CHAPTER VII.
MOLLY AND MRS. LENNOX—ECONOMICAL BUYING
MAKES GOOD LIVING.
A week passed, and Molly found her ten dollars left a narrow margin, as will be seen from the account she triumphantly showed to Harry, and the week’s bills of fare, which she wrote out neatly, appending every recipe, and which, for the benefit of those who may wish to do likewise, I will give in its place; but before that week was over, Molly was resolving other problems. She had seen Mrs. Lennox again, and Harry was delighted with Mr. Lennox, who traveled on the same train with him, and in answer to Molly’s remarks on the hard life his wife led, he maintained that his pity was for the husband.
“I can picture to myself that household, Molly, and the scrambling meals that man gets. Why, he was astounded when I told him we lived just as well as I want to live, and what we had to live on. Yes, dear, I fear I did boast to the poor fellow of the charming little dinners you got up, and asked if he knew any one who could beat that? He said:—
“‘Well, I wish Mrs. Bishop would teach my wife how to put some flavor into what we eat. Our means are narrow, but I do know that if Letty knew how to cook, we should all be better, and she herself. We can’t expect fancy dishes—our family is too large and our means too small for that—but even Irish stew may taste of something besides onions and hot water.’
“I should think it could; nothing I enjoy better than Irish stew. However, I didn’t crow any more over poor Lennox, but you needn’t give all your pity to Mrs. Lennox.”
Already Molly had decided in her own mind that Mrs. Lennox was making a great mistake in the way she had chosen for doing her duty to her family, and that the weary days spent at the sewing-machine might be partly spent in the kitchen with advantage to her own health and her children’s. She longed to help her, but dared not take the liberty. But the day came when Mrs. Lennox herself gave the opening. They met in the street on Saturday, and Molly mentioned that she was on her way to the butcher’s.
“I see you go every morning down town, but it is rare for me, for I can’t spare the time, so I have to trust to what the butcher sends. You see we live so plainly that we haven’t much choice—it’s just steak and chops and roast beef. Mr. Lennox can’t bear cold mutton, so we never get a joint of it.”
“But don’t you think the morning walk would do you good? I believe it will me; and then I have some satisfaction in seeing my meat before I buy it, although we buy very little.”
Molly was terribly afraid of seeming didactic, and spoke in a rather apologetic way.
“Yes, but you haven’t four children, my dear; however, as I am out, I will go with you. How I wish you would tell me what to get in place of chops for to-day and a roast for to-morrow! We all hate them, but we can’t afford poultry.”
“I hardly like to suggest, for I don’t know your tastes; but if I wanted to live cheaply,—forgive me, you have given me reason to suppose that you have to be economical”—
“Economy isn’t the word,—we can barely make ends meet, and I work myself to death to avoid spending an unnecessary dime.”
“I know you do, and for that reason I would like to tell you a few things I learnt in France, where they make a franc go as far as we would a dollar, and yet live well.”
“Tell it me; but for goodness’ sake don’t tell me that lentils are as good as meat—we abhor lentils—or that peas and beans are nitrogenous; I’ve read that sort of thing till I’m sick; if you haven’t the appetite of a ploughman you can’t eat things because they contain nitrogen any more than you can live on medicine.”
“I’m a little of your opinion, but I mean really good living that, if you didn’t know the cost, would seem almost luxurious. It is simply buying, and using what you buy, judiciously.”
Mrs. Lennox smiled a little incredulously, but said, courteously, “I am quite open to conviction.”
“What do you propose to pay for your roast of beef?”
“It will be at least $2, for it is of no use getting less than eight pounds; and chops for to-day will be about 35 cents.”
“And how long will the roast last?”
“It has to last till Tuesday, though out of an eight-pound roast there isn’t much but bone and fat the third day.”
“And you have then something extra to get for breakfast?”
She laughed a little. “To tell the truth, our breakfast is slim; I can’t afford meat, and Mr. Lennox usually has an egg or two; he never cares, fortunately, for a heavy breakfast, but prefers knick-knacks.”
“This is the sort of housekeeping Harry dreaded,” thought Molly, but she said aloud, “Then you would really spend $2.35 this morning for meat to last till Tuesday?”
“At the very least, but more likely $2.75, for they could hardly cut me exactly eight pounds.”
