"H
ELLO, Bettina; this is Bob. What are you having for dinner to-night?" "It's all in the fireless cooker! Why?"
"Couldn't you manage to make a picnic supper of it? One of the men at the office has invited us to go motoring to-night with him and his wife, and, of course, I said we'd be delighted. They're boarding, poor things, and I asked if we couldn't bring the supper. He seemed glad to have me suggest it. I suppose he hasn't had any home cooking for months. Do you suppose you could manage the lunch? How about it?" "Why, let me think! How soon must we start?" "We'll be there in an hour or a little less. Don't bother about it—get anything you happen to have." "It's fine to go, dear. Of course, I'll be ready. Good-bye!" Bettina's brain was busy. There was a veal loaf baking in one compartment of the cooker, and on the other side, some Boston brown bread was steaming. Her potatoes were cooked already for creaming, and although old potatoes would have been better for the purpose, she might make a salad of them. As she hastily put on some eggs to hard-cook, she inspected her ice box. Yes, those cold green beans, left from last night's dinner, would be good in the salad. What else? "It needs something to give it character," she reflected. "A little canned pimento—and, yes—a few of the pickles in that jar." Of course, she had salad dressing—she was never without it. Sandwiches? The brown bread would be too fresh and soft for sandwiches, but she could keep it hot, and take some butter along. "I'm glad it is cool to-day. We'll need hot coffee in the thermos bottle, and I can make it a warm supper—except for the salad." She took the veal loaf and the steamed brown bread from the cooker, and put them into the oven to finish cooking. "How lucky it is that I made those Spanish buns! And the bananas that were to have been sliced for dessert, I can just take along whole." When Bettina heard the auto horn, and then Bob's voice, she was putting on her hat. "Well, Betty, could you manage it?" "Yes, indeed, dear. Everything is ready. The thermos bottle has coffee in it, piping hot; the lunch basket over there is packed with the warm things wrapped tight, and that pail with the burlap over it is a temporary ice box. It holds a piece of ice, and beside it is the cream for the coffee and the potato salad. It is cool to-day, but I thought it best to pack them that way." "You are the best little housekeeper in this town," said Bob as he kissed her. "I don't believe anyone else could have managed a picnic supper on such short notice. Come on out and meet Mr. and Mrs. Dixon. May I tell them that they have a fine spread coming?"
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