There would be the family dinner sitting on the back step
There would be the family dinner sitting on the back step
“American, of course, and if you didn’t wantto come to the kitchen, your dinner was to be sent to your home in a sort of thermos stove. The table d’hôte, price fifty cents, was to include a soup, a roast, a vegetable, a salad, a dessert and coffee. Every day a post-card folder was to be mailed subscribers, with the dishes to be served the next day, all prices marked for à la carte service. The housekeeper selected her menu in the morning, sent it to the kitchen, and then was free to go to town for shopping or a matinée. When she and her husband came home there would be the family dinner, sitting on the back step in its little thermos stove!”
“But did it?”
“Did it what?” asked Mrs. Larry.
“Did it ever sit, waiting on the back step for its subscribers, stockholders or whatever you call them? Did the kitchen ever really live up to the promises of its prospectus? Did you meet any cooperator who has saved time, trouble and money by and through that kitchen? Any one with an imagination can write a prospectus. What were they doing in that kitchen to-day?”
“Well, now that was just the difficult phaseof our investigation. They seemed to be reorganizing. A very clever young woman, Miss Helen Siegle, has recently been placed in charge as manager. She was most courteous, but—er—evasive. There was so much to be done, she said—but the prospects of ultimate success were excellent. She did not criticize past management, but somehow you felt that things had not gone just so—you know what I mean.”
“Yes, the way we fellows felt at the club last January when we said what a fine year’s work the house committee had done, and all the time were pulling wires to get in an entirely new committee to look after things this year.”
“Larry, you certainly are a most understanding person. Miss Siegle took us all over the plant, but she did not tell us much about her own plans. She really seemed to have her hands and her mind pretty full.”
“I should say so—think of trying to please each and every stockholder, irrespective of different nationalities, digestions and former condition of servitude to mother’s cakes and pies! But, to sum it up, you really did not secure any practical suggestions from the kitchen?”
“No,” admitted Mrs. Larry reluctantly, “we didn’t see it in operation. But the idea is wonderful, if you could just get the right person to put it in operation.”
“If you found her, one of the bachelor stockholders would promptly marry her, and thatwouldsettle it. And so from the kitchen you went to the school for housemaids?”
“No, Larry, we didnot. Teresa telephoned one of the ladies interested in the school, and she was getting ready to go to a tea, but said if we would telephone Mrs. Somebody else, she would be delighted—”
“If she didn’t happen to have a tea on hand also.”
“So then we all suddenly decided that we wanted to come home. Teresa remembered an appointment with her tailor—you know they are going to take the Panama trip, don’t you? And Mrs. Norton wanted to fill in her dinner set at a china sale, and I—well, Larry, I had the funniest sinking sensation when I happened to remember that I’d been away from the children almost five hours. And we ran like mad to catch the next train?”
“A fine, dignified quartet of investigators, you are! Now, what did you learn as the reward of your trip? Just tell me that!”
“I learned that I’d rather have a real steak from my own broiler than a thermos stove on my back step.”
“Good little wife! And as a reward for that sensible answer, you shall read this letter, which may or may not confirm your findings.”
Mr. Larry drew a bulky envelope from his pocket, slit it open and tossed the contents in Mrs. Larry’s lap.
“You see, my dear, I have an old friend living in Carthage, Missouri, where once a very successful cooperative kitchen flourished. He and his wife were stockholders but dropped out. I asked him to tell me why, and here is the letter in reply.”
“No, it’s from his wife, and, oh, what pains she has taken! Just listen:
“My Dear Mr. and Mrs. Larry:
“It is so nice to have an excuse to write to one of my husband’s old classmates and to his wife. So let us talk together as if you werehere in our living-room instead of several thousand miles away.
“If you were to ask any one who was a member of the defunct Carthage Cooperative Kitchen why it failed, he or she would immediately answer, ‘Why it never failed!’ It was a great success, yet it was discontinued because it was not possible to find enough members to keep the cost of the operative expense within the means of the members who still wished to continue the kitchen.
“Of the fifteen families who joined when it was organized, five families dropped out because they could no longer afford to belong. Two families dropped out because they grew tired of walking such a distance to their meals. One couple left because an invalid mother came to live with them. Another because they wished to set a better table than the kitchen’s. This couple frankly said they could afford luxuries, but did not expect the kitchen to furnish them, as the others could not. It was true, and no one minded, especially as this couple were very hospitable. You see, in, no case was it dissatisfactionwith the cooperative kitchen management that caused the withdrawal of members.
“If the cost of provisions had remained what it was when the kitchen opened, doubtless the kitchen would have become a permanent institution. But the price of foodstuffs increased so rapidly that the second year found the kitchen facing this question: Shall we cut down our table or increase the price of board? There were some who could not afford to spend more on food. These left and, presumably, at home did without some of the things that some of the kitchen members had considered necessary. No one has ever claimed to live cheaper in his own home and keep a maid.
“When the price of board was increased to three dollars and fifty cents, then to four dollars, per member per week, it was more difficult to get members. In a town like Carthage there are many families that can afford three dollars per member table board. There are fewer that can afford four dollars per member. And it became difficult to find fifteen families living in the same neighborhood who could affordit. In a town that does not have a local street railway one wants to live within a short distance of the house that serves breakfast.
“Besides, as the membership decreased, the expense per member increased, so more families dropped out.
“In order to be successful, a kitchen must be located in a neighborhood where at least twelve families have the same standard of living, the same tastes and are able to spend the same amount on their table. This may be in a very small town or in a city. In a town like Carthage, where the scale runs from a millionaire to a mail carrier in the same block, it is difficult to pick that neighborhood.
“It is interesting to note that not one of the things so freely prophesied contributed to the discontinuance of the kitchen. Never once was there disagreement over menus or payments. Never once was there trouble over children, or complaint of unfairness, or gossip, or fault-finding.
“To-day the members of the Cooperative Kitchen are close friends, and we unite in praising the ability and the tact of the manager!”
Mrs. Larry laid down the letter and looked at her husband with dancing eyes.
“And so, you see, after all, this matter of cooperative cooking and living practically resolves itself into the question of lemon meringue pie or—Brown Betty, according to your individual finances. And to-morrow you get Brown Betty, because Lena, having picked up a bargain in apples, has laid in a stock which must be used.”
“Lena!” exclaimed the astonished Mr. Larry.
