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Drusilla with a Million

Chapter X
The following Wednesday Miss Doane received a message to the effect that
Daphne and Mary Deane were going in to the matinee that day and would stop to
see her on their return. She passed the day wondering how she could
legitimately get Mr. James Thornton to stop on his way home from the office;
then Providence came to her aid, as it always did. James brought her word that
the chef wished to speak to her.
"What does he want of me, James?"
James coughed discreetly.
"I think you had better see him, Miss Doane."
Drusilla looked at him sharply a moment.
"Well, send him here," she said.
The chef came into the room. She looked at the fat, mustached Frenchman for a
moment before she spoke.
"What do you want to see me about, cook?"
The chef drew himself up.
"I wish to pay my compliments to Madame and say I can no longer serve her."
"You mean you want to quit?"
The Frenchman bowed.
"Madame comprehends."
"Speak English, cook. What did you say?"
"I said that Madame understands perfectly."
"Why do you want to leave?"
The Frenchman drew himself up tragically. "I can no longer serve Madame: it is
not convenable to my dignity."
"What's hurtin' your dignity?"
"It is not for me to cook for a lot of babies, and--and--a nigger baby."
Drusilla looked at him silently for a moment.
"Um-um--I see," she said. "You don't think you ought to cook for babies. There
ain't much cookin'; they're mostly milk fed now."
"There is the porridge in the morning, and the soft-boiled eggs, and --and--"
"Oh, you object to cookin' eggs and porridge. It ain't hard."
"It is not the deefeeculty; it is the disgrace. I am a great artist-- a chef--it hurts the
soul of the artist to--"
"I don't want an artist in the kitchen. I want a cook. Artists paint picters; they don't
boil potatoes. What do you mean?"
"You do not understand, Madame. I am an artist; I have cooked in the best
houses."
"Ain't this a good house?"
"It was, Madame; and I was proud to serve you until the house was turned into
an orphan asylum, a--a--home for children of the street, and--"
Drusilla flushed suddenly.
"That'll do, cook. I've heard all I want. Perhaps you're a great cook, but when you
cook for me you'll cook for whoever is under my roof. And I want you to
 
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