"Salmagundi, then, and plenty of it."
"That is out also, young master."
"Eggs, and be quick."
"Winter eggs are very poor eating," answered the innkeeper, puckering his lips, and lifting his eyebrows.
"No eggs? well—Caviare."
The Dutchman raised his fat hands:
"Caviare! That is made of gold! Who has caviare to sell?"
Peter had sometimes eaten it at home; he knew that it was made of the roes of the sturgeon, and certain other large fish, but he had no idea of its cost.
"Well, mine host, what have you?"
"What have I? Everything. I have rye-bread, sour-krout, potato-salad and the fattest herring in Leyden."