The Man in Lonely Land | Page 5

the table the situation was perplexing. His
niece and nephew, born of wealth and surrounded by abundance, were
eating with the eagerness of little pigs; eating as if afraid their plates
would be withdrawn before they had had their fill. On the tip of
Channing's nose a drop of gravy glistened in the candle-light, and
Dorothea was swallowing much too rapidly for health.
Looking up, she caught her uncle's eye and leaned back in her chair.
Hands on her breast and eyes half closed, she sighed regretfully. "I'm
full already, and we're not half through," she said, and beckoned to the
butler, who came closer. "What kind of salad is it, Timkins, and is there
mayonnaise on it or that thin stuff?"
Timkins coughed slightly behind his hand. "It's mushrooms and white
grapes with mayonnaise, I think, Miss, but--"
Dorothea's eyes closed tightly. "Just my luck. I've never tasted it but
once, and it's perfectly grand, Uncle Winthrop. Mother had it for lunch
the day that scraggy-looking woman and her daughter were here from
London. Mother said she was Lady somebody, but our cook is much
nicer-looking on Sundays. She didn't eat her salad."
"You ate it." Channing's fork was pointed accusingly at Dorothea. "You
licked the plate."
"I certainly did." Dorothea stood up, shook herself, sat down again, and
carefully arranged her knife and fork. "We were in the pantry.
Antoinette was ill and Timkins let us come in. You see, Uncle
Winthrop, it's this way. We are scientifics, Channing and I. We've been
brought up on a book, and we don't get enough to eat. Mother says

everything has been learned out of science now--I mean about how
much children can eat, and how much they can drink, and how much
air they can sleep in, and how to breathe right, and Antoinette says
when we were little we used to be weighed every day. And that's why
we stuff so when we get a chance. I'm ten, going on eleven."
"And I'm seven, going on eight"--Channing had not yet yielded the
turkey in sight for the salad to come, and his fork was still being
steadily applied--"and all we have for supper--"
"Is bread and milk." Dorothea's hand waved silence to Channing.
"Antoinette says the milk is magnificent, but I'd rather have something
with more taste that isn't so grand. I wish I'd been born before all this
science had been found out. If we sneeze we have to be sprayed, and if
we cough we're sterilized or something, and the only word in the
English language Antoinette pronounces right is germs! You'd think
they were ghosts, the way she lifts her eyes and raises her hands when
she says it. And she don't know what they are, either. Did you kiss me
when I was a baby, Uncle Winthrop?"
"I did."
"In the mouth?"
"In the mouth."
"Well, they don't let anybody kiss babies that way now. But if ever I
have any I'm going to let people kiss them and squeeze them, too. I
mean nice people. I don't believe in scientifics for children."
"But, my dear Miss Warrick"--Mr. Laine was also waiting on his young
nephew--"suppose your husband does. Surely a man should have some
say in the upbringing of his family!"
"Father don't." Dorothea leaned forward and selected an olive critically.
"Father would let us have anything we want, but he says mother must
decide. He's so busy he hasn't time to see about children. He has to
make the money to buy us--"
"Milk." Channing pushed his plate back. "I hate milk. Gee! I'm full.
You can have my salad, Dorothea, if you'll give me your ice-cream. It
didn't make you sick the day you ate all that lady left."
"You ate leavings!" Laine's voice made effort to be horrified.
"Dorothea Warrick ate leavings from a lady's plate!"
"It wasn't leavings. She didn't touch it. I was peeping through the door
and I heard her say she never ate trash. It was grand. Nobody told me

not to eat it, and I ate."
"An inherited habit, my dear." Laine put the almonds, the olives, and
the mints beyond the reach of little arms. "Once upon a time there was
a lady who lived in a garden and she ate something she ought not to
have eaten and thereby made great trouble. She had been told not to,
but being a woman--"
"I know about her. She was Eve." Dorothea took some almonds from
her uncle's plate and put one in her mouth. "She was made out of
Adam's rib, and Adam was made out of the dust of the earth. Ever since
she ate that apple everybody has been made of dust, Antoinette says."
Channing sat upright, in his big blue eyes doubt and