Off Its Thing

off its thing A SPRING breeze native heath is a terrible If Big Business realized its damage in dollars and cents there would be another amendment pro- hibiting insidious zephyrs. What matters it what the cause that plays havoc when staid men and women are turned maudlin. Marianne Mitchen, twenty-five, made in the image and likeness of an angel — golden hair, heavenly blue eyes, and the disposition that leads to halos and harps and hard work — had known for a long time that she was the goat of the family, albeit an angelic goat. OHE knew that her young sister Alice, who was beau- tiful and in no way dumb, loitered in the stores each evening after leaving the office to avoid work connected with the dinner the fam- ily of four must eat. She knew that Jimmie, her young brother, wasn't paying his share toward the upkeep of the small apartment, although he never lacked money for the movies. She knew that David Renney, the lad from home who boarded with the Mitchen trio, while still professing to love her, was bestow- ing on his savings account more and more of his time and attention, to her exclusion. Yi ET knowing all these things she had gone on serene- ly content to be the goat until a whiff of a spring breeze. * * * With no hint of impending dis- aster she had taken her place in the usual mob that awaited home- going cars at the close of the office day. The breeze came crooning across the lake direct from Mich- igan fields that Marianne had once known and still yearned for. Care- fully, so as not to lose one whiff of its fragrant cargo, it skimmed Grant Park, then with malice aforethought swept down Wash- By MARGARET C. MOLONEY ington to the corner of Clark where stood the unsuspecting an- gelic one. Here he dumped the whole cargo of fragrance, and went his way chuckling. Marianne took a deep breath, reeled, righted herself, staggered to her car, and being lucky sank into a seat. Her en- chanted mind didn't board the car at all. Instead it set off for the open spaces where fields were green- ing, flowers opening their sleepy eyes, berries ripening, and David Renney, farmer boy, worked his fields just across the line fence. Marianne made no effort to recall it. Even when she left the car her mind was still back home in the open spaces. The clerk at the corner grocery who always made it a point to wait on the angelic one the minute she appeared no matter how many last-minute housewives were ahead of her, noted her list- lessness and did what he could to help her make her selections. "How about a box of straw- berries?" he asked when they had got to the dessert question. "How much?" asked Marianne, and clutched the counter to steady herself. "Seventy-five cents," said the friendly clerk, studying her with growing suspicion. Marianne laughed foolishly. "M-make it one jello!" she said. "Strawberry jello! That's good enough for people who live in cities!" 1 HE clerk turned to get the jello, sighing as he turned. His idol was clay! There was no doubt that Mari- anne could work miracles in a kitchenette, given a little time, a few ingredients and the right dis- position. Deliciously browned flaky biscuits that opened up pip- ing hot for the generous hunk of butter; planked calf's liver, cross barred with crisp bacon slices, and bordered with mounds of mashed carrots, alternated with great red tomatoes lifted whole from the can; delightful salads, chilled and crispy, each day the thrill of the unknown; and then a top-off of ginger pudding, or gooseberry tarts, or frozen maple custard. The wonder of it was that anyone could plan it in such short time and execute it in shorter time. BUT the mind that Marianne recalled from elysian fields had no interest in kitchen ette miracles. Round steak, un- pounded, undredged, unbuttered, went plopping into a redhot pan where it was left to stick and burn and curl up into hard chunks. "Let it," said Marianne. "I don't care if it chokes them." Into the oven went potatoes unwashed. "If they want to eat the skins they'll get some grit," she grinned. Ice- berg celery was held under the cold water faucet until it was saturated then with no gentle patting of linen towel was flung into salad plates. The changeling eyed the pool of water in each plate glee- fully. "I hope they drown in it," she shrugged. No delightfully piquant dressing accompanied the drenched lettuce; instead a splash of very sour vinegar. There was not much else. Stale bread, and butter; and un jelled jello. OLAM bang went the cook, her fury increasing with her steps. "My word, but you're noisy,'" complained the beautiful one, picking her way from the back door toward the dining room. At the dining room door she paused

