“Just one,” pleaded the watery-eyed young man, “to go with this bit of cracklin'.”
The lean young lady, amid renewed applause, first thoughtfully wiping her mouth, acceded to his request.
The watery-eyed young man turned it over with the air of a gourmet.
“Not bad,” was his verdict. “Reminds me of onions.” At this there was another burst of laughter.
“Now then, ain't Paul goin' to have one?” shouted Uncle Gutton, when the laughter had subsided.
Amid silence, feeling as wretched as perhaps I have ever felt in my life before or since, I received one from the gracious Miss Sellars, wet and sounding.
“Looks better for it already,” commented the delighted Uncle Gutton. “He'll soon get fat on 'em.”
“Not too many at first,” advised the watery-eyed young man. “Looks to me as if he's got a weak stomach.”
I think, had the meal lasted much longer, I should have made a dash for the street; the contemplation of such step was forming in my mind. But Miss Sellars, looking at her watch, declared we must be getting home at once, for the which I could have kissed her voluntarily; and, being a young lady of decision, at once rose and commenced leave-taking. Polite protests were attempted, but these, with enthusiastic assistance from myself, she swept aside.
“Don't want any one to walk home with you?” suggested Uncle Gutton. “Sure you won't feel lonely by yourselves, eh?”