“Aha, Johnnie,” whispered the giant, hugging him until he blenched with the pain of his arm, “is this no’ a bonny place? They ca’ it Pook’s Kitchen—forbye, there’s few as kens it ... the De’il himsel’ couldna find us here, y’ ken.... Whisht, lie ye still, Johnnie; yon be only Pym a-cursing, an’ sma’ wonder; the puir gentleman was forced tae leave his gun behind.... O Pymmie-man,” quoth Sir Hector, wedging his vast bulk deeper into the narrow cave, “’tis a sinfu’, waefu’, shamefu’ thing ye should hae wasted y’r gifts on paint when ye wad hae made sic a bonny musketeer!”
“So far as my memory serves,” sighed Mr. Pym the Painter, “I dropped it just after we crossed the pebble-ridge.”
CHAPTER XL
DESCRIBES, AMONG OTHER THINGS, HOW MY LADY TRAMPLED TRIUMPHANTLY AT LAST
I
“Beef, sir,” said Mr. Bunkle, laying a slice caressingly upon Sir John’s plate, “cold roast-beef, sir, can be ate any’ow an’ anywhen, but sech beef as this ’ere is best took plain and ungarnished ... though I wun’t deny as a slice or so o’ b’iled-’am took therewith doan’t go oncommon well, t’other actin’ upon which an’ bringing out the flavour o’ both, sir, d’ye see! So shall us mak’ it beef-an’-’am, sir?”
“Assuredly!” answered Sir John, seating himself at the table.
“Sir ’Ector used t’ swear by my beef-an’-’am,’e did, but ’e doan’t tak’ ’is breakfast ’ere no more ... a changed man ’e be, sir.”
“How so, Mr. Bunkle?”
“Well, ain’t you noticed ’is wig, sir?”