“Yes. Lena, too, is studying short cuts in economy and having little adventures of her own. She has developed a good-sized bump of responsibility since I have been making these trips, and she is alone with the children. She takes great pride in saving pennies. To-day she bought the apples from a huckster at three cents less a quart than we pay at Dahlgren’s.
“To insure solid fruit, she insisted upon picking out each apple with her own hands.”
Mr. Larry, who had been opening his evening paper, laid it down, turned to his wife and spoke seriously.
“You know, little woman, when I hear yourfriends roasting their help for carelessness and extravagance, I often wonder where the fault really lies. If the mistress buys supplies in small quantities, or if she is extravagant, how can she expect the maid to fight her bad management with thrift? The girl is far more apt to say, ‘Oh, what’s the use for me to save what my mistress will waste in the end?’
“I have been watching Lena since you commenced your investigations in thrift, and, in her stolid way, she is tremendously impressed. She attacks her work in a more businesslike fashion, and she certainly regards you with increased respect.”
At the last word Mrs. Larry shook her head.
“I’m not so sure about that. Sometimes she questions my marketing abilities. Do you remember the other morning when we were starting for Montclair, she asked, ‘What is the use of paying more for rice in package than in bulk if they both have to be washed?’”
Mr. Larry’s eyes twinkled.
“Yes, she had you fussed for a minute.”
“And she gave me something to think about—isthe habit of buying package goods economical or extravagant?”
“Why don’t you find out? Buy both kinds and see which has the better flavor. Weigh, measure and compare.”
“I will,” said Mrs. Larry firmly. “I’ll start to-morrow morning. And here’s an adventure in thrift which Claire must make with me. I’ll telephone her this minute.”
But she paused with her hand on the receiver—
“I remembered just in time to save five cents. Claire is going to the Bryant dance.”
At that very instant the bell rang and Claire came in, a vision in coral tulle.
“How’de, everybody!” She paused, in sudden embarrassment, the color mounting to her softly waved black hair.
Mr. Larry studied her with approving glance.
“Stunning, Claire. Whether it cost fifty dollars or five hundred.”
“Less than fifty. Oh, I’m learning,” she said with a happy little laugh.
“It was awfully good of you to let me see itbefore you had danced some of the freshness out of it,” said Mrs. Larry.
“Oh, I just had to come. You see——” She stopped—and again the beautiful color flooded her face.
“Of course,” said Mrs. Larry, as, sensing the need of greater privacy, she slipped her hand through Claire’s arm and led her down to the guest room. “But first, let me catch up your hair a bit.”
Mr. Larry, all unconscious that the spirit of romance had tripped into the apartment with the coral-tinted vision, buried himself in his paper. Safe on the other side of the guest room door, Mrs. Larry held the radiant girl a little closer.
“Claire, dear, what has come over you?”
“This,” answered Claire in a voice that trembled with happiness. She held out her hand, and in the soft light from a silk-shaded electrolier Mrs. Larry caught the gleam of the diamond which had traveled to Kansas City and back.
“Is Jimmy here?” she asked.
“No, no. He sent it with a most wonderfulletter. Just a few lines—but—oh! To-morrow’s my birthday. He asked me to take this back for a birthday remembrance, because it was impossible for him to think of my hand without it. I was to think of it as his birthday message—and not as binding me to any promise given in the past. Just as if I don’t want to be bound!”
She pressed the stone against her lips.
Mrs. Larry laughed a trifle uncertainly.
“A man’s way of admitting he was wrong and saying he’s sorry.”
“But why do you suppose he did it? How did he know that I wouldn’t send it straight back to him?”
“Oh, a man will usually take a chance—and he loves you, which is the most important thing, after all,” affirmed Mrs. Larry, as she recalled certain letters in the farthest drawer of Aunt Abigail’s old secretary. “Do you think you’ll be able to do some investigating with me to-morrow? I want to look into the cost of groceries, but, perhaps after the dance, you’ll be too tired——”
“Tired? I don’t think I can ever be tiredagain. And I’ll be here at eight in the morning.”
“No, you won’t,” said Mrs. Larry positively. “I can’t be ready that early. Make it nine.”
“All right,” said Claire, as she drew her wrap over her shoulders. Then she kissed Mrs. Larry good night—and flitted off.
“Ignorance in the housewife causes dishonest prices in the grocery.”—H. C. OF L. PROVERB NO. 7.
Mrs. Larryand Claire really meant to be on their way to Dorlon’s by nine o’clock, but there were various delays. Lisbeth, coquetting in her bath, lured them for ten minutes. Mrs. Larry recalled that she must telephone her dressmaker. Claire remembered an unacknowledged dinner invitation and stopped to dash off a note. It was ten o’clock when their adventure in thrift landed them at Dorlon’s high-class grocery store.
Mr. Benton, the suave manager of the store, recognizing Mrs. Larry as a customer in good standing, looked a trifle anxious as he rose at his desk to receive them. What employee had been remiss, he wondered? Or had the cashier made a mistake? For truly the pathway of a store manager is strewn with complaints!
Mrs. Larry flung him one of her prettiest smiles and plunged into the subject of their call.
“I don’t suppose it’s good business to tell your customers how to spend less money, but that is exactly what I have come for,” she explained. “I have just wakened to the realization that while I am head of the purchasing department in our home, I know very little about food values. And I want to know more about the goods I buy in your store—how I can buy to best advantage. Would you mind giving me some pointers?”
Mr. Benton was plainly relieved.
“Indeed, I’ll be very glad to give you all the information I can. If more women studied how to buy, we would have less complaints about overcharges and high prices. But I am afraid I can’t give you much time this morning. Our busy hour is at hand. If you had come in between eight and nine, I could have taken you over the store and shown you how the wheels go round. In ten minutes our rush will set in, and last until one o’clock. Practically all of our customers crowd their marketing into those hours.”
“How odd!” said Claire.
“I don’t think it’s odd,” said Mrs. Larry. “I suppose every woman does just what we did this morning—stops to tie loose ends in the home, before starting to market.”
“More telephone, I imagine,” said Claire.
Mr. Benton nodded his head briskly.
“Right there you have struck one fundamental cause of the high cost of living—service! We employ five men to take orders in your home; one man to answer telephone calls, and a dozen delivery men. I am not criticizing the efforts of this firm to give its customers the best and promptest service. I am merely stating the cold facts when I say that order, telephone and delivery service is added to the cost of everything you buy.