“Then I would suggest you get, instead of the roast, either a leg of mutton at 15 cents a pound, or a piece of beef at the same price for à la mode beef; and if you choose the mutton, then you will have a really nice pot-pie to-night in place of chops. You will find that you will buy ten pounds of meat for $1.50, and then you can get some of the knick-knacks Mr. Lennox likes for breakfast.”
“But he won’t look at cold mutton, or Irish stew made of it.”
“No; Irish stew needs fresh meat, and cold mutton is not appetizing; but I propose your having hot mutton each meal.”
“But that will make so much cooking, and I am alone to do it!”
“I know,” said Molly, gently, “but I am sure that sewing-machine is half killing you; can’t you give it up for an hour or two each day?”
“My dear, by the time I get through my housework it is near noon; then there’s the children’s dinner to get and clear, and I don’t get to sewing till after one. Then the afternoon and evening I have to give to it; if I could go and buy new material I need not have half the work, but it is the cutting down, making over, ripping, altering, and planning that wears one out.”
“Then I will help you,” said Molly. “I have time, and if you’ll promise to give one hour to the kitchen, I’ll sew an hour with you and cook an hour. I am so sure the change of work will brighten you up.”
“Heaven knows I need brightening! I feel a perfect hag, and I’m only twenty-eight.”
“Then you accept?”
“Yes,” hesitating; “yet I don’t know why I can allow you to”—
“Oh, don’t say one word! I love it.”
They had slackened pace in their earnest talk, but now they had reached the butcher’s.
“You are to order just what you like,” said Mrs. Lennox.
“I will.”
Molly chose a good-sized leg of mutton, weighing eight pounds, and told the butcher to cut it nearly in half, leaving the large part for the loin end; and a pound and half of round steak. She ordered also half a pound of beef suet; then, turning to Mrs. Lennox, she asked if Mr. Lennox was fond of kidneys for breakfast?
Then a beef kidney was added, and the amount spent was:—
| Leg of mutton, | $1.20 |
| Suet, | .06 |
| Kidney, | .10 |
| Steak, | .24 |
| Total, | $1.60 |
“Well, I count myself nearly a dollar in pocket so far,” said Mrs. Lennox, “but I have tried buying economical meats before, though in the end it was no economy, for we did not eat it.”
“I will forgive you if you don’t eat this,” said Molly, laughing; “but I must hurry home; I have a chicken pie to make for to-morrow’s dinner, but I will see you later in the day. I am responsible, you know, for the meat I have bought.”
Molly’s own dinner being soup, veal cutlets, potato croquettes, Lima beans, and apple pudding, and the soup ready, all but heating it, she meant to make the pudding and prepare the croquettes, and leave Marta to her own resources for the vegetables and breading cutlets,—she, herself, would be back in time to see the actual cooking of her own meat. But of her own cooking I will speak in the next chapter.
At three o’clock, then, Molly went over to Mrs. Lennox, whom she found busy feather-stitching several yards of navy blue cashmere ruffling with red crewel.
“This is for Milly’s fall frock; it was first my dress, then Lily’s, now it comes to Milly, and the red will make a change.”
“You have far more patience than I,” said Molly.
“Yes, I don’t know what I should do without it. Must the cooking begin now? I hate to lose daylight.”
“Yes, the pot-pie will take long, slow cooking to be good, but you can come back in half an hour.”
“Oh! suppose we have that steak fried—just for to-day; well pounded it will be tender enough. I hate to leave this.”
“I will go down, then, if you will let one of the little girls show me where you keep things.”
“Oh, no; I can’t let you!” said Mrs. Lennox. “But that is just it; don’t you see yourself I have no time to cook?”
Molly longed to say that it seemed as important to her that the food should be well prepared as that the flounce should be feather-stitched, but of course, she said nothing, and the next minute they were down in Mrs. Lennox’s neat kitchen.
“This pot-pie I propose making is an English dish my father was very fond of, and it is a little different from our dish of that name.”
“This is very kind of you, Mrs. Bishop. I only fear you will see what an up-hill business it is to make a family live well on very little money.”
“What do you call little?” asked Molly, busily cutting the steak into finger-lengths.
“$80 a month to keep six people, and out of it $20 for rent; that leaves sixty for everything else.”
Molly thought that was not too little to insure a plain, solid comfort, but she must gain Mrs. Lennox’s confidence in her ability and good-will before telling her so, and she went on quietly preparing for the pot-pie.