"No, I can think of nothing else."
So the cook was sent for, and desired to think of something that he might like as well. The cook proposed first a currant pie, then a barberry pie, or a codlin pie with custard.
"No, no, no!" said Alfred, shaking his head.
"Or a strawberry tart, my sweet boy? or apricot jam?" said his mother, in a soothing tone of voice.
But Alfred said:
"No, mother, no. I don't like strawberries. I don't like apricot jam. I want oysters."
"But you cannot have oysters, my little master," said the cook.
"But I will have oysters," said the little boy, "and you shan't say that I can't have them—shall she, mother?"
And he began to scream and to cry.
"Do not cry, my sweet soul," said his mother, "and we will see what we can do. Dry up your tears, my little man, and come with me, and, the cook, I dare say, will be able to get some oysters before dinner. It is a long time to dinner, you know, and I have some pretty toys for you upstairs, if you will come with me till dinner is ready."