Cayley, meanwhile, put the provisions on the kitchen table and came out to be deliciously idle with her—but she could not rest. She was up and about like a bee, humming a gay tune. She went into the square, white sitting-room to inspect everything that was there, commenting on each object. She sat in every chair and upon the table as well. She tried a little wheezy melodeon with a snatch of rag-time. She criticized every picture, she cleaned the mirror with her handkerchief, then went out to wash it in salt water and hang it on a line to dry. She read aloud the titles of all the books, she opened and shut drawers, and peeped into a little state-room with bunks and was lost there for five minutes. When she came out again, her copper hair was braided down her back and she had on a white ruffled apron. "I’m going to cook dinner," she announced. Cayley smiled at her enthusiasm. "I don’t believe you can do it." She insisted, and he followed her into the kitchen to watch her struggles. She succeeded in setting the table without breaking more than one plate, and then she filled the tea-kettle with fresh water from the demi-john. After that she looked helplessly at Cayley. "How do you shell these tins?" "With a can-opener." She tried for a few moments, biting her lip and pinching her finger in the attempt. Then she turned to him coaxingly. "You do it, Blan, please." He had it open in a minute. She unwrapped the steak, put it into a frying-pan, unbuttered, and began to struggle with the stove. After she had lighted a match timidly, she said: "I’m awfully afraid it’ll explode." He took her in his arms and lifted her to the table, where she sat swinging her legs, her hands in her apron pockets. "Confess you don’t know a blessed thing about housework or cooking!" "Of course I don’t. What do you take me for? I’ve lived in restaurants and boarding-houses all my life—how should I know? But I thought it was easier than it seems to be. I suppose you have to have a knack for it." "I’ll show you." He took the apron from her, tying it about his own waist. With the grace of a chef he set about the preparations for dinner. He lighted the stove, he put potatoes in the oven to roast, he heated a tin of soup, washed the lettuce, broiled the steak, cut the cranberry pie and made a pot full of coffee.