Botsford returned to the drawing room, rubbifig her forehead thoughtfully. “What’s the matter, Julia," her husband asked, "another headache?” “N-no,” doubtfully. “That’s where the chef kissed me. I never had a girl kiss me as soon before. But I don’t care, if only she diffuses her artist soul through the cooking. She has an artist soul, John. I saw* it In her eyes.” At 3 o’clock she was again at the window, but there was no carriage in sight. Two minutes later the telephone rang. She did not call Mr. Botsford this time, but went to the telephone herself. “What’s that you say?” she questioned presently, leaning forward as though in that attitude she could make the receiver at her ear more Intelligible. “Can’t come? Why, that’s too bad! But you will be here tomorrow, of course? What? Will send note. Yes. Wsll, come just as early as you can.” An honr later the note came. Mrs. Botsford read It with a perplexed face, then passed it to her husband. “I didn’t know she spelled her name that way, John,” she said, “though of course we never saw it spelled out. One can never tell much from pronunciation. And—and I’m afraid she’s not so well educated as we thought. She comes from the west, you know, and lots of families get rich quickly out there. And, of course, a lover’s opinion Isn’t always reliable. Poor Edward!” Mr. Botsford nodded vaguely and opened the note, which read: Dear Mr. and Mrs. Botsford—Sorry I cannot come according to agreement. Imperative summons elsewhere. Will see you tomorrow. Faithfully, etc., M. LEHKNOCKS. “Rather abrupt for good form, Isn’t it?” queried Mr. Botsford. “And doesn’t there seem a suggestion of Polish amoi)g the ancestors, or Is It German or Irish? The combination might masquerade almost any nationality that’s foreign. But never mind, Julia. We must be as nice to her as we can for Edward's sake.” At 9 o'clock that night, after the palms and mistletoe and holly had arrived and been arranged in the various rooms to their satisfaction. Sarah suddenly burst upon them with face full of consternation. “The chef!” she gasped. “Didn't ye say she was goin’ to stay tomorry an’ the next day?” “Certainly. Why?” “Because she’s gone—left entirely. I was at the range, watchin’ the turkey, an’ she come in with her hat on an’ said that everything was all ready, so I could attend to It now. An’ she left this note for ye.” “But why did she go?” gasped Mrs. Botsford. “I thought”— “She said everything was all ready,” Sarah repeated stolidly, “an’ that I could attend to It now. There,” as a clear car tinkle sounded outside, “that’s her car startin’ now. She said she wanted to catch the 9 o’clock.” Mrs. Botsford opened the note with trembling fingers. As she read she frowned, looked mortified, laughed and finally passed the note to her husband, with shining eyes. “She’s all right,” was her only comment. The note read: Dear Mrs. Botsford—You really must forgive me. I had an errand downtown, and so called at your house an hour earlier than I Intended, thinking I would stop there awhile, and then perhaps you and I would do the errand together. A sight of your lovely chrysanthemums drew me straight through the gate to the side entrance; then you opened the door, and some way we drifted Into the kitchen before I quite realized what I was doing. Then your straits and a remembrance of former triumphs conspired to do the rest. I really do love cooking and have taken a lot of courses In special things. I think I have excelled myself this time and believe you will be satisfied with the result. Sarah and the chamber girl can manage the rest very nicely. I shall do my errand now and stay with my aunt at the Marlborough tonight. It will be more convenient. You may expect us quite early tomorrow morning. Lovingly, MARGUERITE LENOX.

“YOU DON’T KNOW HOW GLAD I AM TO SEE YOU.”