If Frank arn't mad, then there aint
such a word as mad!" But as he spoke he replaced his gun under his arm,
and walked off to his horse, which he mounted, without farther words,
his example being followed by the whole party, who set off on the spur,
and reached the village in less than half an hour.
Breakfast was on the table when they got there--black tea, produced from
Harry's magazine of stores, rich cream, hot bread, and Goshen butter--
eggs in abundance, boiled, roasted, fried with ham--an omelet au fines
herbes, no inconsiderable token of Tim's culinary skill--a cold round of
spiced beef, and last, not least, a dish of wood-duck hot from the
gridiron.
"By George," said Harry, "here's a feast for an epicure, and I can find
the appetite."
"Find it"--said Forester, grinning, who, pretending to eat nothing, or
next to nothing, and not to care what was set before him, was really the
greatest gourmet and heaviest feeder of the party--"Find it, Harry? it's
quite new to me that you ever lost it. When was it, hey?"
"Arter he'd eat a hull roast pig, I reckon--leastwise that might make
Harry lose his'n; but I'll be darned if two would be a sarcumstance to
set before you, Frank, no how.
Pages:
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275