Alpena weekly argus. [volume] (Alpena, Mich.) 1871-1893, 1888-02-22

uioh-Oiosh' thc vi 10 iuiiiJ u'ip-
ping out of it," hlaa
johnson threw il on the floor with
gesture of disgust. and substituted
the towel they had just wiped their
hands on. The cold water flew in
every direction, but the grease did
not start OH the dishes. Brooks sug-
gested soap, which slightly mended
matters, but was not entirely salts.
factory.
Seems to me the dishes don't feel
nor smell just as they do when Anne
washes Them" said johnson, thought
fully; "but then perhaps it is mag.
ination. Now, Sam, what shall we
have for dinner 2"
perhaps it had better be a simple
one, till we get the hang of things a
little more" said Sam, with caution.
What do you say to chicken-pie,
tenderloin stake, a custard-pudding,
and some light hot biscuit?'
Admirable! Nothing could be
better or simpler. ! will go out and
order the chicken and the steak, and
you shall make the pudding. guess
Anne would stare if she could see
how nicely we are doing"
He put another coat on and soon
returned with the chicken and steak.
Brooks was making the pudding.
He had an old cookbook on the shelf
before him, which he looked at sur
reptitiously now and then.
He broke his eggs into tin pan,
poured in some milk, dumped in a
scoopful of sugar, sailed the compound,
gave it stir, and set it down on a
chair; while he and johnson went to
the window, to see an old man, who
had lost his hat, run after it. The
sight was quite inspiriting, owing to the
high wind which was prevailing.
And, when the two housekeepers re-
turned to business, they were just in
season to see Bonce, Mr.. Johnson's
pet pointer, cleaning out the dish
where the embryo pudding had been
left.
1--WE won't say anything about i
to Anne" said Mr.. Johnson; "she
might think we were careless. Now,
Sam, you construct the biscuit, and
I'll 90 for the pie. wonder if this
chicken is a hen? Humph it smells
rather old-or something; but, of
course, it's all ready to cook. Now
for the crust-hour and water and
baking-powder. They make all kinds
of pastry-don't they? p
Eyes, yes. That, is | think So"
said Sam, little doubtfully. THAT
is, all the OBSERVATION-DISCLOSURES
say that baking-powder will do any
thing; and of course it will make
pie-crust."
johnson had taken off his cuffs,
and poured a couple of quarts of
water into pan; which he stirred
thoughtfully, and added several spoon
fuls Of baking-powder.
"This amount of water will make
crust enough-won't it, Sam?"
81 should say so,' returned Sam,
manipulating his Eight biscuit,
the dough of which was sadly inclin-
ed to run up his arms, under his
coat-sleeve, and two big dabs of which
were sticking, all unnoticed. to the
legs of his pantaloons.
Johnson stirred in the -four rapidly,
putting in good deal of muscle, and
t he -four fly right and left.
His hair and whiskers and eyebrows
were peppered, and, when he had
stirred in all the -four there was in
the house, the mass was still little
thin. by Jove !" said Johnson,
eying the result before him, "there
is half bushel of it f; | never saw so
much chicken-pie crust before. But
this is large chicken--a full grown
one-adult, in fact, and strong one,
too, or my nose deceives me; but l
guess the crust will hold him. Hold
it open in the middle, Sam, while l
envelope the biped in the crust"
The chicken, with his legs and head
still adjoining his body, was put into
the middle of the dough, and the
covering patted down. johnson
stepped back and eyed the construc-
ton of his hands critically.
"Sam," said he, IL think-yes,
am certain that Anne never cooks
them with their legs on
So they cut off the legs, thrust the
mass into the oven of the stove, put
some potatoes to boil, opened the
draught of the stove, locked the house
and went downtown.
At three, serenely smiling, our two
house-keepers assembled the front steps
Of the johnson mansion. An odor,
infinitely worse than the atmosphere
of any soap-boiling establishment,
met them as the door opened.
They looked at each other.
What in the dickens is it Z" thew