Roast duck followed the maccaroni, with jelly, and fine cut celery with dressing.
Then came ice cream, followed by cheese—fromage de Brie.
“Bob, there’s somethin’ wrong about this,” said Tom, seriously, referring to the last course. “Jest get on to that piece, will you?” and Tom passed his portion to Bob.
“Don’t be a fool, now, Tom Flannery,” said Bob, with assumed displeasure, while he struggled hard to keep from giggling.
“Well, I ain’t no fool, Bob; I guess I know when I know a thing,” said Tom, indignantly. “I tell you that piece is all spoilt,” and, to make sure of his statement, he took it in his fingers, and without regard to good manners placed it close to his nose, and gave it a genuine test.
Bob threw himself back in the chair, and exploded with laughter. Herbert did likewise. But Tom was mad. He thought Bob had played a trick on him, and he said:
“I don’t intend to be imposed upon in any such way as what this is, Bob Hunter. I’ll show you that I can put up jobs, too, ef you think it is so much fun.”
Now Brie cheese is somewhat soft, so much so that it many times adheres slightly to whatever it touches. Tom had rashly taken it up in his fingers, and now, while breathing forth malice and threats against Bob, he chanced to put his fingers up to his mouth. This brought them again in close proximity to his nose.
“Gewhopper!” yelled Tom, as he thrust his hand into his trousers pocket with a view to better protecting his nose. “I wouldn’t er thought this of you, Bob Hunter!”
Both Bob and Herbert were convulsed with laughter, and were holding their sides from pain.