“If the women of America would band together for the purpose of ordering efficiently, and thereby reduce the cost of delivery, they would enable grocers to sell at lower prices. Let me make this clear with an illustration:
“If the women of America would band together”
“If the women of America would band together”
“Mrs. A. is busy getting the children off to school when the order boy calls at her door. So she tells him to send her a pound of butter, apackage of crackers and a dozen of oranges—whatever she happens to remember in the haste of the moment. She starts to get lunch and finds that there is no vinegar for the salad dressing, no rice for the soup. So she telephones to have these articles delivered ‘special.’ Her first order is already on the way by our first regular delivery. The ‘special’ wagon or boy is rushed around with her second order. During the afternoon she makes an apple pie for her husband’s dinner, and discovers that the cheese box is empty. So she telephones again, and a second messenger or special wagon is dispatched to her home. Now, no matter how closely we may price butter or rice or cheese, this woman undoes our efforts to give her low prices by her inefficient system of ordering. She has spent ten cents in telephones, and she has made it necessary for us to keep extra help for her special orders.
“Each one of these belated orders is a small item in itself, but when I tell you that some of our customers order groceries from four to six times a day, you will understand what extra service amounts to. And when I add that onbusy days, like Saturday or the day before Christmas, we send out anywhere from a thousand to fifteen hundred orders, you will have a better idea of what delivery service costs the housewives of America.
“Housewives could cut down this particular expense, which adds so greatly to the high cost of living, by marketing in a more systematic way. It is the poorest economy to buy in small quantities and at frequent intervals. To reduce your grocery bill, keep tabs on your pantry shelves; keep up your stock of staple groceries, just as a merchant must keep in stock the things you will want to buy. Make it a rule never to order more than once a day, and to avoid extra orders by telephone.
“Don’t you think it’s rather inconsistent for a woman to complain of the price we charge for eggs, when she deliberately adds five cents to the cost of a dozen by telephoning for them? Of course, in towns where the telephone service is unlimited, this is not such a big item. But unlimited telephone service is becoming less common each year.
“Another important factor in reducing thecost of groceries is explicit ordering. Do not tell the boy to bring you a box of sweet crackers, a package of raisins and a dozen good oranges. Be more definite. Name the brand and the size of the box in ordering crackers. The smaller the box the more you pay for crackers. Make it clear whether you want cooking raisins or table raisins. Stipulate the price per dozen for oranges. The order clerk who reads the slip, ‘a package of wafers, a box of raisins and a dozen good oranges,’ does not know your income, and doesn’t care what it is. He will send you goods that will bring the firm the highest profit. And in this he is entirely justified. There is no reason why he should practise thrift for you.
“If possible, buy your groceries at the store in person. And come as early as you can. There are several good reasons for this advice. In the morning the clerks are fresh and interested in their work. They can help you in the selection of goods. During or after the day’s rush they are too driven or tired to give the best service. Then, if you buy in person, you can see the size of the containers, and you will findthere is a big saving in buying larger packages. Take the item of olives, for instance: You order by telephone a small bottle of olives. The clerk sends you a bottle selling for thirty cents. In a few days you order another thirty-cent bottle—sixty cents for two bottles of olives. For fifty-five cents you can get one large bottle, containing as much as the two smaller ones. Moreover, if you do not specify that you want queen olives, but leave the order to the discretion of the clerk, he will send you mammouth queen olives at thirty-eight cents, when you could buy the smaller queen olives for thirty cents. There is no difference in flavor, only in size, and as the larger olives can not be packed so closely, you really get less for your money.
“Moreover, if you come to the store, you see articles offered at ‘special’ prices, legitimate sales, due to the fact that the modern grocer of a chain of stores like the Dorlon stores has opportunities to buy at cut prices for cash. No delivery clerk has time to tell you about the ‘specials’ offered in the store each morning, and such information is not given over the telephone. But it is announced on placards all overthe store, so that you will not miss it if you come in.”
Mr. Benton glanced over Mrs. Larry’s smartly tailored hat to the front of the store, which was rapidly filling up.
“I’m afraid I’ve talked too long. Perhaps I have bored you?”
“Not a bit,” exclaimed Mrs. Larry. “I feel as if we had only glimpsed the real possibilities of reducing the cost of living by grocery knowledge. I wish our club could hear you talk.”
“What sort of a club is it?” inquired Mr. Benton.
“Oh, it’s not an organization and it has no name. It’s just a few neighbors who are investigating the high cost of living—husbands and wives—we women investigate and our husbands help us to draw conclusions. I am sure the husbands would like to hear you talk. But I suppose you’re always busy evenings?”
“Never too busy to be of service to my firm or to my customers.”
“Then you will meet with us some evening?” asked Mrs. Larry eagerly.
“If you will tell me what you want me to talk about—yes.”
“Oh, there is so much we want to know,” said; Mrs. Larry. “The comparative cost of package and bulk goods, for instance.”
“And adulteration,” suggested Claire.
“Substitution is quite as important,” added Mr. Benton.
“Oh, will you?” said Mrs. Larry.
“Yes, any night except Thursday. And, if you like, I’ll bring a small exhibit with me.”
“That will be splendid!” said Mrs. Larry. “Let’s make it next Wednesday night. And now, I intend to put some of your policies into practise. I’m going to look up your ‘specials.’ My goodness gracious!” she added, conscience-stricken, “every word you say is true. I have not been in this store for more than a month.”
Mr. Benton smiled and crooked his finger at a passing clerk.
“Show Mrs. Hall our specials for to-day. I think she’ll be interested.”
Claire and Mrs. Larry followed the clerk from counter to stand.
“This morning we are selling best eggs atthirty-seven cents a dozen. Yesterday you paid forty-one cents a dozen for the same eggs. To-morrow you may pay it again. To-day’s drop in price is due to a glutted market. Those eggs are perfectly fresh, and will keep in your refrigerator for a week. Here are hams at nineteen cents a pound, ordinarily sold at twenty-two. This cut is due to the fact that our firm bought a carload direct from the packer. To-day you can buy a basket of sweet potatoes for nineteen cents. To-morrow they may be twenty or twenty-two.”
Just at this moment an order boy called out: “Mrs. Blank, one quart of sweets.”
“What do they cost a quart?” asked Claire.
“Ten cents,” answered the clerk.
“And how much does the basket hold?”
“Five quarts.”
