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wafer thinness； were dumped into a basin of cold
water。
‘‘There！ now I guess you'll cook；'' nodded
Billy to the dish in her hand as she hurried to the
stove。
Chilled by an ominous unresponsiveness； Billy
lifted the stove lid and peered inside。 Only a mass
of black and graying coals greeted her。 The fire
was out。
‘‘To think that even you had to go back on me
like this！'' upbraided Billy； eyeing the dismal
mass with reproachful gaze。
This disaster； however； as Billy knew； was not
so great as it seemed； for there was still the gas
stove。 In the old days； under Dong Ling's rule；
there had been no gas stove。 Dong Ling disapproved
of ‘‘devil stoves'' that had ‘‘no coalee；
no woodee； but burned like hellee。'' Eliza；
however； did approve of them； and not long after her
arrival； a fine one had been put in for her use。 So
now Billy soon had her potatoes with a brisk
blaze under them。
In frantic earnest； then； Billy went to work。
Brushing the discarded onions； turnip； and beets
into a pail under the table； she was still confronted
with the beefsteak； lettuce； and grapefruit。
All but the beefsteak she pushed to one side
with gentle pats。
‘‘You're all right；'' she nodded to them。 ‘‘I
can use you。 You don't have to be cooked；
bless your hearts！ But _you_！'' Billy scowled
at the beefsteak and ran her finger down the index
of the ‘‘Bride's Helper''Billy knew how to
handle that book now。
‘‘No； you don'tnot for me！'' she muttered；
after a minute； shaking her finger at the
tenderloin on the table。 ‘‘I haven't got any ‘hot
coals；' and I thought a ‘gridiron' was where they
played football； though it seems it's some sort
of a dish to cook you in； herebut I shouldn't
know it from a teaspoon； probably； if I should
see it。 No； sir！ It's back to the refrigerator for
you； and a nice cold sensible roast leg of lamb for
me； that doesn't have to be cooked。 Understand？
_Cooked_；'' she finished； as she carried the
beefsteak away and took possession of the hitherto
despised cold lamb。
Once more Billy made a mad search through
cupboards and shelves。 This time she bore back
in triumph a can of corn； another of tomatoes； and
a glass jar of preserved peaches。 In the kitchen
a cheery bubbling from the potatoes on the stove
greeted her。 Billy's spirits rose with the steam。
‘‘There； Spunkie；'' she said gayly to the cat；
who had just uncurled from a nap behind the
stove。 ‘‘Tell me I can't get up a dinner！ And
maybe we'll have the peach fritters； too； ‘‘she
chirped。 ‘‘I've got the peach…part； anyway。''
But Billy did not have the peach fritters； after
all。 She got out the sugar and the flour； to be
sure； and she made a great ado looking up the
rule； but a hurried glance at the clock sent her
into the dining…room to set the table； and all
thought of the peach fritters was given up。
CHAPTER X
THE DINNER BILLY GOT
At five minutes of six Bertram and Calderwell
came。 Bertram gave his peculiar ring and let
himself in with his latchkey； but Billy did not
meet him in the hall； nor in the drawing…room。
Excusing himself； Bertram hurried up…stairs。
Billy was not in her room； nor anywhere on that
floor。 She was not in William's room。 Coming
down…stairs to the hall again； Bertram confronted
William； who had just come in。
‘‘Where's Billy？'' demanded the young husband；
with just a touch of irritation； as if he
suspected William of having Billy in his pocket。
William stared slightly。
‘‘Why； I don't know。 Isn't she here？''
‘‘I'll ask Pete；'' frowned Bertram。
In the dining…room Bertram found no one；
though the table was prettily set； and showed
half a grapefruit at each place。 In the kitchen
in the kitchen Bertram found a din of rattling
tin； an odor of burned food； a confusion of
scattered pots and pans； a frightened cat who peered
at him from under a littered stove； and a flushed；
disheveled young woman in a blue dust…cap and
ruffled apron； whom he finally recognized as his
wife。
‘‘Why； Billy！'' he gasped。
Billy； who was struggling with something at
the sink； turned sharply。
‘‘Bertram Henshaw；'' she panted； ‘‘I used to
think you were wonderful because you could
paint a picture。 I even used to think I was a
little wonderful because I could write a song。
Well； I don't any more！ But I'll tell you who _is_
wonderful。 It's Eliza and Rosa； and all the rest
of those women who can get a meal on to the
table all at once； so it's fit to eat！''
‘‘Why； Billy！'' gasped Bertram again； falling
back to the door he had closed behind him。
‘‘What in the world does this mean？''
‘‘Mean？ It means I'm getting dinner；'' choked
Billy。 ‘‘Can't you see？''
‘‘ButPete！ Eliza！''
‘‘They're sickI mean he's sick； and I said
I'd do it。 I'd be an oak。 But how did I know
there wasn't anything in the house except stuff
that took hours to cookonly potatoes？ And
how did I know that _they_ cooked in no time； and
then got all smushy and wet staying in the water？
And how did I know that everything else would
stick on and burn on till you'd used every dish
there was in the house to cook 'em in？''
‘‘Why； Billy！'' gasped Bertram； for the third
time。 And then； because he had been married
only six months instead of six years； he made the
mistake of trying to argue with a woman whose
nerves were already at the snapping point。
‘‘But； dear； it was so foolish of you to do all this！
Why didn't you telephone？ Why didn't you get
somebody？''
Like an irate little tigress； Billy turned at bay。
‘‘Bertram Henshaw；'' she flamed angrily； ‘‘if
you don't go up…stairs and tend to that man up
there； I shall _scream_。 Now go！ I'll be up when I
can。''
And Bertram went。
It was not so very long； after all； before Billy
came in to greet her guest。 She was not stately
and imposing in royally sumptuous blue velvet
and ermine； nor yet was she cozy and homy in
bronze…gold crpe de Chine and swan's…down。
She was just herself in a pretty little morning
house gown of blue gingham。 She was minus the
dust…cap and the ruffled apron； but she had a dab
of flour on the left cheek； and a smutch of crock
on her forehead。 She had； too； a cut finger on her
right hand； and a burned thumb on her left。 But
she was Billyand being Billy； she advanced
with a bright smile and held out a cordial hand
not even wincing when the cut finger came under
Calderwell's hearty clasp。
‘‘I'm glad to see you；'' she welcomed him。
‘‘You'll excuse my not appearing sooner； I'm
sure； fordidn't Bertram tell you？I'm playing
Bridget to…night。 But dinner is ready now；
and we'll go down； please；'' she smiled； as she
laid a light hand on her guest's arm。
Behind her； Bertram； remembering the scene
in the kitchen； stared in sheer amazement。 Bertram；
it might