"Mange‑moi ça—ça t' fera du bien!"
Then, suddenly: "Pourquoi q' tu n'aimes pas la chasse? t'as pas peur, j'espère!" (Why don't you like shooting? you're not afraid, I hope!)
LE PÈRE POLYPHÈME
"'Sais pas,'" said Josselin; "don't like killing things, I suppose.'"
So Barty became quite indispensable to the happiness and comfort of Père Polyphème, as he called him, as well as of his amiable family.
On the 1st of September there was a grand breakfast in honor of the partridges (not in the kitchen this time), and many guests were invited; and Barty had to sing and talk and play the fool all through breakfast; and got very tipsy, and had to be put to bed for the rest of the day. It was no fault of his, and Madame Lafertó declared that "ces messieurs" ought to be ashamed of themselves, and watched over Barty like a mother. He has often declared he was never quite the same after that debauch—and couldn't feel the north for a month.
The house was soon full of guests, and Barty and I slept in M. Laferté's bedroom—his wife in a room adjoining.
Every morning old Polyphemus would wake us up by roaring out: