“I don’t know yet,” said the professor smiling. “I must think over our position first.”
“But, Mr Burne!” cried the lady.
“My dear madam,” said Mr Burne, “I can say nothing till after supper. Here is a dish of fowl and rice to be discussed before we do anything else. Here, Snooks, Brown, Hassan, Elecampane—what’s your name?—lay the cloth and bring some knives and forks.”
The man addressed did not stir. He had placed the smoking brass dish upon a stone near the fire, and with that his duties seemed to be ended.
“They won’t give you any knives or forks,” said little Mr Chumley.
“Will you be quiet, Charley?” cried his lady. “No, gentlemen, you will have to sit down all round the dish like this, and eat with your fingers like pigs.”
“Pigs haven’t got any fingers,” whispered little Chumley to Lawrence. “Come along.”
“What is he whispering to you, Master Lawrence?” said the lady sharply. “Don’t take any notice of what he says. He talks too much and thinks too little. If he had thought more and said less we should not be in this predicament.”
The chief and his follower had passed silently behind the great rug stretched over the doorway, and, led by their hunger, the prisoners all sat down round the dish “like this,” to use Mrs Chumley’s words—this being tailor fashion, or cross-legged à la Turcque; and then, in very primitive fashion, the supper of poor stringy fowl and ill-cooked rice began.
The food was very poor, the bread being heavy and black; but all were too hungry to be particular, and at last the dish was completely finished, and conversation respecting their position began, while Yussuf sat aside and waited patiently to be questioned.