the whole shootin'
match into the discards, and we'll all chase around to Roverti's
and----"

"Bother Roverti's!" breaks in Vee. "Can't we ever have a decent dinner
in our own home? Am I too stupid for that? And there's that perfectly
gug-good l-l-l-leg of--of----"

"Pardon," says M. Battou, steppin' to the front; "but perhaps, if you
would permit, I might assist with--with the lamb."

It's a novel idea, I admit. No wonder Vee gasps a little.

"Why not?" says I. "Course it ain't reg'lar, but if Mr. Battou wants to
do some expert coachin', I expect you and Bertha could use it."

"Do, Leon," urges Madame Battou. "Lamb, is it? Oh, he is wonderful with
lamb."

She hadn't overstated the case, either. Inside of two minutes he has his
coat off, a bath towel draped over his fancy vest, and has sent Bertha
skirmishin' down the avenue for garlic, cloves, parsley, carrots, and a
few other things that had been overlooked, it seems.

Well, we stands grouped around the kitchenette door for a while,
watchin' him resuscitate that pale-lookin' leg of lamb, jab things into
it, pour stuff over it, and mesmerize the gas oven into doin' its full
duty.

Once he gets started, he ain't satisfied with simply turnin' out the
roast. He takes some string-beans and cuts 'em into shoelaces; he
carves rosettes out of beets and carrots; he produces a swell salad out
of nothing at all; and with a little flour and whipped cream he throws
together some kind of puffy dessert that looked like it would melt in
your mouth.

And by seven-thirty we was sittin' down to a meal such as you don't meet
up with outside of some of them Fifth Avenue joints where you have to
own a head waiter before they let you in.

"Whisper, Professor," says I, "did you work a spell on it, or what?"

"Ah-h-h!" says Battou, chucklin' and rubbin' his hands together. "It is
cooked _a la Paysan_, after the manner of Peronne, and with it is the
sauce chateau."

"That isn't mere cookery," says Vee; "that's art."

It was quite a cheery evenin'. And after the Battous had gone, Vee and I
asked each other, almost in chorus: "Do you suppose he'd do it again?"

"He will if I'm any persuader," says I. "Wouldn't it be great to spring
something like that on Mr. Robert?"

And while I'm shavin' next mornin' I connect with the big idea. Do you
ever get 'em that way? It cost me a nick under the ear, but I didn't
care. While I'm usin' the alum stick I sketches out the scheme for Vee.