The Astonishing History of Troy Town

by Arthur Quiller-Couch

"What is it?"

"Cake, sir."

"Cake!"

"Iss, sir—cake."

The youth stifled a sob, and removed the white cover from the wheelbarrow.

"Bless my soul!" gasped the Admiral, "there must be some mistake."

"It certainly seems to be cake," observed the Honourable Frederic, examining the load through his eye-glass; "and very good cake, too, by the smell."

"It certainly seems to be cake," observed the Honourable Frederic.

He was right. High on the barrow, and symmetrically piled, rested five-and-twenty huge cakes—yellow cakes such as all Trojans love— each large as a mill-stone, tinctured with saffron, plentifully stowed with currants, and crisp with brown crust, steaming to heaven, and wooing the nostrils of the gods.