“Sure,” said Mr. Peters–“not failing to pieces. That’s right. Go on.”
“‘Then add the cream and cook five minutes longer'” read Ashe.
“Is that all?”
“That’s all of that one.”
Mr. Peters settled himself more comfortably in bed.
“Read me the piece where it tells about curried lobster.”
Ashe cleared his throat.
“‘Curried Lobster,'” he read. “‘Materials: Two one-pound lobsters, two teaspoonfuls lemon juice, half a spoonful curry powder, two tablespoonfuls butter, a tablespoonful flour, one cupful scalded milk, one cupful cracker crumbs, half teaspoonful salt, quarter teaspoonful pepper.'”
“Go on.”
“‘Way of Preparing: Cream the butter and flour and add the scalded milk; then add the lemon juice, curry powder, salt and pepper. Remove the lobster meat from the shells and cut into half-inch cubes.'”
“Half-inch cubes,” sighed Mr. Peters wistfully. “Yes?”
“‘Add the latter to the sauce.'”
“You didn’t say anything about the latter. Oh, I see; it means the half-inch cubes. Yes?”
“‘Refill the lobster shells, cover with buttered crumbs, and bake until the crumbs are brown. This will serve six persons.'”
“And make them feel an hour afterward as though they had swallowed a live wild cat,” said Mr. Peters ruefully.
“Not necessarily,” said Ashe. “I could eat two portions of that at this very minute and go off to bed and sleep like a little child.”
Mr. Peters raised himself on his elbow and stared at him. They were in the millionaire’s bedroom, the time being one in the morning, and Mr. Peters had expressed a wish that Ashe should read him to sleep. He had voted against Ashe’s novel and produced from the recesses of his suitcase a much-thumbed cookbook. He explained that since his digestive misfortunes had come on him he had derived a certain solace from its perusal.
It may be that to some men sorrow’s crown of sorrow is remembering happier things; but Mr. Peters had not found that to be the case. In his hour of affliction it soothed him to read of Hungarian Goulash and escaloped brains, and to remember that he, too, the nut-and-grass eater of today, had once dwelt in Arcadia.
The passage of the days, which had so sapped the stamina of the efficient Baxter, had had the opposite effect on Mr. Peters. His was one of those natures that cannot deal in half measures. Whatever he did, he did with the same driving energy. After the first passionate burst of resistance he had settled down into a model pupil in Ashe’s one-man school of physical culture. It had been the same, now that he came to look back on it, at Muldoon’s.
Now that he remembered, he had come away from White Plains hoping, indeed, never to see the place again, but undeniably a different man physically. It was not the habit of Professor Muldoon to let his patients loaf; but Mr. Peters, after the initial plunge, had needed no driving. He had worked hard at his cure then, because it was the job in hand. He worked hard now, under the guidance of Ashe, because, once he had begun, the thing interested and gripped him.
Ashe, who had expected continued reluctance, had been astonished and delighted at the way in which the millionaire had behaved. Nature had really intended Ashe for a trainer; he identified himself so thoroughly with his man and rejoiced at the least signs of improvement.
In Mr. Peters’ case there had been distinct improvement already. Miracles do not happen nowadays, and it was too much to expect one who had maltreated his body so consistently for so many years to become whole in a day; but to an optimist like Ashe signs were not wanting that in due season Mr. Peters would rise on stepping-stones of his dead self to higher things, and though never soaring into the class that devours lobster a la Newburg and smiles after it, might yet prove himself a devil of a fellow among the mutton chops.
“You’re a wonder!” said Mr. Peters. “You’re fresh, and you have no respect for your elders and betters; but you deliver the goods. That’s the point. Why, I’m beginning to feel great! Say, do you know I felt a new muscle in the small of my back this morning? They are coming out on me like a rash.”