"No; only mussels. Good ones, too."
Uncle Henry looked amazed. "They eat mussels?" he cried.
Gilbert looked up, smiled, and nodded.
"An' I hear they eat frogs, an' hosses, an' cheese with worms in it, too. Say," the old man wanted to know, "what don't they eat over there?... An' speakin' of eatin', ain't we never goin' to have no dinner?"
"I think it'll be ready soon, Uncle. Do be patient. I want to write."
Uncle Henry settled back in his chair, and for a brief interval became absorbed in his newspaper. But not for long could he remain silent. "Where's that Mr. Pell?" he asked.
"Inside, I think, lying down," Gilbert replied, nodding toward the alcove, his pen rushing across the page.
Uncle Henry made a grimace. "He makes me sick, that feller."
"Oh, cut that out, Uncle," Gilbert implored; but there was a little note of irritation in his voice. "That's no way to talk of a guest under our roof."
"I won't neither cut nothin' out! An' you make me sick too, you gol darn fool!"