It was the best canned tomato bisque, but its cook had not
known or read that it should be watered, or milked, and it was so
thick it was almost stiff. She sent Clarence for milk out of the
refrigerator, and treated it properly. Then she looked at the
biscuits, such as had escaped destruction. They were indeed hopeless.
"I can make biscuits in a minute, but it will take a half-hour to
bake them in this range," she told them, where they stood, anxiously
awaiting her verdict. "If you didn't mind having them baked on a
griddle----"
"Like the ones the fellow does in the window at Childs'! Fine!"
responded Tiddy enthusiastically. "I'll get the griddle. I've
learned where everything grows."
He produced it accordingly, and watched Joy, as did the others,
entranced, while she mixed and cut out biscuits, and baked them in
the griddle scone-fashion.
They made it a triumphal procession after that, with the biscuits
borne high by Tiddy before Joy, who came in carrying the steak,
followed by Clarence and John with a dish of canned vegetables
apiece. It was far from being the dinner Joy had planned, but the
biscuits were greatly admired, and every one was happy. That is, Joy
was, and apparently the men were. Joy was so pleased to think that
she had been able to straighten out things, and get them a good
dinner, that she forgot to think about Gail at all. She sat in the
tall armchair at the head of the table where John had placed her,
and poured coffee in big cups, to be taken with the dinner, with
flushed cheeks and a gay heart.
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