Mrs. Larry looked startled.
“Then a customer pays ten cents for one quart, and nineteen cents for five quarts? Think of paying ten cents a quart when I could get them for four cents! I have been buying them by the quart because they don’t keep well.”
“Keep your sweet potatoes in a cool place andpick them over every day. When they show spots, boil them in their jackets, set them away in the refrigerator, and they will keep indefinitely after they are boiled,” advised the clerk.
“We are having a special on certain brands of canned goods to-day—peas, tomatoes, apricots and sliced pineapple. Probably some canner found himself overloaded with certain vegetables and fruits, and our firm took advantage of the fact. If you can use a dozen cans, you will save thirty cents on the dozen, nearly three cents on each can. And you can mix your order in any way you like—three of this, four of that, two of another, etc.”
“And you have ‘specials’ like this every day?” asked Mrs. Larry.
“Yes, sometimes the specials run a week. Others are only for one day.”
“I am through with telephoning. Hereafter I shall order my groceries in person,” announced Mrs. Larry.
Wednesday evening found the Nortons, the Moores and Claire Pierce waiting in Mrs. Larry’sliving-room for Mr. Benton, manager of the Dorlon store. On the reading table, Lena, fairly bristling with importance, was arranging the exhibit which had arrived from the store. This included two brands of canned peaches, cartons of rice, tea, sugar, crackers and flavoring extracts and various packages of irregular shape.
“Looks like a private pure food exhibit,” commented Mr. Norton.
Mr. Benton proved an interesting and interested talker.
“Personal investigation and experimentation on the part of the housewife are desired by all conscientious tradespeople. In the case of the Dorlon Company, which operates a chain of thirty stores in Greater New York, the buyers desire to give customers the benefit of every possible price-saving. The managers of the stores are equally desirous of keeping customers posted on price changes and market values, but we can not force customers to take a lively interest in saving money, when they prefer to follow the line of least trouble and least resistance.Therefore, I am very glad to give you a few pointers on the subject of buying groceries.
“The principal topics in which housewives are interested are these: package versus bulk goods; cold storage versus fresh goods; adulteration versus substitution; honest and dishonest labels; premiums.
“To those of us who are in the business, the argument against package goods as increasing the cost of living is absurd. Goods must be prepared for delivery, either in the factory or in the store. The factory, with its labor-saving machinery, can do up dry groceries more rapidly and less expensively than our fastest clerks in the store. Perhaps there was a time when the housekeeper paid extra for containers. To-day she can buy certain package goods as reasonably, and sometimes more cheaply, than bulk goods.
“For instance, to-day we are selling three and a half pounds of the best granulated sugar in packages at twenty-four cents a package. Loose, you would pay eight cents a pound, or twenty-eight cents for three and one-half pounds. Exactlythe same grade of coffee that we sell ground or pulverized in an air-proof package at thirty-three cents a pound would cost you thirty-five cents in bulk from the bin.
“Of course, there are some exceptions to this rule. For instance, I have here a package of rice at twelve cents—and exactly the same rice in the bulk for ten cents a pound. You can save two cents on the pound, if when the bulk rice is delivered in your kitchen you pour it into a container which prevents waste. Rice or any other cereal in a paper sack usually represents waste in the pantry because the sack is torn, and the cereal spills over the shelf.
“Here is a two-pound package of oatmeal at twelve cents. I can sell you the same oatmeal in bulk at five cents a pound. Here is a package of split peas, two pounds for twenty-four cents. The same peas loose sell at ten cents a pound.
“In such cases the superiority of the package goods depends entirely upon the way your servant handles the package. If she opens it carelessly, destroys the pasteboard top, or, in case of bottle goods like pickles, relishes, etc., shethrows away the cork, then they lose the flavor or the goods become dusty, precisely as if you bought them in bulk.
“Train your servants to understand that containers are designed to keep out dust and to protect the flavor of the goods.
“Now for the crackers. Here are two cartons of soda crackers, moisture proof, sold at five cents each. And here is ten cents’ worth of the same soda crackers in bulk. We will now count the actual crackers in the carton and in the sack.”
Mr. Benton’s interested circle drew closer.
The moisture-proof cartons yielded up forty-eight whole fresh, crisp crackers. When the bulk crackers were turned carefully into a large plate, it was found practically impossible to count them. More than a third had been broken in carriage, and there was a heavy sprinkling of cracker dust. Nor were the bulk crackers crisp or fresh in flavor. In graham crackers the difference was more pronounced. A ten-cent, moisture-proof package contained thirty unbroken crackers. A pound of bulk graham crackers, at nine cents, yielded twenty-threewhole crackers and two broken ones. The difference in the flavor was marked.
“Understand,” said Mr. Benton, “that the cartons or package crackers will not retain their flavor unless the housekeeper insists upon their being opened properly and kept tightly covered. For this reason the small tins of crackers are in the end most economical.
“Now for cold storage versus fresh goods. Meats, butter, eggs, fruits, etc., which were in A-1 condition when placed in cold storage are wholesome. But they should be used promptly after being taken out of storage. Housekeepers waste money when they pay the price of fresh goods for cold storage products. Last week absolutely fresh certified eggs were selling at seventy-two cents a dozen. Cold storage eggs should have sold at retail for thirty-four cents. I stepped into a rival grocery store on my way to business and found that a clerk had picked over the cold storage eggs and arranged all the large white ones attractively in a basket. These were marked, ‘Special fresh eggs, 50 cents a dozen,’ At the other end of the counter was a crate of brown eggs, with the placard, ‘Coldstorage eggs, 33 cents a dozen.’ There was absolutely no difference between these two lots of eggs, except the coloring. No grocer could sell fresh eggs at fifty cents a dozen. This man did not have a certified egg in his store, and the customer who paid fifty cents a dozen for the white eggs wasted seventeen cents.
“Don’t pay the price of fresh goods for cold storage products. Every grocer who sells cold storage products must hang in his store a placard to that effect, and if he misrepresents cold storage products as fresh, he can be prosecuted. Train him to tell you the truth.
“Adulteration is, to-day, less of a menace to the housewife than substitution. I will consider adulteration later, in connection with honest and dishonest labels.
