“That’s the first course,” whispered Wilkins. “I hope you’ll like it.”
The boys filed in and took seats. The servant girl already referred to began to bring plates of soup and set before the boys. It was a thin, unwholesome-looking mixture, with one or two small pieces of meat, about the size of a chestnut, in each plate, and fragments of potatoes and carrots. A small, triangular wedge of dry bread was furnished with each portion of soup.
“We all begin to eat together. Don’t be in a hurry,” said Wilkins, in a low tone.
When all the boys were served, Socrates Smith, who sat in an armchair at the head of the table, said:
“Boys, we are now about to partake of the bounties of Providence, let me hope, with grateful hearts.”
He touched a hand bell, and the boys took up their soup spoons.
Hector put a spoonful gingerly into his mouth, and then, stopping short, looked at Wilkins. His face was evidently struggling not to express disgust.
“Is it always as bad?” he asked, in a whisper.
“Yes,” answered Wilkins, shrugging his shoulders.
“But you eat it!”