620 The Improvement Era for July, 1930 waiting for the soothing 'Tired dear?" It didn't come. Instead there came a rasping order. "Get your things off and get in here and help with this dinner," and Alice got. Coming back enveloped in a gay cretonne smock, however, the beautiful one tried again for sym- pathy. "Same old performance," she sighed. "Work all day, and then come home to more. * * * "Why shouldn't you work?" demanded Marianne, facing her sister menacingly. "After this you either come home and get the dinner started, or you stop at the market, do you hear?" "Yes, Marianne," said Alice meekly. "Shall I cut the bread, or have we ... ." "We have not," said Marianne. "Cut the bread." DAVID and Jimmie loomed up in the back door, argu- ing as usual. They worked in the same office and had momentous matters to solve each evening. "Dinner ready?" shouted Jim- mie, and noticed not the ominous silence. "Hello-ello," David called cheerily, but the clatter of falling pans covered the absence of re- sponse. The argument was on again in the living room. "Take up the potatoes, and call them," Marianne ordered. Alice hurried to obey. "The potatoes aren't done, but let them eat them or leave them," she said, glad of a chance to vent her irked feelings on the male con- tingency. Marianne made no re- ply. "Gosh, I'm hungry as a bear," Jimmie told them all in a boister- ous manner. David, smiling, and assured, stood a second, till Alice ordered him into his place. "Coming, Marianne?" she ask- ed, solicitously. "I'll be there. Sit down," Mari- anne's muffled voice answered. "I got this dinner," she an- nounced, and her tone brought three pairs of eyes, startled, to her face. "Don't you like it?" She stood waiting. Jimmie had the thought that on his answer de- pended the disposition of the fork she held in her hand. He forced a laugh. "Why — why — I guess it's all right — only, you know, it's just not up to standard — you know." Marianne sat down. She look- ed not at all toward David, but she knew he was studying her, be- wildered. "Yes?" she said to Jim- mie, "and when you were partak- ing of these 'standard' meals did you ever have any comments to make?" "Well, that was understood," Jimmie began, but she cut him short. 'This dinner is understood, too, by those who are not too dumb," said the cook taking her place at the table. J: D A) JLICE sighed and sat down. Jimmie was already wrestling with the steak. He drop- ped his knife and fork and glared at his younger sister. "Say," he demanded, "who got this dinner?" Marianne came just then, sav- ing Alice a reply. 1 AVID tried to catch her eye, but she kept hers down- cast. Alice had nothing to say. Jimmie tried the steak again, then the potatoes, then the salad, and gave up. "Can I have my des- sert?" he asked feigning humility. "I'm not as hungry as I thought I was." Marianne got up so obligingly that he was embold- ened to add, "I hope it's straw- berries. The windows are full of them, but there's a fat chance, I know." "I notice you didn't bring a box home with you," Marianne, re- turning from the kitchenette, ob- served cuttingly. "You're getting sloppy jello," she said, slamming the dish down in front of him. "Just what you're paying for; and from now on that's all any of you will get." She started back to her chair, then turned and fled to her room. They heard the door slam, and the key turn in the lock, then they faced each other, wide-eyed. Alice was the first to speak. "She's going to leave us. I know she is, and I can't b-blame her. We're all ungrateful beasts. Yes, you too, David Renney," she turned the storm full on him. "Sticking every penny in the bank and never taking her — anywhere, but always — 'you're an angel, Marianne.' " IMMIE stared at Da- vid speechless. "But good heavens, she knows I'm saving for her, as well as my- self. She knows I love her. I don't have to . . ." "No, you don't have to spend on her," Alice said with a mean- ing glance. "There are others who don't find it . . ." "You — mean ..." "Yes, and I'm glad she's turned you down," Alice said, gloating over the reaction she got from the stricken lover. "She means Kent," Jimmie came to the defense of David, "and you know Marianne wouldn't fall for that drugstore sheik. But, murder, what will we do? We'd be in a mess, sure, without — Marianne." Ai JLICE was already clearing the table. The two lads got up and began to carry out dishes, unasked. When he came to the steak Jimmie grabbed it up and stalked out to the garbage can. Here he encountered the huckster with a crate of strawberries. One glance at the forbidden fruit and Jimmie thought to back in and close the door, but the smiling Italian was too quick. Through the dosing door he sent his call loud and clear and far-reaching. Even the door with the key turned in the lock was powerless to pre- vent its entrance. David and Alice sprang to Jim- mie's aid, but the huckster had learned the trick of putting his foot in the door. "Nice an' sweet," he was assur- ing them through the crack of the door when Marianne joined them, thoroughly sober, but showing all the signs of her recent watery eyes, swollen face, disheveled hair. "Wait," she said chokily. All three desisted, and the huckster came in beaming, crate and all. "I want a box," she said. "I'll pay for them. I never wanted any . ." D AVID came to sud- denly. "Here," he said masterfully. "This is my treat." "I'll get the cream," shouted Jimmie, on his way down the backstairs. "I'll fix them," said Alice, tak- ing the box from David, and nod- ding toward the living room. (Continued on page 638)