“These two cans of peaches represent the dangers of substitution. You see, they are the same size, with equally attractive labels. This can, ‘California Fruits,’ sells for twenty-three cents. The other can, ‘Table Fruits,’ sells at seventeen cents. The difference lies in the flavor and richness of the sirup. The twenty-three-cent can has a heavy sirup and the fruittastes a little like the preserves your mother used to make. The seventeen-cent can has a lighter sirup, and the fruit tastes more like fresh fruit stewed instead of preserved. The fruit was in equally good condition when canned. The difference is in the size of the peaches and the amount of sugar used only. The housekeeper gets exactly the same nutritive value for seventeen cents that she does for twenty-three cents—the difference is in the flavor.
“The cheaper peaches belong in the class of canned goods commonly known to housekeepers as ‘seconds,’ They are sold by unscrupulous grocers as A-1 goods, ‘specially reduced,’ And when a can of fruit which ought to sell for seventeen cents is ‘specially priced’ at twenty, the housekeeper wastes three cents. The same is true of canned vegetables, pickles, preserves, meats, soups, puddings, etc.
“When you ask for a standard brand of goods, and the dealer tells you he is out of that brand, but can give you something just as good—make sure that itisjust as good. Test its weight, if it is package goods, or its flavor. Ifyou have several similar experiences with the same man, regard him with suspicion. He is not carrying standard goods.
“Now for the vexed question of labels. Under the Pure Food and Drug Act, a manufacturer must set forth certain facts on his label, the percentage of preservatives and coloring matter employed, etc. A certain percentage of preservative is not harmful, and certain coloring materials are not injurious. Authorities differ as to the exact amounts, but I would advise no housewife to purchase highly colored preserves, condiments, relishes, pickles, etc., without studying the label carefully.
“A high-grade ketchup, for instance, carries this label: ‘Tomato ketchup, preserved with one-tenth of one per cent. of benzoate of soda.’
“The housewife who buys this gets her money’s worth.
“Here is a tricky label:
“‘Ketchup
“‘Made from portions of Tomato and Apple. Contains one-tenth of one per cent. benzoate ofsoda, one-hundredth per cent. color, and one-hundredth per cent. saccharine.’
“Note that it is called ‘Ketchup,’ not ‘Tomato Ketchup,’ The portions of tomato and apples used are the very refuse of the canning factory; skins, cores, rotten portions and trimmings, unfit for human consumption. Add to this sin, the manufacturer does not supply a single balancing pure and nutritious substance in his product. For sugar he substitutes saccharine. He colors the unwholesome mixture with a coal-tar preparation, and winds up by preserving it with benzoate of soda. This label tells the whole truth, and it should condemn his product in the eyes of every housewife—who takes time to read the label.
“Study your labels on potted meats, flavoring extracts, canned vegetables and cheese boxes. Don’t pay the same price for cheese when the label reads ‘Camembert Type’ as you would pay for genuine imported Camembert. If you buy sausage in the package, look out for the phrase, ‘prepared with cereal’ or ‘Cereal, five per cent.’ The maker who introduces a starchy or cerealfactor increases the water-holding capacity of the meat. The housekeeper who buys sausage of this sort at the price of pure meat sausage loses money in water and cereal.
“The difference between high-grade and low-grade flavoring extracts is not in the size of the bottle, but in the quality or flavor. In order to flavor her custard or icing, a housewife must use twice as much adulterated extract as pure.
“I would advise every housekeeper who buys goods in bulk to possess a pair of reliable scales. Weigh your bulk goods. If you use three and a half pounds of sugar a week, and a careless clerk gives you only three and a quarter or less, in fifty-two weeks you have been cheated out of thirteen pounds of sugar. Buy your apples, potatoes, etc., by weight. We weigh every basket of potatoes that leaves our store. They must run sixty pounds to the basket in medium-sized potatoes, like I have here. A basket is supposed to hold four pecks. The grocer on the block where I live fills his baskets with large potatoes and gives in actual quantity only three pecks to the basket.
“Finally, the question of premiums. In modernbusiness methods we merchants never give something for nothing. If you receive premiums for buying a certain quantity of groceries, you must pay in the weight or the quality of the groceries. In a certain chain of stores in this city they sell what they call ‘Our Own Blend’ coffee, which they advertise as pure Mocha and Java. It is sold at thirty-four cents a pound, with a cup and saucer for a premium. Have this coffee analyzed, and you will find that instead of pure Mocha and Java, the blend consists of Mocha, Java and Rio coffee, with chicory, which can be sold at a profit for twenty-five cents. Instead of getting the cup and saucer for nothing, the housekeeper is paying nine cents for them. Now understand, some housekeepers prefer Rio coffee at eighteen or twenty cents a pound, to Mocha and Java at thirty-four. The question at issue is not the flavor of the coffee, but the fact that every housekeeper must pay in some way for the premium ‘presented’ to her.
“I would advise all housekeepers to read the market reports of foodstuffs. Through these reports they can learn when the market is gluttedwith certain articles, like tomatoes, melons, apples, or oranges, when the price of potatoes is up and the price of eggs is down. As soon as a grocer discovers that a customer reads the market reports he will know better than to attempt any sharp practise in his dealings with her.”
As Mr. Benton sat down, the other men glanced at one another significantly.
“This,” said Mr. Moore, “is what I call an evening spent to good advantage.”
And the three housekeepers, to say nothing of Miss Housekeeper-to-be, agreed enthusiastically, and beamed on Mr. Benton.
“Living on less is only a question of individual methods.”—H. C. OF L. PROVERB NO. 8.
“Mrs. Martin’smagenta dress stood out like a beauty-patch on a sallow complexion,” commented Mrs. Larry, threading a fresh needle with embroidery silk.
“A woman of her coloring and eyes should wear gray-greens and dull blues,” replied Claire, as she picked up the wee sacque which Mrs. Larry was embroidering for Lisbeth.
“A-hem!” interrupted Mr. Larry, lowering his evening paper to study with amused eyes the two pretty women seated on the other side of the living-room table. “In real estate notes, there is a paragraph to the effect that rents in Kansas City have advanced ten per cent.”
Claire tossed the bit of French flannel back into Mrs. Larry’s lap.
“Wh-what’s that? Ten per cent.? Goodness gracious——”
“If they try it in New York, we’ll simply have to move—we’re paying every cent for rent that we can spare—this minute.”
“Who said anything about apartment-house rents?” demanded Mr. Larry. “This is an article on lofts and warehouses.”
“Brute!” cried Mrs. Larry, glancing at Claire, who flushed furiously.
