“No spoons.”
“Bet a penny they’re hard ones.”
So it proved, and we cracked them well all over, peeled off the shells, which for secrecy we thrust into our pockets, and then, dipping the eggs into the salt, we soon finished one each, with the corresponding proportion of bread and butter. Then the other two followed, the last slice of bread and butter disappeared, and the wine-bottle was drained. It was an abundant supply, but at our age the time consumed over the meal was not lengthy, and we then busied ourselves in rinsing out the bottle, which was hidden in my box, after being carefully wiped on a towel, the basket was placed in Mercer’s, and as soon as the last sign of our banquet had disappeared, we looked at the two hunches of bread, of which mine alone had been tasted, and burst into a laugh.
“I don’t want any—do you?” said Mercer, and I shook my head. “Oh, I do feel so much better! I can take the Doctor’s licking now, and hope it will come soon.”
“I don’t,” I said.
“Why not? It’s like nasty physic. Of course you don’t like it, but the sooner you’ve swallowed it down, the sooner it’s gone, and you haven’t got to think any more about it. That’s what I feel about my licking.”
“Hist! here’s some one coming.”
Mercer turned sharply round and listened.
“Old Reb,” he whispered, and we went and stood together near the window as the steps came nearer; the key was turned, and Mr Rebble appeared, glanced at the tray with its almost untouched bread, and then smiled maliciously.
“Ho, ho! Proud stomached, eh? Oh, very well, only I warn you both you get nothing more to eat until that bread is finished. Now, then, young gentlemen, this way please.”