“Oh, no, not that one, Mr. Feet, but he used to cure them just like that.—Will you have some more tea? There’s plenty of tea. Oh, yes, I knew you would. Just one drop of milk and I wonder if Betty put on enough sugar? Well, you can excuse the sugar this time. There, I told Betty to cook you some eggs, but she has forgotten. I know that you wouldn’t care for any ham if you didn’t have eggs to eat with it. You will have some more bread and butter, I know you will.”
“Yes, madam, if you please, I will take some of that ham also, and make myself a sandwich,” insisted Barclugh, for matters were desperate for his stomach’s sake.
“Very well, Mr. Feet. I will take it over to the sideboard, and prepare you one, myself,” was the offer of Mrs. Puffer, expecting her guest to say: “No, thank you, it will be too much bother.”
But not that way for Barclugh. He arose from the table and said:
“Allow me to assist you. I will take it over to the sideboard for you,” wishing to be agreeable.
“No! No! you mustn’t do that! I couldn’t allow you! I will do that myself,” interposed Mrs. Puffer, as she jumped up hastily and grabbed the platter to take the ham off the table, when the so-called ham rolled to the floor and bounced up like a rubber ball, for it was as hollow as a fiddle, and made of wood.
Barclugh simply sat back and laughed till he was tired out.
Mrs. Puffer picked up the wayward morsel and placed it on the sideboard.
Barclugh simply sat back and laughed till he was tired out.