“I hope that gave you great satisfaction, Larry Hall,” she said severely, even as she flung him a dazzling smile.
“Well, it accomplished its purpose—it checked an impending avalanche of colors, materials and hats. When two women begin to talk clothes, a man must use drastic measures, or silently steal away. Now, of course, if you like, I’ll——”
He half rose from his easy chair and fairly challenged Mrs. Larry with his glance.
“Indeed, you shan’t go! We’ll talk about anything that suits the tired business man, or start the Victrola, or go to see moving pictures——”
They laughed together, these three who had come to have so many pleasant hours together. Claire Pierce had fallen into the habit of spendingwith Mr. and Mrs. Larry most of the evenings when she was free from social engagements. She felt the need of their unspoken sympathy and understanding attitude.
The interests closest to her heart these days found little response in her own home. Mrs. Pierce belonged to a number of advanced organizations, contributed liberally to the cause of suffrage and prated much of individual rights. But in matters matrimonial she still believed that a daughter should bow to the maternal will and be practical. She considered marriage between Claire and Jimmy Graves a direct defiance of her wishes, and altogether impractical.
She had been more relieved than sympathetic when Claire and Jimmy had quarreled. And when the small inconspicuous solitaire had reappeared on Claire’s finger and letters from Kansas City arrived with their old-time regularity, she was tolerant, but not congratulatory. Mrs. Pierce’s idea of the proverbial cottage in which love should thrive among roses, was a Colonial mansion on a Long Island estate, reached by a high-powered motor-car.
In the house of Larry, Claire found not onlythe sympathy she needed in her lover’s absence, but help in her absorbing task of studies in household economics. Somehow, too, the contentment in her friends’ simply appointed home made her own way seem easier. One could be happy on a small income, if she made the most of little joys.
So it happened that when the evening mail brought a postcard depicting vegetables printed in brilliant hues, Claire was quite as interested as her two friends.
“Looks like an advertisement for southern California real estate,” suggested Mr. Larry.
Mrs. Larry held up the card for all to see, as she read the message:
“Home hampers delivered at your door, like this, for one dollar and fifty cents.”
“Direct communication between producer and consumer,” commented Mr. Larry, as he took a closer look at the card.
“What do you mean by that?” inquired Claire.
“Simply what so many economists are discussing to-day—the elimination of middlemen with their commissions, and direct dealing between the farmer and the housewife. Thisprobably comes from a group or organization of farmers on Long Island.”
“I wonder why Teresa Moore never told us about it,” said Mrs. Larry.
“Perhaps because she does not know about it,” suggested Claire dryly.
The two women exchanged significant glances which were lost on Mr. Larry. His wife rose briskly.
“I think I’ll ask her over the phone. We have no particular adventure in thrift planned just now. And it does sound so nice and fresh and inviting—‘Home Hampers.’”
She returned from the telephone, wearing the expression commonly attributed to the cat that has just consumed a canary.
“Think—for the first time since we started these adventures in thrift, I have been able to give Teresa Moore a tip. I do feelthatpuffed up.”
She seated herself on the arm of her husband’s chair and laid the picture postal on the table.
“And I heard you ask in the most casual way: ‘Teresa, do you think it would pay us to investigatethe Long Island Home Hamper?’ just as if you had known about it for five months instead of five minutes,” commented Mr. Larry, pinching his wife’s cheek.
“You really can’t blame her,” said Claire. “Teresa is so horribly wise; and she has made us feel so inferior!” “Not that she meant to,” added kindly Mrs. Larry, “but I have had to follow her lead so long—and I—well, I did enjoy handing her a bit of information.”
“No doubt,” laughed Mr. Larry, drawing her close. “And now that you have unearthed the Long Island Hamper, what do you propose to do with it?”
“Find out what it is worth.”
“My dear, you certainly are gaining in directness.”
“Oh, Larry, what an inviting collection of fresh green things! Do you suppose it could taste half as good as it looks? See—those are really, truly new potatoes that show pink through their skins.”
“Looks as if the hose had been turned on them.”
“And corn, lima beans, summer squash——”
“What is the thing that looks like cabbage gone to seed?”
“Kohl-rabi, silly! And cucumbers, onions, cabbage and beets. I couldn’t buy them at Dahlgren’s for less than three dollars. Yet this postcard says we can have such a hamper delivered at our door every week for one dollar and fifty cents. I think I will order one. Address Medford Demonstration Farm, Medford, Long Island.”
She reached for her pen, but her husband stretched out a detaining hand.
“Why not run down to the farm and learn all about it—in the interest of economy?”
“Because it would not be economical. It costs money to ride one hundred miles on the Long Island railroad.”
“I wasn’t thinking of a railway trip. We might go by motor. Burrows, our company lawyer, left for San Francisco Tuesday, and he told me that if I would like to use his car some Sunday or week-end, to telephone his chauffeur, who’d probably be joy-riding, if I didn’t.”
“Oh, Larry, a real motor! Just as if it was our own?”
Claire felt a little pang of regret as she studied Mrs. Larry’s radiant face. How much this friend had done for her, yet she could not place the family car at her disposal. It was rarely used for such unselfish purposes, but must be always at the command of her mother and sisters for calls, shopping and the briefest errands. She suddenly realized that Mrs. Larry was addressing her personally.
“Think of it, Claire—a whole perfect day in the country, with everything coming out of the soft brown earth to find the sunlight. It may not mean so much to you, forallyour friends have machines. But you’ll go with us—because the trip may prove profitable. And I’ll take the babies, and, yes, Lena—she has been so faithful, and—is it a seven-passenger car, Larry?”
“It is, but it won’t hold the entire block.”
“No-o—only Teresa Moore.”
“Teresa goes. This is your party!”
So it happened that the next Sunday morning Mrs. Larry, with eyes shining, carried her “thrift party” off on the most delightful excursionso far undertaken. Even the Burrows’ chauffeur relaxed at sight of her happiness and enthusiasm, and forgave the early start, for at eight-thirty they were spinning over Queensboro Bridge. Behind them lay the city, for the most part asleep, as New York generally is after its Saturday night gaieties.
“We early birds will have the famous Merrick Road practically to ourselves,” said Mr. Larry, as they swept through Astoria. On they went, now through little towns, now past stately homes, now between rolling truck farms, green with corn, gray-blue with cabbage, spattered with the scarlet of tomatoes. It seemed as if all Long Island was yielding a bountiful store of fresh things, enough to feed three cities like New York.
