AN HONEST WOMAN
47
Dottie scrutinized the clipping. It was a recipe, or receipt, as
her mother called it, for shoulder of lamb rolled and basted with grape
jelly. "It sounds terribly good," she proffered, uncertainly, handing
the recipe back. John and Kay glanced at each other. "You don't
think it's too unusual?" suggested Kay. "Well, of course," Dottie
equivocated, "I don't know the person. Perhaps you ought to try it
out first." There was a pause. "How lucky you are, Kay," said Dottie
warmly, "to have found a husband who's interested in cooking and
housekeeping and who isn't afraid of experiment." She leaned for–
ward. "Most men, you know, have awfully set tastes, like Daddy,
who positively insists on a joint or a roast fowl or chops at every
meal and won't hear of 'made' dishes, except the good old beans
on Saturday." She dimpled up at them, shyly; she did really think
that Kay was awfully lucky. Kay seized her arm. "You ought to get
your cook to try the new way of fixing canned beans. You just add
catsup and mustard and Worcestershire sauce and sprinkle them with
plenty of brown sugar, cover them with bacon and put them in the
oven in a pyrex dish." John nodded gravely. "You can use a bean–
pot," he said. "It sounds terribly good," repeated Dottie, "but Daddy
would die." "There's a foolish prejudice against canned goods," said
John. "Some of them are very good. Do you know com niblets?"
Dottie shook her head. "Get your cook to try them. They're a big
favorite with men." "It's a question of what you
do
with them,"
put in Kay. "You don't just take them out of the can and serve
them. You heat them up with a little butter and a little chopped
green pepper. People don't understand that canned goods have to be
treated with a little imagination. You add things to them and create
something of your own." The two pairs of eyes rested sharply on
Dottie. "Tell your Mother about iceberg lettuce," added Kay. "It's
a variety that's been developed recently and once you've tried it you'll
never use the old loose-leaf Boston lettuce again. It's crisp as toast
and has wonderful keeping powers. It's also called Simpson lettuce.
Have your cook ask for that on the market." "I shall," murmured
Dottie. "Thank you.
It
sounds terribly good." At that both the Peter–
sons had laughed at her.
But Dottie did intend, when she got back to the cottage, to pass
this tip on to Mother. She had had Mother badly on her conscience
for the past two days, ever since she had got back to the Vassar Club
that fatal morning and found a message that Gloucester had been
