“ I am sure I don’t know, Mab, where on earth your grandmother is. In fact, I had forgotten almost that you had a grandmother,” I answered. Then she sat down in my big barrel chair, still clutching at the red stars, and said : “ Look here, Jack, this will never do. We have simply got to have grandmother for lunch.” “Your grandmother for lunch ! ” cried I. “ Why, Mab — Queen Mab — whatever may you be think- ing of ? And here when I was expecting to have something quite different ! How do you want her — devilled ? ” “Jack! you are entirely too gay this morning. 54 The Bachelor and the Chafing-dish. But it isn’t right for me to be here all alone with — you. I expected to meet her here, I really did.” “ But you can wait a little while for her, can’t you ? ” I asked. “ Well, I suppose I might do that.” “ Well, then we will have our lunch while we arc waiting for grandmother.” This seemed to be sensible enough to Mab, and she graced my escritoire by taking her hat off and flaunting the ostrich plumes over it, and distribut- ing the red stars on the bookcase. It just filled my bachelor heart with a thrill of almost proprietary pride when I sat mute and inglorious watching Mab fix her beautiful brown hair with that woman’s dex- terity in handling film that’s a mystery to man. I know that my gentle reader will forgive me when I say that at that moment I hoped to goodness that Mab’s grandmother had been carried off to Brook- lyn by a runaway cable-car. “ Jack,” said Mab, as if a great idea had struck her, “ give me a cocoanut macaroon. I must have something to eat right away.” I suggested that cake wasn’t the right thing to begin on ; that she ought to take soup ; that it would simply be the best sort of seasoning I could imagine, to have her getting fearfully hungry while I was cooking it. “A LUNCH WITH HER.” I must have something to eat right away.” — Page 54. A Lunch with Her. 55 “ No, Jack,” she said determinedly, “ I don’t want soup.” Then she went over to my larder — an antique cupboard that I treasured — and pro- ceeded to pick out such things as most suited her fancy — stuffed olives, pate de foi gras, macaroons, and sardines. “ There ! ” she said as she placed them on the table, “ don't let’s cook anything — let’s eat those ! Really, Jack, it’s unbecoming in you to cook ; I would much rather have you spending your time writing poems to me ! ” That’s the way I had my chafing-dish lunch with Mab. There is no use talking — women do not take half the interest that men do in cooking. But, bless their hearts ! I am willing to stuff Mab with stuffed olives all her life if she will only have me in the bargain ! We had been sitting at my little mahogany table for more than an hour. A deeper pink flush had come to Mab’s dear cheeks. I think it was the sips of Barsac that did it. Suddenly, with her usual spasmodic mood, she exclaimed : “ Jack ! this is awful. I must go home. Grandmother is probably having a fit ! ” There was a swish of ostrich plumes, a gathering 5 6 The Bachelor and the Chafing-dish. of red stars, a kiss that stranded on two coral reefs, and I was alone ! “We followed the path of years, And walked for a while together Through the hills of hope and the vale of fears, Sunned by laughter and washed by tears, In the best and the worst of weather.” “ Well ! — it was long ago,

AI-modernized reading of the original text

“ I am sure I don’t know, Mab, where on earth your grandmother is. In fact, I had forgotten almost that you had a grandmother,” I answered. Then she sat down in my big barrel chair, still clutching at the red stars, and said : “ Look here, Jack, this will never do. We have simply got to have grandmother for lunch.” “Your grandmother for lunch ! ” cried I. “ Why, Mab — Queen Mab — whatever may you be thinking of ? And here when I was expecting to have something quite different ! How do you want her — devilled ? ” “Jack! you are entirely too gay this morning. 54 The Bachelor and the Chafing-dish. But it isn’t right for me to be here all alone with — you. I expected to meet her here, I really did.” “ But you can wait a little while for her, can’t you ? ” I asked. “ Well, I suppose I might do that.” “ Well, then we will have our lunch while we arc waiting for grandmother.” This seemed to be sensible enough to Mab, and she graced my escritoire by taking her hat off and flaunting the ostrich plumes over it, and distributing the red stars on the bookcase. It just filled my bachelor heart with a thrill of almost proprietary pride when I sat mute and inglorious watching Mab fix her beautiful brown hair with that woman’s dexterity in handling film that’s a mystery to man. I know that my gentle reader will forgive me when I say that at that moment I hoped to goodness that Mab’s grandmother had been carried off to Brooklyn by a runaway cable-car. “ Jack,” said Mab, as if a great idea had struck her, “ give me a cocoanut macaroon. I must have something to eat right away.” I suggested that cake wasn’t the right thing to begin on ; that she ought to take soup ; that it would simply be the best sort of seasoning I could imagine, to have her getting fearfully hungry while I was cooking it. “A LUNCH WITH HER.” I must have something to eat right away.” — Page 54. A Lunch with Her. “ No, Jack,” she said determinedly, “ I don’t want soup.” Then she went over to my larder — an antique cupboard that I treasured — and proceeded to pick out such things as most suited her fancy — stuffed olives, pate de foi gras, macaroons, and sardines. “ There ! ” she said as she placed them on the table, “ don't let’s cook anything — let’s eat those ! Really, Jack, it’s unbecoming in you to cook ; I would much rather have you spending your time writing poems to me ! ” That’s the way I had my chafing-dish lunch with Mab. There is no use talking — women do not take half the interest that men do in cooking. But, bless their hearts ! I am willing to stuff Mab with stuffed olives all her life if she will only have me in the bargain ! We had been sitting at my little mahogany table for more than an hour. A deeper pink flush had come to Mab’s dear cheeks. I think it was the sips of Barsac that did it. Suddenly, with her usual spasmodic mood, she exclaimed : “ Jack ! this is awful. I must go home. Grandmother is probably having a fit ! ” There was a swish of ostrich plumes, a gathering 5 6 The Bachelor and the Chafing-dish. of red stars, a kiss that stranded on two coral reefs, and I was alone ! “We followed the path of years, And walked for a while together Through the hills of hope and the vale of fears, Sunned by laughter and washed by tears, In the best and the worst of weather.” “ Well ! — it was long ago,

The bachelor and the chafing dish