“And yet,” sighed Teresa Moore, “we pay absurdly high prices for vegetables, which, though raised within an hour’s motor run of our doors, reach us withered and pithy.”
“Well, we’ll know why very soon,” said Mrs. Larry. Then she turned to her husband. “Who did you say owns this farm?”
“The Long Island Railroad. The president ofthe road, Mr. Ralph Peters, found on investigation that his road ran through territory which was without value, as the average American sees it—without lumber, without coal or minerals, without any great water power, without any opportunities for developing industrial plants of any sort. Half of this territory, lying within fifty or sixty miles of New York City, was a howling wilderness, selling at three or possibly six dollars an acre, and no one buying it.
“In 1905 he decided that the one hope of this part of Long Island lay in agricultural development. In the offices of his railroad was a man named H. B. Fullerton, who was in charge of the general advertising, taking photographs, issuing booklets of scenery, and so on. Such work had taken Mr. Fullerton practically all over the railroad’s territory. Also, Mr. Fullerton had traveled all over America, and he said that the Long Island land showed the same undergrowth as he had seen in Cuba, New Mexico and sections of South America, where vegetables grow luxuriantly. He believed that Long Island could grow beans, asparagus, peas, potatoes,cauliflower and other vegetables, instead of loblolly pines. The upshot of this discussion was that the Long Island Railroad Company bought ten acres of scrub oak waste, practically considered the worst land in middle Long Island, with the avowed intention of providing the fresh food for which New York City had been starving, from the countryman’s point of view.
“In September, 1905, Fullerton and his hands dynamited out the first scrub oak stump. The next year they raised three hundred and eighty-one varieties of food on the poorest land of Long Island.”
“And that is the man we are to meet?” asked Claire.
“Yes, together with his wife and daughters.”
Just beyond the Medford railway station the motor road cut its clean way through the arbor leading from the railroad to the farmhouse of the Demonstration Farm. Three concrete steps afforded the only “station” for railway passengers. The framework of the arbor was hidden by grape-vines and banked on either side by masses of garden flowers.
Beyond the farmhouse, a two-story, wide-porched bungalow, lay the barns and outbuildings and the cottages of the farm hands.
Mr. and Mrs. Fullerton, who had been advised of Mrs. Larry’s adventures in thrift, were more than hospitable, and after a tour of the grounds, they explained to their interested visitors many phases of merchandising in foodstuffs which are a mystery to the average city dweller.
“Our experience as farmers started about fifteen years ago. I had been a sailor and was a rolling stone,” explained Mr. Fullerton. “My wife was born and raised in the heart of Brooklyn. We moved to the country because we thought the country was the best place to raise our children. We started a garden because we had so much trouble buying fresh food. What little was raised on the farms around us was shipped to New York, then brought back to our little town of Hollis, and sold to us at city prices by our village merchants.
“We bought a two-acre place at Huntington, thirty-five miles from Brooklyn, and we raised all of our own vegetables, because we preferredfresh vegetables to stale ones. The potatoes we raised cost us seventeen cents a bushel, when our neighbors were paying the village grocer from one dollar and fifty cents to two dollars a bushel. Corn that cost us from eight to ten cents a dozen ears in our garden cost our neighbors thirty cents in the stores. Our two acres, worked almost entirely by my wife and an occasional helper, with what assistance I could give outside my office hours, cut down our cost of living more than half. Any family in a small town can do the same, but the city housekeeper is up against a different proposition, and we found that out when we took hold of this demonstration farm.
“We were here for a definite purpose—to prove that Long Island men could raise garden stuff to market in Greater New York, and that men who bought Long Island land could run truck farms at a good profit. The first part of the proposition was easy enough. The first year we raised more than three hundred varieties of vegetables, herbs and fruits.
“The second half of the proposition was not so easily solved. When we shipped out produceto the New York commission merchants, we soon found that the returns were less than the cost of the boxes in which it was shipped.
“As an example, we received six or eight cents a bushel for tomatoes, the very best ripe tomatoes. The box in which we shipped them cost us fourteen cents; then came express and freight. Of course, the Long Island Railroad, which was employing us, would have franked all our produce, but that was not what Mr. Peters wanted. He wanted us to find out exactly how a farmer would handle his produce, so we paid the charges and had a record of what everything cost.
“We faced this situation: With the best of tomatoes to sell, we could show no profit on them; instead, our books would show a loss. What were we to do? We did the natural thing, we went to New York to see why. At the end of three days we knew the truth.
“That three-day investigation proved to us that the commission men of New York had the Standard Oil Company and the Meat Trust beaten a thousand miles. We were all paying tribute to them, big farmers and little, grocers andhousewives—for you housekeepers ought to know that your greengrocer makes but a small profit on what you buy.
“Among those to whom we shipped, we found seven speculators, men who never handled or saw the goods. One man sold immediately to another firm, which proved to be his wife; another man secured three commissions by selling produce to the greengrocers through two other ‘firms’—one was his wife, the other his nine-year-old son. You see, in case of any trouble he could actually show two sales.
“We found men who had no offices, who had no bank account for their business, who had no clerks, who had absolutely no expenses, but who were making big money off the producer and the consumer. One man had an elegant home in Brooklyn and a beautiful summer place in Maine. He owned a steam yacht and three automobiles, but he did not contribute one single cent to the upkeep of New York City, in which he did his business, nor to New York State. He was not even paying a license as an ordinary peddler would have to do. He did not have to file any statement of his financial returnswith the state treasurer, as other business concerns do—yet he was getting enormously rich on his commissions. He was one of the men who had promised us to sell at the best prices which grocers were paying, minus the commission. And our returns were six or eight cents abushelfor tomatoes!
“To see produce come in from various outlying states and to watch it handled on the docks, we had to stay up nights, but we got what we wanted—reliable figures and data. We knew then that there was no money for the Long Island farmer whose produce was handled by the New York commission merchant. He could sell it better in any other city.
“The next proposition was to do away with the commission man and reach the consumer direct. Mrs. Fullerton and I happened to run across a package or carrier which held six four-quart boxes. We decided that we would fill one box with potatoes, one with tomatoes, one with sweet corn, one with lima beans, one with beets. The remaining box should hold a combination—parsley, radishes, asparagus, and later in the season, cantaloupe, raspberries, strawberries orother fruits. Then we christened the ‘Home Hamper.’
