"And you don't know what to do. Will you leave it to me?"
"Yes."
"All right," and Captain White swung himself round a near corner and disappeared. That day he came home later than usual to dinner, and standing by the table looked with a contemptuous air at the meagre roast of mutton, the half-dozen potatoes reposing in their jackets at the bottom of a deep dish, the small, uninviting slabs of turnip, and the few canned peas peeping timidly from a blue bowl.
Mrs. Prymmer glanced up pleasantly when he came in. "Give Micah some mutton, Justin."
"No," vociferated Captain White, "don't give him any."
Mrs. Prymmer was surprised. Her cousin was something of a favourite with her, in spite of his abruptness of speech, for he represented so many dollars and cents,—a most important item in her housekeeping.
"Have some potato and turnip, then," she said, agreeably.
"No, I won't have any turnip and potato," and, instead of sitting down in his usual place, he threw himself on the sofa, and sulkily surveyed the three people at the table. Derrice went on toying with her slice of meat. Justin remained imperturbable, while Mrs. Prymmer was in despair. A recalcitrant boarder,—the thought was misery, for the next step would be his loss. Justin's protestations and Derrice's disdain were nothing. They were not boarders, but her cousin must be propitiated.
"If I had thought, Micah," she said, hastily, "I would have made some caper sauce."
"Caper sauce," he said, contemptuously. "What's caper sauce when the whole dinner's backsliding!"