As soon as Mrs. Puffer disappeared, Barclugh drew a long breath and exclaimed:
“Whew! whew! I’ll have a time to get something to eat here!”
“Why! what do you think, Mr. Feet? Supper has been ready a long time. My Betty can cook a chicken, boil a ham and make tea quicker than anybody I ever knew. Come right along this way.
“I’ll sit down with you and I know you will enjoy your supper. Will you be seated right there? Here is some chicken. I never eat any meat for supper, myself, before going to bed. I drink my cup of tea. Oh, can’t you cut the chicken? Oh, that’s too bad. Just sharpen the knife a little. That’s it. Just put a little muscle into it.—Well, I declare, Betty just half boiled that chicken. If you can wait a little I shall take it out and boil it a little more.”
“No, thank you, Mrs. Puffer,” said Barclugh, as he sat down out of breath, after he had stood up to carve the fowl.
“Here’s some bread and butter, Mr. Feet. I do enjoy Betty’s bread and butter. It’s about all I care to take for my supper.”
“Madam, is that some ham, on the other side of the table?” queried Barclugh, as he saw that he would have to take matters into his own hands, if he were to have any supper.
For the first time, Mrs. Puffer looked embarrassed, as she replied:
“Yes, that is one of those celebrated hams that are cured in Connecticut. It came from old Haddam, and it is well seasoned. Yes, my father used to cure those hams fifty years ago.”
“Not that one, I hope, Mrs. Puffer?” helplessly queried Barclugh.