"I told you that chap hadn't much sense," remarked Ned, addressing his three visitors. "He doesn't know enough to answer a question as he oughter. I've been trying to teach him something, but I shall have to give it up as a bad job. Been to breakfast?"
"No—not yet."
"Thought you hadn't. Cook, put up another slice, douse it in butter, salt and pepper, and serve it up as you used to do when I employed you at the Astor. Gentlemen, how do you like it, rare or well done?"
All made answer that they were not particular, and Ned replied thereunto as follows:
"Sensible fellows! If you don't care what you get, you won't have to care much for what you don't get. What will you select as a dessert? Plum, rice, bread, or cherry pudding? Apple, mince, cranberry, plum, peach, or lemon pie? Cup-custard, tapioca, watermelon, citron, or sherry, maderia, or port. Order which ever you choose, gentlemen, it don't make any difference to us. We can give you one just as well as the other."
"I suppose you can," laughed Howard; "so we'll not take the trouble to order any."
"All right; as you please, gentlemen. We haven't any turkey or oysters left so you will have to put up with a little antelope that we shot yesterday afternoon. Fine condition for this time of year, and the best kind of flesh to starve to death on."
"We haven't had a taste of it yet; but we devoured a goodly piece of a mountain sheep."
"Just so. I was going to speak of a mountain sheep, if my servants hadn't interrupted me so often with inquiries as to how they should make the wine sauce. Ah! I see our meal is ready; we will therefore repair to the banquet hall."
The six took their seats upon the leaves, and ate the meal in the usual primitive manner, verifying the adage, "hunger is the best sauce."