R

OSEMARY early encountered the usual difficulties that beset the leader of any enterprise. The girls she selected to act as cooks wept because they were not appointed waitresses and those tolled off to serve at the tables were affronted because they had not been elected to cook.

"You're the general, Rosemary," said Miss Parsons, when rumors of dissatisfaction reached her. "Give your orders and see that they are obeyed. You are in absolute charge of this dinner and no one is to be allowed to dictate to you."

The Willis will and the Willis chin were good possessions to have in this crisis and gradually Rosemary managed to achieve something approaching harmony among her staff. Only Fannie Mears resolutely refused to be won over.

"I'm just as good a cook as you are," she said to Rosemary one afternoon, "and anyway, if I'm not, cooking isn't the most important thing in school." (Fannie, you see, wasn't exactly logical.) "I'll serve as a waitress," she went on "because I have a good deal of class feeling and I don't want the other grades to say we made a failure of our dinner. But I want you to know that I don't like it one single bit and I think you are anything but fair."

Despite such small troubles, Rosemary enjoyed her responsibility and as she was free from nervousness and had faith in her skill and ability, the prospective dinner, under her planning, took shape nicely and gave every evidence of being a success. Nina Edmonds was in charge of the tables and waitresses and as she really knew how to lay the service correctly and had clever ideas for decorating, Rosemary was sure the dining room would present an attractive appearance.

She went home early the day the dinner was to be given, to dress, and found everything carefully arranged on her bed by Winnie who had devoted half a day to the laundering of the white frock and cleaning the white shoes. There was no school Institute Day, but Rosemary, of course, had been busy all day, preparing for the dinner to follow the close of the meetings.

"You look like my girl," said Doctor Hugh, kissing her when she came down to the hall and found him waiting. "I thought I'd run you over to the school—you don't want to get tired out before the evening has begun, you know. And what time do you think the fireworks will be over? Do you have to stay after dinner is safely eaten?"

"No, Miss Parsons has three women who are coming in to clear up for us," answered Rosemary. "Usually we have to wash our own dishes, that is, after every cooking lesson; but Miss Parsons said as soon as the dining room was cleared, we might go, unless we want to attend the reception in the gym. Jack said he might come and if he does he'll bring me home."

"There'll be no if about it," announced the doctor decidedly. "I'll drop in around half-past nine and bring you home in the car. If I'm a bit later, you wait for me in the gym and then I'll know where to find you."

Aunt Trudy and Winnie and Shirley and Sarah crowded to the door to watch Rosemary off, in the dear way of loving families who would send those they love off on always successful expeditions, and as the doctor helped her into the roadster, Jack Welles came up, still in football togs, for he had been practising.

"To-night's the big night, isn't it?" he asked, smiling. "You're going to stay for the reception, aren't you, Rosemary? And we can walk home together."

"Hugh's coming for me in the car," said Rosemary. "I wasn't sure you were going, Jack."

"Well I told you I was," retorted Jack. "I thought, living next door to you, I could save Hugh an extra trip."

"You come home with us, and we'll save you a walk," suggested the doctor, touching the starter, and Jack shouted after them that he would.

"What made you say that?" demanded Rosemary, flushing with vexation.

"Why not?" countered her brother. "Jack's a good friend, Rosemary, isn't he?"

"Of course he is," said Rosemary warmly, "But, oh, well, you wouldn't understand, because you're not a girl. He did say he was going to the reception, but I would much rather ride home with you; and now he'll know I know he said he was going, and if you hadn't asked him he might think I wasn't sure he had said so."

"You may know what you are talking about, but I don't," declared her bewildered brother. "However, as you wisely observe, I am not a girl and perhaps that accounts for my dullness. Here we are at the school, and whatever you do, Rosemary, don't fail to give them enough. Anything but a sliver of chicken and a cube of potato for a hungry man, remember."

Rosemary laughed, and ran up the path to the lighted door. The corridors were deserted, though the sound of music came from the auditorium, where the teachers were meeting. Upstairs the kitchen and the lunch room, which was to serve as dining room, were ablaze with light and girls in white caps and aprons were rushing about, giggling excitedly and getting in each other's way.

"Oh, Rosemary!" Nina Edmonds pounced upon her at once. "Come and see if the tables don't look pretty. Did you wear your brown velvet?" she added in a lower tone.

Rosemary shook her head.

"White linen," she stated briefly. "I can't bother about clothes to-night, Nina. I want to put the soup on to re-heat right away."

Nina insisted that she must see the tables first and they did look pretty, with a vase of yellow "button" chrysanthemums in the center of each and yellow ribbons running from the bouquet to the place cards.

"Rosemary," Miss Parsons beckoned to her, "I just tasted the soup and it is delicious, but I think a grain more of salt will improve it. Just a dash, dear, and if you're afraid of getting too much in, don't touch it. Everything going all right?"

"All right," nodded Rosemary, forbearing to mention that Fannie Mears refused to speak to her and was evidently cherishing a smoldering resentment that might burst into flame at an awkward moment. Two of the girls were limping about in high heeled shoes and these must be shielded from the critical eye and caustic tongue of the cooking teacher, lest they become temperamental and refuse to "wait" at all. Assuredly Rosemary had her hands full.

She went into the kitchen, tasted the soup and salted it carefully. It was rich and smooth and Rosemary felt that when the time came to ladle it into the cups she would have every right to be proud of her ability, for she alone had made the soup, the other girls fearing the mysterious "curdling" that sometimes spoiled their product.

