“THE PEASANT SCRATCHED HIS HEAD.”
The peasant began to help himself out by gesticulating with his hands.
“You know, sir, kind of ... veal, isn’t? Veal ... something of that like.... All white and flabby....”
“Con ... found the blockhead! And you gobbled that up too, did you?”
“Of course, ... but ’twas all burnt to a chip....”
“Never mind that!... Well, is that all, at last?”
Silence.
“When are we coming to that porridge, I’d like to know?”
“The porridge come arter that.”