“Hold on, Joe! I’ve a pretty fair appetite, but am not quite up to that.”
“Nonsense, Luke, you’ve only got to try. A man has no notion what ’e can do till ’e tries.”
“Ah, that’s true,” said Ned Spivin, checking a lump of salt beef on the end of his clasp-knife half way to his mouth; “did I ever tell ’ee, lads, that little hanecdote about a man we called Glutton, he was such an awful eater?”
“No, never heard on it,” said several voices.
“Well, then, this is ’ow it was,” said Spivin, clearing his voice. “You must know, I was once in Callyforny, where all the goold comes from. Me an’ most o’ my mates had runned away from our ship to the diggin’s, you see, which of course none on us would have thought of doin’—oh dear no—if it hadn’t bin that the skipper runned away too; so it was no use for us to stop behind, d’ee see? Well, we was diggin’ one day, in a place where there was a lot o’ red Injins—not steam engines, you know, but the sort o’ niggers what lives out there. One o’ them Injins was named Glutton—he was such an awful eater—and one o’ my mates, whose name was Samson, bet a bag o’ goold-dust, that he’d make the glutton eat till he bu’sted. I’m afeard that Samson was groggy at the time. Howiver, we took him up, an’ invited Glutton to a feast next day. He was a great thin savage, over six futt high, with plenty breadth of beam about the shoulders, and a mouth that seemed made a’ purpus for shovellin’ wittles into. We laid in lots of grub because we was all more or less given to feedin’—an’ some of us not bad hands at it. Before we began the feast Samson, who seemed to be repentin’ of his bet, took us a-one side an’ says, ‘Now mind,’ says he, ‘I can’t say exactly how he’ll bu’st, or when he’ll bu’st, or what sort of a bu’st he’ll make of it.’ ‘Oh, never mind that,’ says we, laughin’. ‘We won’t be par-tickler how he does it. If he bu’sts at all, in any fashion, we’ll be satisfied, and admit that you’ve won.’
“Well, we went to work, an’ the way that Injin went in for grub was quite awful. You wouldn’t have believed it if you’d seen it.”
“P’r’aps not,” said Zulu, with a grin.
“An’ when we’d all finished we sat glarin’ at him, some of us half believin’ that he’d really go off, but he took no notice. On he went until he’d finished a small leg o’ pork, two wild-ducks, six plover, eight mugs o’ tea, an’ fifteen hard-boiled eggs. But there was no sign o’ bu’stin’. Glutton was as slim to look at as before he began. At this pint Samson got up an’ went out o’ the hut. In a minute or so he came back with a bark basket quite shallow, but about fourteen inches square, an’ full of all kinds of eggs—for the wild-birds was breedin’ at the time. ‘What’s that for?’ says we. ‘For Glutton, when he’s ready for ’em,’ says he. ‘There’s six dozen here, an’ if that don’t do it, I’ve got another basket ready outside.’ With that he sets the basket down in front o’ the Injin, who just gave a glance at it over a goose drumstick he was tearin’ away at. Well, Samson turned round to sit down in his place again, when somethin’ or other caught hold of his foot tripped him up, an’ down he sat squash! into the basket of eggs. You niver did see sich a mess! There was sich a lot, an’ Samson was so heavy, that the yolks squirted up all round him, an’ a lot of it went slap into some of our faces. For one moment we sat glarin’, we was so took by surprise, and Glutton was so tickled that he gave a great roar of laughter, an’ swayed himself from side to side, an’ fore an’ aft like a Dutchman in a cross sea. Of course we joined him. We couldn’t help it, but we was brought up in the middle by Samson sayin’, while he scraped himself, ‘Well, boys, I’ve won.’ ‘Won!’ says I, ‘how so? He ain’t bu’sted yet.’ ‘Hasn’t he?’ cried Samson. ‘Hasn’t he gone on eatin’ till he bu’sted out larfin?’ We was real mad at ’im, for a’ course that wasn’t the kind o’ bu’stin we meant; and the end of it was, that we spent the most o’ that night disputin’ the pint whether Samson had lost or won. We continued the dispute every night for a month, an’ sometimes had a free fight over it by way of a change, but I don’t think it was ever settled. Leastways it wasn’t up to the time when I left the country.”
“Here, Zulu, hand me a mug o’ tea,” said Billy Bright; “the biggest one you’ve got.”
“What’s make you turn so greedy?” asked Zulu.