“We picked out seven New York men, each of whom we knew to have families. To each of these went a hamper, with a letter something like this:
“‘We are sending you a Home Hamper to-day by express. It is full of fresh stuff, and we hope you will get it in time for dinner. We should like to have your opinion of it, and, incidentally, if you think it is worth $1.50, we would be glad to have the $1.50. If you do not, please accept it with our compliments—and no harm done!’
“Then we waited for returns. Every one of the seven sent us the dollar fifty and several customers besides. For each hamper we sent out first, we received three and a half customers in return—and the cash came with each order. Apparently we were filling a long-felt want.
“Here was a business started in one day. Within three years we were able to sell all that was raised on two of the company’s farms.After eight years other Long Island farmers took it up, and truck raisers around such cities as Chicago, Philadelphia and St. Louis.”
“How did you figure your profits?” inquired Mr. Larry.
“That was easy,” answered Mr. Fullerton. “The express company got twenty-five cents out of the dollar and fifty cents. Boxes, nails, tags and green paraffin paper, to keep out dust during shipment, amounted to twenty-seven cents more. The vegetables, therefore, brought ninety-eight cents. In order to learn exactly what we gained by using the Home Hamper over the regular commission channel, we received for an equal amount of vegetables shipped in bulk, and of the same quality, from four cents to eight cents—an average of six cents through the commission man, as against ninety-eight cents from the consumer.
“And do you mean to say that all of your customers are satisfied?” asked Teresa Moore.
Mr. Fullerton’s eyes twinkled.
“Well—hardly. If a woman didn’t want cauliflower or kohl-rabi she would write as if we had committed an unpardonable crime in sendingher any. Again, some city folks were so used to hard dry vegetables, like peas and beans, that they thought there wasn’t much to our tender juicy vegetables. But most of them appreciated the freshness of the green stuff, packed in the morning and received by them before night. The lettuce still had the morning dew on it; tomatoes and melons were ripened on the vine, peaches on the tree, instead of being picked green and ripened in a car during a three- or five-day railroad trip.
“As to the saving for the consumer—by checking up on our correspondence, we find that it ranged from sixty-five cents to three dollars a hamper, according to the markets formerly patronized by our customers, and also according to their ability as marketers.
“During the summer, of course, the consumer receives the vegetables fresh from the garden; during the winter, the hardier vegetables, which are stored in the farmer’s cellar.
“The passage of years has proved this to be a practical plan for both producer and consumer. The producer makes a fair profit, and the consumer a considerable saving. It is aproposition practical in all cities with outlying truck farms. Farmers are corresponding with me all over the country. Any group of women can communicate with the nearest grange or agricultural society and arrange for the shipment of these hampers the year around. I admit this will work a hardship on the small merchant, but until that merchant evolves a plan of dealing directly with the producer, instead of through a commission man, the housewife is justified in protecting herself.
“A housewife who knows how to utilize all sorts of vegetables, and who will buy directly from the producer in this way, can cut the cost of her table fifty per cent. Take the single item of eggs. When the better stores of New York were selling eggs anywhere from fifty to seventy-five cents a dozen, the commission men were paying the farmers around here seventeen cents. You can see who got the profits—the middleman. We sell eggs direct to the consumer at thirty-five cents a dozen, thereby receiving eighteen cents more than do our neighbors, who sell to the commission men, while theconsumer saves anywhere from fifteen to forty cents.”
“I notice that you speak of making your shipments by express. Do you never use parcel post?”
“For fresh vegetables, eggs and so forth, I prefer express, because it is quicker, because there is no fee for the return of carrier, and because our hamper is too bulky for parcel post.”
“Oh, yes!” exclaimed Mrs. Larry. “I remember Uncle George (you know he is assistant postmaster at —) says almost the same thing, that parcel post would not spell bigger profits for the producer and worth-while saving for the consumer until what he called ‘empties’ would be returned by the United States Post-office Department, free of charge.”
“Nevertheless,” said Mr. Fullerton, “a great many Long Island farmers, especially those who ship in small lots, are making good use of the parcel post. I would advise you to interview Mr. Kelley, Brooklyn’s postmaster, on the subject. His was one of the last group of city post-officesselected by the authorities at Washington in their test of practical value of parcel-post shipment to producer and consumer.”
“Dear me,” exclaimed Mrs. Larry, as she sank back with luxurious enjoyment in the Burrows car, “it really doesn’t seem possible that we have been engaged on so prosaic a mission as investigating the ‘High Cost of Living.’ It was just a beautiful hour among growing things and charming, intelligent people.”
Mr. Larry smiled over his shoulder.
“There is no reason why a woman should not take the same satisfaction in a businesslike management of her home as her husband takes in the management of his store or office. The mistake we men make is depreciating or taking for granted good household management on the part of our wives. Perhaps if we were a little more sympathetic or appreciative, women would find thrift a joy and not a burden. And just to show you that I’ve had my little lesson as your partner in reducing the high cost of living, I’ll make the trip to Brooklyn for you within the next day or so, and present the result of my interview with Postmaster Kelley ata sort of Thrift Celebration, to which Mr. and Mrs. Moore, Mr. and Mrs. Norton and Claire will be duly invited.”
“What a lovely idea!” exclaimed Mrs. Larry. “I’ve been keeping a diary; so with our coffee and cheese, some one shall read a little summary of our ‘Adventures in Thrift.’ Of course,” she continued, with a suggestion of contrition, “I started these investigations, and I’m willing to look into parcel-post economy—but—well—My wardrobe’s getting in a shocking state, so if you go to Brooklyn, I’ll go shopping.”
“And I’ll go with you,” said Teresa.
Mr. Larry chuckled.
“Perhaps you might even find the way to thrift in department-store buying.”
“No,” said Mrs. Moore decidedly. “I don’t believe in bargain counters or sales.”
“If not, why not? I propose that you add to this quest the problem: ‘When is a bargain not a bargain?’ Is there such a thing as standardization in fabrics and wearing apparel?”
“Larry, Larry!” cried his wife. “Haven’t we had trouble enough with the food proposition?And now you’re asking us to shatter the last illusion of shopping—the bargain.”
“Nothing of the sort,” retorted her husband, “I was just thinking—if you know half as much about drygoods as you do about foodstuffs, we’ll soon own a car like this—just see if we don’t!”