“That’ll about do—eh, Stan?” said Uncle Jeff.
“Capitally, uncle.”
“Got any appetite after your fighting?”
“Oh yes, uncle; it has made me terribly hungry.”
“Then come along.”
“Hah!” said Uncle Jeff, about a quarter of an hour later, as he wiped his lips with a paper napkin. “Who’d ever have thought we should be having such a breakfast as this in the old place—eh, Oliver?”
“I for one fully expected that we should be buried in its ashes,” said Stan’s father.
“Humph!” said Uncle Jeff; “then next time you think such dolorous things keep them to yourself, and don’t say them to spoil your son’s breakfast.”
“They don’t spoil my breakfast a bit, Uncle Jeff. More pie, please.”
“You’re right, Stan. Sin is a good cook, even if he is no use as a fighting-man.”