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Show ' r77ir I W i FICTION GREAT GRAPE GLUE TSffl ! Cornet i WA" VlVt 'Agnes was so thrilled over her new home that she didn't realize what a menace the grape arbor would prove to her newly-found happiness, until it challenged her to the supreme test. WHEN they bought the house, Agne hadn't thought much bout the grape arbor. She knew it was there, of course, but it was rprfng and the tendrUls were Just thinning to green out along the back walk. Now, it was summer, ,nd the vines were heavy with Burple clusters. -Boy Isn't that something?" said Greg, at breakfast. "Our own vineyard,' vine-yard,' right in our own back yard. And if there's one thing I like to eat, it's fresh, homemade grape Agnes felt a twinge of misgivings, but, even then, she failed to recognize recog-nize the arbor for what it was a menace to her marriage. "Guess I'll have to make some," he answered, with just a shade of doubt. "I'll go out and pick the grapes right after I get you off to WTine.M beamed Greg, swallowing swallow-ing the last of his coffee. "Mom always al-ways makes it with pure grape juice and sugar. Better call her if you have any trouble." Oh, I'll manage," answered Agnes, Ag-nes, smiling with a great show of confidence. "After all, I learned to cook, didn't I?" Sure did, Hon," agreed Greg, reaching for his hat. "Got to run along, now. Good luck with the Jelly." They exchanged their usual after-breakfast after-breakfast bride-and-groom kiss, and Greg hurried out the front door. When the breakfast dishes were carefully cleared up, Agnes took a dishpan and approached the arbor. It was pleasant there. Working in the sunshine, to the busy humming of bees, she felt the lightness come back into her heart. After all, anybody any-body could learn to make jelly. Dew lay heavily upon the purple globules, as she placed them, bunch by bunch, in the dishpan. She breathed deep of their winey fragrance, and smiled in her new sense of ownership. "Making jelly?" called her neighbor, neigh-bor, across the back fence. "Those grapes always did make the best jelly!" "Going to try it," Agnes called back. "I've never made any before, but I have a good cookbook, and I think I can do it all right." "It's easy," said the neighbor. "I never bother with a cookbook, myself." my-self." Agnes took her grapes into the kitchen and began washing and sorting sort-ing them at the sink. When they were ready, she put them into a saucepan and crushed them slightly, as it said in the cookbook. She added a small amount of water and brought them to a slow boil, letting them cook gently until the juice had run out Straining the juice through a cloth was a messy business, but easy enough, as she remembered having seen her mother do it at home. "I wonder," she thought, "why I didn't pay more attention to jelly-making?" jelly-making?" She brought out the little glasses and sterilized them until they were crystal bright. In the grip of a quivering quiv-ering excitement, she measured the juice and sugar. Now came the frightening part. Tensely, she propped the cookbook within view, while bringing the juice to a vigorous vigor-ous boiL She added the sugar and stirred carefully until it had dissolved. dis-solved. She studied the jelly test pictures until her eyes ached. One picture showed the jelly dripping from the spoon in two drops, the other, two drops running together end leaving the spoon in one flake. The important thing was to know Just when this took place. Back and forth, Agnes gazed, from picture to spoon, from spoon to picture, pic-ture, until both seemed to blend into one. At this point, she thought the mixture had neared the jellying stage, but her eyes ached so from their intentness, she was no longer certain whether two drops had really run off the spoon, or she had Just imagined it. Better cook It a little longer, she thought, to be sure. Slightly after the time specified, she poured the jelly into the hot glasses. Not until then did she relax. Her nerves, she realized, had been pounding like trip hammers. As she tidied the kitchen, Agnes gazed with pride at the glasses on the utility cabinet. Her Drst jellyl It looked a trifle dark, but then j liked to twit her about her conversations conver-sations with the girls. "Why don't you use commercial pectin?" asked Lucille, when Agnes had confided her failure. "Then you can use the short-boil method, and it's