Just before serving time, Miss Parsons called her for a whispered consultation as to the seating of a special guest and when Rosemary returned to the kitchen, she found the trays of soup cups ready on the table. While she and two other girls filled them, the teachers were coming into the dining room and finding their places by means of the prettily lettered cards. By the time all were seated, seven young waitresses were filing into the room, bearing in their hands the trays of steaming soup.

They made a pretty picture and the guests smiled graciously as the cups of thick cream soup, each with four delicately browned croutons swimming on the top, were placed before them. The girls returned to the kitchen as soon as all were served, for Miss Parsons had instructed Rosemary to have them help her with the dishes for the next course instead of waiting around the room for the guests to finish.

Rosemary had decided to have a simple, hearty dinner, since the weather was cold and many of the teachers would have a long ride to reach their homes that night. So individual chicken pies, baked potatoes and a corn pudding were to follow the soup, the young cook having wisely determined to omit any extra frills that would add to the difficulties of serving.

"Nobody's touched the soup!" reported Nina Edmonds, who was the first to return with her tray, when the buzzer under Miss Parson's chair sounded the signal in the kitchen that it was time to remove the first course."Nobody touched it!" echoed Rosemary in alarm. "Let me see!"

She hurried around the table to inspect Nina's tray. Sure enough, six little cups, still filled with soup, were there.

"Say, something's the matter with the soup," said Bessie Kent in a shrill whisper as she came in with her tray. "They didn't eat it—see, all the cups are full."

"Did Miss Parsons say anything?" asked Rosemary, staring at the trays which now surrounded her. "How does she look?"

"Kind of queer," answered Fannie Mears, breaking her silence. "She must feel funny, with all those folks sitting and looking at their soup and not eating it."

"You hush up!" said Bessie Kent rudely. "There's the buzzer. Come on, girls, we'd better hustle."

In a daze Rosemary saw to it that the trays were filled again, but she took no pride in the beautifully browned pies, the fragrant corn pudding or the glistening potatoes wrapped in snowy napkins. Her dinner, she was sure, was ruined. She wanted to run home and cry where no one would see her, but instead she saw to it that each girl had what she needed on her tray. Then, when her two assistants were arranging the forks and plates for the salads, Rosemary slipped over to the table where she had put the soup kettle and tasted the contents.

Salt! The soup was so thick with salt that she choked. Rich and thick and smooth, what did it matter the texture or flavor, since only one overpowering taste was present—that of salt.

"How could it get like that!" puzzled Rosemary as she drank a glass of water. "I tasted it just before we served it and it was fine. What on earth must Miss Parsons be thinking of me!"

Empty plates were carried back to the kitchen next time, and word reached the young cooks that the pies were "wonderful" or "simply great"—this last the expressed opinion of Mr. Oliver—and the fruit salad met with an equally hearty reception. But not even the evident enthusiastic approval which greeted the delicious ice-cream and cake and perfect coffee which concluded the dinner, could compensate Rosemary for her earlier mortification. When the meal was over and the guests had gone down to the gymnasium for the reception and the other girls had shed their aprons and followed, Nina too eager to display the blue velvet frock to wait for Rosemary who insisted there were several things she had to attend to, then she felt she might cry a little for the first time in that long evening.

"Rosemary, my dear child, what is the matter?" Miss Parsons bustled in, followed by the three elderly women who were to wash the dishes. "Are you tired out? Was the dinner too much work?"

"The soup!" choked Rosemary. "Nobody could eat it. And I took such pains with it."

"Well, I was sorry afterward that I told you to salt it again," said Miss Parsons regretfully. "I suppose you were nervous and added too much. But don't let that grieve you dear. The rest of the dinner was perfectly delicious and you should hear what people are saying about you. I want you to come down to the gymnasium now and meet some of the teachers."

"Miss Parsons, I didn't over-salt the soup," protested Rosemary earnestly. "I tasted it before and added just a dash as you told me; and then I tasted it again, and it was all right. I know I didn't put in too much salt."

"Oh, nonsense, Rosemary, you were excited, that's all," said Miss Parsons briskly. "Any one is likely to make a mistake when she has a good deal on her mind. Don't give it another thought, and if you do, just remember it is a warning against the next time. I like to think that every mistake we make keeps us from running into danger some other time when the results might be more serious."

Rosemary followed her teacher down to the gymnasium, but she only half heard the introductions that followed and the kind comments on her skill in cooking. She was wondering how she could convince Miss Parsons that she had never put all that salt into her soup.

"Why it tasted as though a whole box of salt had just been thrown into it," said Rosemary to herself, standing near a window to watch for Doctor Hugh and the car. "I don't care how much any one has on her mind, no one puts a whole box of salt into a soup kettle!"

And the voices of a group of girls, going home early, floated up to her.

"She says she didn't do it," said one of them, and Rosemary could not identify the speaker though the tone sounded familiar. "But if it had been good I'll bet she would have taken all the credit. They say it was fairly briny, it was so salty!"

Rosemary flushed scarlet. It wasn't fair!

"For I didn't, I didn't, I know I didn't!" she declared, sitting between Doctor Hugh and Jack that night as they sped home in the car. "I'm just as sure as I can be that I didn't make a mistake—why I tasted it afterward and it was delicious."

"Well, if you didn't over-salt it, who did?" asked Jack practically.

"I don't know," admitted Rosemary. "I could cry when I think of it."

"I wouldn't do that," said her brother, turning in at their driveway. "How about making us a chicken pie for Sunday dinner, Rosemary, and asking Jack over to sample it?"

"I'll make it," agreed Rosemary, "but just the same I want to know who salted my soup."