“Ye call me Chef, and ye do well to call him Chef
Who for seven long years has camped in summertime,
And made his coffee out of rain when there was no spring water handy,
And mixed his biscuits in the wash-basin,
Because the baking-pan no longer was.
But I was not always thus, an unhired butcher,
A savage Chef of still more savage menus——”
The teakettle suddenly boiled over with a loud hissing and sizzling, and the impassioned orator jumped as though he had been shot; then, collecting himself, he rushed over and picked the kettle from the stove and stood holding it in his hand, uncertain what to do with it.
“Set it down on the back of the stove!” commanded Migwan. “A great cook you are! Even Slim would know enough to do that!”
“Thanks for the implied compliment,” said Slim stiffly.