“Go ahead and tell me—tell me all—my life at present is that of Rollo, I perceive, and I am most complacent after this meal.”
“Uncle, I rejoice in your discovery, I do indeed. You are an uncle after my own heart,” said Jerrold.
So my fair niece, looking like any other charming girl in a pretty evening frock, began to expound her specialty. Her mother begged to interrupt for the moment. “Let me recall to him things as they were—which you hardly know, you happy child. Don’t forget, John, that when we were young we did not know what good food was.”
I started to protest, but she shook her finger at me.
“No, we didn’t, my dear boy. We knew ‘what we liked,’ as the people said at the picture show; but that did not make it good—good in itself or good for us. The world was ill-fed. Most of the food was below par; a good deal was injurious, some absolutely poison. People sold poison for food in 1910, don’t forget that! You may remember the row that was beginning to be made about it.”
I admitted recalling something of the sort, though it had not particularly interested me at the time.
“Well, that row went on—and gained in force. The women woke up.”
“If you have said that once since we met, my dear sister, you’ve said it forty times. I wish you would make a parenthesis in these food discussions and tell me how, when and why the women woke up.”
Nellie looked a little dashed, and Owen laughed outright.
“You stand up for your rights, John!” he said, rising and slapping me on the shoulder. “Let’s go in the other room and settle down for a chin—it’s our fate.”
“Hold him till he sees our housekeeping,” said Jerrold. I stood watching, while they rapidly placed our dishes—which I now noticed were very few—in a neat square case which stood on a side table. Everything went in out of sight; paper napkins from the same receptacle wiped the shining table; and then a smooth-running dumbwaiter took it from our sight.
“This is housework,” said Nellie, mischievously.
“I refuse to be impressed. Come back to our muttons,” I insisted. “You can tell me about your domestic sleight-of-hand in due season.”
So we lounged in the large and pleasant parlor, the broad river before us, rimmed with starry lamps, sparkling everywhere with the lights of tiny pleasure craft, and occasionally the blaze and wash of larger boats. I had a sense of pleasant well-being. I had eaten heartily, very heartily, yet was not oppressed. My newfound family pleased me well. The quiet room was beautiful in color and proportion, and as my eyes wandered idly over it I noted how few in number and how harmonious were its contents giving a sense of peace and spaciousness.
The air was sweet—I did not notice then, as I did later, that the whole city was sweet-aired now; at least by comparison with what cities used to be. From somewhere came the sound of soft music, grateful to the ear. I stretched myself luxuriously with:
“Now, then, Nellie—let her go—‘the women woke up.’ ”
“Some women were waking up tremendously, before you left, John Robertson, only I dare say you never noticed it. They just kept on, faster and faster, till they all did—about all. There are some dodos left, even yet, but they don’t count—discredited grandmothers!”
“And, being awake?” I gently suggested.
“And being awake, they—” She paused for an instant, seeking an expression, and Jerrold’s smooth bass voice put in, “They saw their duty and they did it.”
“Exactly,” his mother agreed, with a proudly loving glance at him; “that’s just what they did! And in regard to the food business, they recognized at last that it was their duty to feed the world—and that it was miserably done! So they took hold.”
“Now, mother, this is my specialty,” Hallie interposed.
“When a person can only talk about one thing, why oppose them?” murmured Jerrold. But she quite ignored him, and reopened her discussion.
“We—that is, most of the women and some of the men—began to seriously study the food question, both from a hygienic and an economic standpoint. I can’t tell you that thirty years’ work in a minute, Uncle John, but here’s the way we manage it now: We have learned very definitely what people ought not to eat, and it is not only a punishable, but a punished offense to sell improper food stuffs.”
“How are the people to know?” I ventured.
“The people are not required to know everything. All the food is watched and tested by specialists; what goes into the market is good—all of it.”
“By impeccable angelic specialists—like my niece?”
She shook her head at me. “If they were not, the purchaser would spot them at once. You see, our food supply is not at the mercy of the millions of ignorant housewives any more. Food is bought and prepared by people who know how—and they have all the means—and knowledge—for expert tests.”
“And if the purchaser too was humanly fallible?—”
She cast a pitying glance on me, and her father took the floor for a moment.
“You see, John, in the old time the dealers were mostly poor, and sold cheap and bad stuff to make a little money. The buyers were mostly poor, and had to buy the cheap and nasty stuff. Even large manufacturers were under pressure, and had to cheat to make a profit—or thought they had to. Then when we got to inspectors and suchlike they were under the harrow, too, and were by no means impeccable. Our big change is this: Nobody is poor now.”
“I hear you say that,” I answered, “but I can’t seem to get it through my head. Have you really divided all
