THE COLLECTED WORKS OF CHARLOTTE PERKINS GILMAN: Short Stories, Novels, Poems & Essays. Charlotte Perkins Gilman
be a goose, Diantha," she said. "You will set up your food business in first class style, and I think you can carry it successfully. But Mrs. Weatherstone's right; she's got a new investment here that'll pay her better than most others—and be a growing thing I do believe."
And still Diantha found it difficult to express her feelings. She had lived under a good deal of strain for many months now, and this sudden opening out of her plans was a heavenly help indeed.
Mrs. Weatherstone went around the table and sat by her. "Child," said she, "you don't begin to realize what you've done for me—and for Isobel—and for ever so many in this town, and all over the world. And besides, don't you think anybody else can see your dream? We can't do it as you can, but we can see what it's going to mean,—and we'll help if we can. You wouldn't grudge us that, would you?"
As a result of all this the cooked food delivery service was opened at once.
"It is true that the tourists are gone, mostly," said Mrs. Weatherstone, as she urged it, "but you see there are ever so many residents who have more trouble with servants in summer than they do in winter, and hate to have a fire in the house, too."
So Diantha's circulars had an addition, forthwith.
These were distributed among the Orchardinians, setting their tongues wagging anew, as a fresh breeze stirs the eaves of the forest.
The stealthy inroads of lunches and evening refreshments had been deprecated already; this new kind of servant who wasn't a servant, but held her head up like anyone else ("They are as independent as—as—'salesladies,'" said one critic), was also viewed with alarm; but when even this domestic assistant was to be removed, and a square case of food and dishes substituted, all Archaic Orchardina was horrified.
There were plenty of new minds in the place, however; enough to start Diantha with seven full orders and five partial ones.
Her work at the club was now much easier, thanks to her mother's assistance, to the smoother running of all the machinery with the passing of time, and further to the fact that most of her girls were now working at summer resorts, for shorter hours and higher wages. They paid for their rooms at the club still, but the work of the house was so much lightened that each of the employees was given two weeks of vacation—on full pay.
The lunch department kept on a pretty regular basis from the patronage of resident business men, and the young manager—in her ambitious moments—planned for enlarging it in the winter. But during the summer her whole energies went to perfecting the menus and the service of her food delivery.
Mrs. Porne was the very first to order. She had been waiting impatiently for a chance to try the plan, and, with her husband, had the firmest faith in Diantha's capacity to carry it through.
"We don't save much in money," she explained to the eager Mrs. Ree, who hovered, fascinated, over the dangerous topic, "but we do in comfort, I can tell you. You see I had two girls, paid them $12 a week; now I keep just the one, for $6. My food and fuel for the four of us (I don't count the babies either time—they remain as before), was all of $16, often more. That made $28 a week. Now I pay for three meals a day, delivered, for three of us, $15 a week—with the nurse's wages, $21. Then I pay a laundress one day, $2, and her two meals, $.50, making $23.50. Then I have two maids, for an hour a day, to clean; $.50 a day for six days, $3, and one maid Sunday, $.25. $26.75 in all. So we only make $1.25. But! there's another room! We have the cook's room for an extra guest; I use it most for a sewing room, though and the kitchen is a sort of day nursery now. The house seems as big again!"
"But the food?" eagerly inquired Mrs. Ree. "Is it as good as your own? Is it hot and tempting?"
Mrs. Ree was fascinated by the new heresy. As a staunch adherent of the old Home and Culture Club, and its older ideals, she disapproved of the undertaking, but her curiosity was keen about it.
Mrs. Porne smiled patiently. "You remember Diantha Bell's cooking I am sure, Mrs. Ree," she said. "And Julianna used to cook for dinner parties—when one could get her. My Swede was a very ordinary cook, as most of these untrained girls are. Do take off your hat and have dinner with us,—I'll show you," urged Mrs. Porne.
"I—O I mustn't," fluttered the little woman. "They'll expect me at home—and—surely your—supply—doesn't allow for guests?"
"We'll arrange all that by 'phone," her hostess explained; and she promptly sent word to the Ree household, then called up Union House and ordered one extra dinner.
"Is it—I'm dreadfully rude I know, but I'm so interested! Is it—expensive?"
Mrs. Porne smiled. "Haven't you seen the little circular? Here's one, 'Extra meals to regular patrons 25 cents.' And no more trouble to order than to tell a maid."
Mrs. Ree had a lively sense of paltering with Satan as she sat down to the Porne's dinner table. She had seen the delivery wagon drive to the door, had heard the man deposit something heavy on the back porch, and was now confronted by a butler's tray at Mrs. Porne's left, whereon stood a neat square shining object with silvery panels and bamboo trimmings.
"It's not at all bad looking, is it?" she ventured.
"Not bad enough to spoil one's appetite," Mr. Porne cheerily agreed.
"Open, Sesame! Now you know the worst."
Mrs. Porne opened it, and an inner front was shown, with various small doors and drawers.
"Do you know what is in it?" asked the guest.
"No, thank goodness, I don't," replied her hostess. "If there's anything tiresome it is to order meals and always know what's coming! That's what men get so tired of at restaurants; what they hate so when their wives ask them what they want for dinner. Now I can enjoy my dinner at my own table, just as if I was a guest."
"It is—a tax—sometimes," Mrs. Ree admitted, adding hastily, "But one is glad to do it—to make home attractive."
Mr. Porne's eyes sought his wife's, and love and contentment flashed between them, as she quietly set upon the table three silvery plates.
"Not silver, surely!" said Mrs. Ree, lifting hers, "Oh, aluminum."
"Aluminum, silver plated," said Mr. Porne. "They've learned how to do it at last. It's a problem of weight, you see, and breakage. Aluminum isn't pretty, glass and silver are heavy, but we all love silver, and there's a pleasant sense of gorgeousness in this outfit."
It did look rather impressive; silver tumblers, silver dishes, the whole dainty service—and so surprisingly light.
"You see she knows that it is very important to please the eye as well as the palate," said Mr. Porne. "Now speaking of palates, let us all keep silent and taste this soup." They did keep silent in supreme contentment while the soup lasted. Mrs. Ree laid down her spoon with the air of one roused from a lovely dream.
"Why—why—it's like Paris," she said in an awed tone.
"Isn't it?" Mr. Porne agreed, "and not twice alike in a month, I think."
"Why, there aren't thirty kinds of soup, are there?" she urged.
"I never thought there were when we kept servants," said he. "Three was about their limit, and greasy, at that."
Mrs. Porne slipped the soup plates back in their place and served the meat.
"She does not give a fish course, does she?" Mrs. Ree observed.
"Not at the table d'hote price," Mrs. Porne answered. "We never pretended to have a fish course ourselves—do you?" Mrs. Ree did not, and eagerly disclaimed any desire for fish. The meat was roast beef, thinly sliced, hot and juicy.
"Don't you miss the carving, Mr. Porne?" asked the visitor. "I do so love to see a man at the head of his own table, carving."
"I do miss it, Mrs. Ree. I miss it every day of my life with devout thankfulness. I never was a good carver, so it was no pleasure to me to show off; and to tell you the truth, when I come