He heaved a sigh as he sat down on a nearby campstool.
"This smells just like it," he added. In front of the window a table had been placed, spread with a spotless white cloth and laid for two persons, and Scharley glanced at it hastily and turned his head away.
"Forty years ago come next Shevuos I ain't tasted it already," he concluded.
Mrs. Lesengeld coloured slightly and clutched at her apron in an agony of embarrassment.
"The fact is we only got three knives and forks," she said, "otherwise there is plenty fish for everybody."
"Why, we just had our lunch at the hotel before we started," Mr. Williams said.
"You did," Scharley corrected him reproachfully, "aber I ain't hardly touched a thing since last night. That shaving-dish party pretty near killed me, already."
"Well, then, we got just enough knives and forks," Mrs. Lesengeld cried. "Do you like maybe also Bortch, Mr. Scharley?"
"Bortch!" Mr. Scharley exclaimed, and his voice trembled with excitement. "Do you mean a sort of soup mit beets and—and—all that?"
"That's it," Mrs. Lesengeld replied, and Scharley nodded his head slowly.