the skillet, the last place where you want to be on a vegetarian diet is Brinkley. Many a time when enjoying the old relative’s hospitality I’ve regretted that I had only one stomach to give to the evening’s bill of fare.
‘Night after night I had to refuse Anatole’s unbeatable eatables, and when I tell you that two nights in succession he gave us those Mignonettes de Poulet Petit Due of his and on another occasion his Timbales de Ris de Veau Toulousiane, you will appreciate what I went through.’
It being my constant policy to strew a little happiness as I go by, I hastened to point out the silver lining in the c’s.
‘Your sufferings must have been terrible,’ I agreed. ‘But courage, Gussie. Think of the cold steak and kidney pie.’
I had struck the right note. His drawn face softened.
‘Jeeves told you about that?’
‘He said the cook had it all ready and waiting for you, and I remember thinking at the time that she must be a pearl among women.’
‘That is not putting it at all too strongly. She’s an angel in human shape. I spotted her solid merits the moment I saw her.’
‘You’ve seen her?’
‘Of course I’ve seen her. You can’t have forgotten that talk we had when I was in the cab, about to start off for Paddington. Though why you should have got the idea that she looks like a Pekinese is more than I can imagine.’
‘Eh? Who?’
‘Emerald Stoker. She doesn’t look in the least like a Pekinese.’
‘What’s Emerald Stoker got to do with it?’
He seemed surprised.
‘Didn’t she tell you?’
‘Tell me what?’
‘That she was on her way here to take office as the Totleigh Towers cook.’
I goggled. I thought for a moment that the privations through which he was passing must have unhinged this newt-fancier’s brain.
‘Did you say cook?“1
‘I’m surprised she didn’t tell you. I suppose she felt that you weren’t to be trusted to keep her secret. She would, of course, have spotted you as a babbler from the outset. Yes, she’s the cook all right.’
‘But why is she the cook?’ I said, getting down to the res in that direct way of mine.
‘She explained that fully to me on the train. It appears that she’s dependent on a monthly allowance from her father in New York, and normally she gets by reasonably comfortably on this. But early this month she was unfortunate in her investments on the turf. Sunny Jim in the three o’clock at Kempton Park.’
I recalled the horse to which he referred. Only prudent second thoughts had kept me from having a bit on it myself.
‘The animal ran sixth in a field of seven and she lost her little all. She was then faced with the alternative of applying to her father for funds, which would have necessitated a full confession of her rash act, or of seeking some gainful occupation which would tide her over till, as she put it, the United States Marines arrived.’
‘She could have touched me or her sister Pauline.’
‘My good ass, a girl like that doesn’t borrow money. Much too proud. She decided to become a cook. She tells me she didn’t hesitate more than about thirty seconds before making her choice.’
I wasn’t surprised. To have come clean to the paternal parent would have been to invite hell of the worst description. Old Stoker was not the type of father who laughs indulgently when informed by a daughter that she has lost her chemise and foundation garments at the races. I don’t suppose he has ever laughed indulgently in his life. I’ve never seen him even smile. Apprised of his child’s goings-on, he would unquestionably have blown his top and reduced her to the level of a fifth-rate power. I have been present on occasions when the old gawd-help-us was going good, and I can testify that his boiling point is low. Quite rightly had she decided that silence was best.
It was quite a load off my mind to be able to file away the Emerald Stoker mystery in my case book as solved, for I dislike being baffled
‘Night after night I had to refuse Anatole’s unbeatable eatables, and when I tell you that two nights in succession he gave us those Mignonettes de Poulet Petit Due of his and on another occasion his Timbales de Ris de Veau Toulousiane, you will appreciate what I went through.’
It being my constant policy to strew a little happiness as I go by, I hastened to point out the silver lining in the c’s.
‘Your sufferings must have been terrible,’ I agreed. ‘But courage, Gussie. Think of the cold steak and kidney pie.’
I had struck the right note. His drawn face softened.
‘Jeeves told you about that?’
‘He said the cook had it all ready and waiting for you, and I remember thinking at the time that she must be a pearl among women.’
‘That is not putting it at all too strongly. She’s an angel in human shape. I spotted her solid merits the moment I saw her.’
‘You’ve seen her?’
‘Of course I’ve seen her. You can’t have forgotten that talk we had when I was in the cab, about to start off for Paddington. Though why you should have got the idea that she looks like a Pekinese is more than I can imagine.’
‘Eh? Who?’
‘Emerald Stoker. She doesn’t look in the least like a Pekinese.’
‘What’s Emerald Stoker got to do with it?’
He seemed surprised.
‘Didn’t she tell you?’
‘Tell me what?’
‘That she was on her way here to take office as the Totleigh Towers cook.’
I goggled. I thought for a moment that the privations through which he was passing must have unhinged this newt-fancier’s brain.
‘Did you say cook?“1
‘I’m surprised she didn’t tell you. I suppose she felt that you weren’t to be trusted to keep her secret. She would, of course, have spotted you as a babbler from the outset. Yes, she’s the cook all right.’
‘But why is she the cook?’ I said, getting down to the res in that direct way of mine.
‘She explained that fully to me on the train. It appears that she’s dependent on a monthly allowance from her father in New York, and normally she gets by reasonably comfortably on this. But early this month she was unfortunate in her investments on the turf. Sunny Jim in the three o’clock at Kempton Park.’
I recalled the horse to which he referred. Only prudent second thoughts had kept me from having a bit on it myself.
‘The animal ran sixth in a field of seven and she lost her little all. She was then faced with the alternative of applying to her father for funds, which would have necessitated a full confession of her rash act, or of seeking some gainful occupation which would tide her over till, as she put it, the United States Marines arrived.’
‘She could have touched me or her sister Pauline.’
‘My good ass, a girl like that doesn’t borrow money. Much too proud. She decided to become a cook. She tells me she didn’t hesitate more than about thirty seconds before making her choice.’
I wasn’t surprised. To have come clean to the paternal parent would have been to invite hell of the worst description. Old Stoker was not the type of father who laughs indulgently when informed by a daughter that she has lost her chemise and foundation garments at the races. I don’t suppose he has ever laughed indulgently in his life. I’ve never seen him even smile. Apprised of his child’s goings-on, he would unquestionably have blown his top and reduced her to the level of a fifth-rate power. I have been present on occasions when the old gawd-help-us was going good, and I can testify that his boiling point is low. Quite rightly had she decided that silence was best.
It was quite a load off my mind to be able to file away the Emerald Stoker mystery in my case book as solved, for I dislike being baffled
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