CHAPTER XVII.
BROILING A LOBSTER.
MR. SMITH'S appetite sometimes takes an epicurean turn, and then we indulge in a lobster, calf's-head soup, terrapins, or something of that sort.
Once upon a time, he sent home a lobster. I did not feel very well that day, and concluded to leave the cooking of the animal to a new girl that I had taken a week or two before, on a strong recommendation. She claimed to be a finished cook, and her testimonials were distinct on that head.
"Kitty," said I, "Mr. Smith has sent home a lobster, I believe?"
I had summoned the girl to my room.
"Yes, ma'am," she replied. "Is it for dinner?"
"Of course it is; and you must see that it is well cooked."
Kitty lingered a few moments, as if not entirely satisfied about something, and then retired to the kitchen.
"I wonder if she knows how to boil a lobster?" said I to myself.