Sir Moses—“Have you any soup?”
Peter—“Soup, Sir Moses. No, I don’t think there is any soup.”
Sir Moses—“Fish; have you any fish?”
Peter—“Why, no; I don’t think there’ll be any fish to-day, Sir Moses.”
Sir Moses—“What have you, then?”
Peter—(Twisting the dirty duster), “Mutton chops—beef steak—beef steak—mutton chops—boiled fowl, p’raps you’d like to take?”
Sir Moses—“No. I shouldn’t (muttering, most likely got to be caught and killed yet.) Tell the cook,” continued he, speaking up, “to make on a wood and coal fire, and to do me a nice dish of mutton chops on the gridiron; not in the frying-pan mind, all swimming in grease; and to boil some mealy potatoes.”
Peter—“Yes, Sir Moses; and what would you like to have to follow?”
“Cheese!” said Sir Moses, thinking to cut short the inquiry.
“And hark’e.” continued Sir Moses: Don’t make a great man of me by bringing out your old battered copper showing-dishes; but tell the cook to send the chops up hot and hot, between good warm crockery-ware plates, with ketchup or Harvey sauce for me to use as I like.”