“I can give you some fried fish, bread and butter, and some blackberries,” I said, as I led the way into the living-room.
“Ain’t you got no coffee?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then those things will do first rate. I’m fearfully hungry. Didn’t have a mouthful since this morning. Make the coffee good and strong.”
“I will, Mr. Norton.”
“Don’t call me Mr. Norton. I’m your Uncle Enos.”
“All right, Uncle Enos; I’ll try to remember.”
I went into the cook-shed, and began to prepare supper. I did not feel in good-humor, and my face must have shown it, for when Ford came in he remarked,—
“Your uncle ain’t going to play second, fiddle to nobody, is he?”