These were unfortunately not nearly ripe, but Dick resolved
to try his hand at a new dish, so he stuffed the breast of his coat
full of them.
After the pot was emptied, Dick washed it out, and put a little clean
water in it. Then he poured some flour in, and stirred it well. While
this was heating, he squeezed the sour grapes and plums into what Joe
called a "mush," mixed it with a spoonful of sugar, and emptied it
into the pot. He also skimmed a quantity of the fat from the remains
of the turkey soup and added that to the mess, which he stirred with
earnest diligence till it boiled down into a sort of thick porridge.
"D'ye think it'll be good?" asked Joe gravely; "I've me doubts of it."
"We'll see.--Hold the tin dish, Henri."
"Take care of de fingers. Ha! it looks magnifique--superb!"
The first spoonful produced an expression on Henri's face that needed
not to be interpreted. It was as sour as vinegar.
"Ye'll ha' to eat it yerself, Dick, lad," cried Joe, throwing down his
spoon, and spitting out the unsavoury mess.
Pages:
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202