practically fool-proof." "Because Greg's Mom doesn't," Agnes answered crossly. "It's got to be the long-boil method or nothing." noth-ing." "Fiddlesticks," concluded Lucille. "Buy the pectin, and come to the card club tomorrow afternoon." But Agnes shook her head stubbornly. stub-bornly. "No old grape jelly," she said, "is going to stand in 'the way of my wedded bliss." She went at It again the next morning with great determination. j This time, she was careful not to overcook the boiling mass. Jubilantly, Jubi-lantly, she poured it into the glasses. "There," she thought, setting it to "Greg!" she cried. "See if your folks would like to come over to dinner. We'll have crispy little biscuits, and " grapes were dark, naturally. She had a good dinner waiting for Greg when he came from work. "I thought we might try a little for dessert," she suggested, bringing bring-ing out one of the glasses. "That's right," Greg recalled happily. hap-pily. "Grape jelly!" lie plunged a spoon enthusiastically into the glass. He pulled hard. "Great grape glue!" he cried, "what have we here?" Agnes stared, astonished, at the gooey blob on the spoon. Fine, sticky threads trailed behind it from the glass, like fronds of cotton candy, She blinked back the tears, just in time, and changed her exclamation ex-clamation to a laugh. If only she had thought to try it first! "Perhaps," she suggested, "we could spread it on paper to catch flies." ONE of the tears spilled over the edge of her laugh, and Greg caught her to him. "Never mind," he soothed. "It tastes good, anyhow." any-how." He kissed her, and they both nibbled at the spoon, like two children chil-dren sharing a lolly pop. "When you try it tomorrow," he mistakenly continued, "Mom can tell you what you did wrong." Agnes pulled stiffly away, and began be-gan stacking dishes. She shoved the jelly glasses viciously out of sight, and went around the rest of the evening eve-ning feeling vaguely irritated at Greg. Ensconsed behind the evening eve-ning paper, he appeared not to notice. no-tice. He even failed to notice when Lucille called, though he usually cool. "Just let my fine Gregory find fault with that!" She put on her frilliest apron, and smiled at Greg over the dinnertable. This time, when he plunged his spoon into the glass, he did not have to pulL The jelly trickled off the spoon in a ruby stream. Greg grinned, uncertainly. "Wonderful "Won-derful stuff for pancakes," he said. With great restraint, Agnes checked the most amazing desire to throw something. After all, it wasn't Greg's fault he had a stupid wifel She sighed, wearily, but that evening, eve-ning, too, had a defensive overcast. Unmollified, she accepted the unexpressed unex-pressed apology in Greg's goodnight kiss. "Honey," he said, "you know I don't care a hoot about those old grapes." The following day was hot, but Agnes doubled her hours at the kitchen stove. The warmer she became, be-came, the greater grew her resentment. resent-ment. "Why," she asked herself, "did 'we ever have to buy a house with an old grape arborl" Batch after batch she cooked, alternating between syrup and gum. Somehow, she just couldn't get it right. Grimly, she poured the last sticky mess into the glasses. Not waiting to clear the kitchen, she marched upstairs and threw herself across the bed. "Only a silly bride," she said, "would cry over not being able to make jelly." But the tears soaked into the pillow all the same and, discouraged and exhausted, she fell asleep. She awoke with a start at Greg's touch on her shoulder. Late afternoon after-noon shadows lay across the floor. She jumped up. guiltily, but Greg pushed her gently back against the pillows. "I'm home early," he said. "Relax, "Re-lax, poor kid. You're all tired out." "I knew you could do it," he added, add-ed, and Agnes became aware, for the first time, that he had something in his hand. He was taking huge bites from a piece of bread and butter but-ter and yes, something else, gleaming gleam-ing in jeweled beauty upon the yellow yel-low surface. "That last batch," mumbled Greg, with his mouth full, "has jelled." Agnes leaped out of bed, her face ablaze with excitement. "Greg!" she cried. "See if your folks would like to come over to din ner. We'll have crispy little biscuits, bis-cuits, and" she reached out and touched tfie quivering rubies with a reverent finger, "Great Grape Glue!" she breathed, rapturously, "Jellyl" |