Part 4 (2/2)
”Good hunting, eh?”
”Prime, sir. 'Tisn't store stuff, either! As soon as I see that look in your eye I remembered 'bout the tea-fight over at Knox's Church last night and how they'd be sure to be selling off what's left, for the benefit of the heathen.” The boy gave the roundest wink Callandar had ever seen and deposited his parcels upon the bed. ”They always have 'bout forty times as much's they can use. Course I didn't get you any _broken_ vittles,” he added, noticing the alarm upon the doctor's face.
”It's all as good as the best. Wait till you see!”
He began to clear the wash-stand in a businesslike manner, talking all the time. ”This here towel will do for a cloth. It's bran' clean--cross my heart! I borrowed a dish or two offen the church. They know me....
We'll put the chicken in the middle and the ham along at this end and the pie over there where it can't slip off--”
”I don't like pie, boy.”
”I do. Pie's good for you. We'll put the beet salad by the chicken and the cabbage salad by the ham and the chow-chow betwixt 'em. Then the choc'late cake can go by the pie--”
”Boy, I don't like chocolate cake.”
”Honest? Ah, you're kiddin' me! Really? Choc'late cake's awful good for you. I love chocolate cake. This here cake was made by Esther Coombe's Aunt Amy--it's a sure winner! Say, Mister, what do you like anyway?”
”Ever so many more things than I did yesterday. By Jove, that chicken looks good!”
”Yep. That's Mrs. Hallard's chicken. I thought you'd want the best. She ris' it herself. And made the stuffin' too.”
”Did she 'ris' the ham also?”
”Nope. It's Miss Taylor's ham. Home cured. The minister thinks a whole lot of Miss Taylor's curin'. Ma thinks that if Miss Taylor wasn't quite so hombly, minister might ask her jest on account of the ham. You try it--wait a jiffy till I sneak some knives!”
Callandar looked at the decorated wash-stand and felt better. He had forgotten all about the room, and when the knives came, in even less than the promised jiffy, he forgot everything but the varied excellences of the food before him. The chicken was a chicken such as one dreams of.
The salads were delicious, the homemade bread and b.u.t.ter fresh and sweet; the ham might well cause feelings of a tender nature towards its curer! The chocolate cake? He thought he might try a small piece and, having tried, was willing to make the attempt on a larger scale. The boy was a most efficient waiter, discerning one's desires before they were expressed. But when they got to the pie, the doctor drew up another chair at the pie side of the table and waved the waiter into it.
There was no false modesty about the boy; neither did he hold malice. If he had felt slightly aggrieved at not having been invited earlier, he forgot it after the first mouthful and for a time there was no further conversation in number fourteen. The doctor had temporarily discarded his theory that it is better to rise from the table feeling slightly hungry. The boy had never had so foolish a theory to discard. The chicken, the ham, the pie, disappeared as if conjured away. The boy grew rounder.
”Boy,” said the doctor at last, ”hadn't you better stop? You are 'swelling wisibly afore my werry eyes!'”
The boy shook his head, but presently he began to have intervals when he was able to speak.
”Better plant all you can,” he advised. ”Ma says the grub here would kill a cat. I eat at home. Ma wouldn't risk my stomach here.
It's fierce.”
”But I'll have to eat, boy. Isn't there another hotel?”
”Yep; two. But you couldn't go to them. This here's the only decent one.
Gave you a nice room anyway.” He looked around admiringly. ”Going to stay long?”
”No--that is, yes--I don't know! How can I stay if I can't eat?”
The boy picked his round white teeth thoughtfully with a pin.
”You might get board somewheres.”
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