“He is too young to be married,” said Jimmy, who, it will be perceived, understood everything literally.
“I don’t know but he is,” said Paul, “but he isn’t too old to be hungry. So, mother, whenever dinner is ready we shall be.”
“It is all ready except peeling the potatoes, Paul.”
“We can do that ourselves. It is good exercise, and will sharpen our appetites. You will have to eat fast or there won’t be much left. Jimmy is the most tremendous eater I ever saw, and won’t leave much for the rest of us, if we give him the chance.”
“Now, Paul,” expostulated Jimmy, feeling aggrieved at this charge, “you know I don’t eat as much as you do.”
“Hear him talk, Phil. I don’t eat more than enough to keep a fly alive.”
“It must be a pretty large fly, Paul,” said Jimmy, slyly.
“Good joke, Jimmy. Mother, you must give Jimmy twelve potatoes to-day instead of the ten he usually eats.”
“Oh, Paul, how can you tell such stories?” exclaimed Jimmy, shocked at such an extravagant assertion. Phil laughed, for there was something ludicrous in the idea of Jimmy, who was a slight boy of seven, making away with such a large quantity, and the little boy began to see that it was a joke at his expense.
The dinner went off well. All had a good appetite, and did full justice to Mrs. Hoffman’s cookery. The pudding in particular was pronounced a success. It was so flaky and well-seasoned, and the sauce, flavored with lemon, was so good, that everyone except Mrs. Hoffman took a second piece. For the first time since he had left Italy, Phil felt the uncomfortable sensation of having eaten too much. However, with the discomfort was the pleasant recollection of a good dinner, and to the mind of the little fiddler the future brightened, as it is very apt to do under such circumstances, and he felt ready to go out and achieve his fortune.