Nothing loth was Quashie to respond to this request; for the weight of the bag, which he had been wincing under for some hours, and its distended sides, promised pickings for himself—after the grand buckra should satisfy his hunger.
Certainly, there appeared enough for both, and to spare: for on “gutting” the game-bag, a whole capon was turned out upon the grass, with sundry slices of bread, ham, and tongue, and all the paraphernalia of salt, pepper, and mustard.
A bottle of—claret was found at the bottom of the bag; which, in addition to the flask of eau de vie that the sportsman himself carried, and which he now laid aside to disencumber him, was liquid enough to wash down the savoury solids which the thoughtful steward had provided.
A knife and fork were also turned out; and, as Mr Montagu Smythje was more habile in the handling of these weapons than he was in the use of a gun, in a trice the capon was cut into convenient pieces. In an equally short space of time, many of these pieces had disappeared between his teeth, in company with sundry slices of the ham and tongue.
Quashie was not invited to partake; but sat near the grand buckra’s feet, wistfully watching his movements, as a dog would his master similarly occupied.
As the masticatory powers of the Cockney sportsman appeared to be of no mean order, Quashie’s look began to betray astonishment, mingled with a growing dread that the “oughts” he might be called upon to eat would be neither very numerous nor very bulky. Half the capon had already disappeared, with a large proportion of the odd slices of ham and tongue!
“I b’lieve de dam buckra glutton za gwine eat ’um all up—ebbery bit!” was Quashie’s mental, and not very good-humoured, soliloquy. “Ay, an’ drink ’um up too—ebbery drop!” continued he, in thought, as he saw Mr Smythje quaff off a full cup of the claret without taking the vessel from his lips.
Shortly after, another cup was poured into the same capacious funnel: for the exercise he had undergone, combined with the warmth of the day, had rendered the sportsman drouthy.
To the great chagrin of Quashie, and the no small mortification of Smythje himself, a worse misfortune than that of its being drunk befell the remainder of the claret. On setting down the bottle, after filling his cup for the second time, the sportsman had performed the act in an unskilful manner. The consequence was that the bottle, losing its balance, toppled over; and the balance of the claret trickled out upon the grass.
Both Quashie’s temper and patience were put to a severe test; but the buckra’s appetite being at length appeased, the débris of the feast—still a considerable quantity—remained to Quashie’s share; and he was directed to fall to and make his best of it.