"I - think - sausage. Must have sausage for Clisymus bress-fass,"
he said emphatically, as he ushered us to seats, and we agreed with our
usual "Of course!" But we found fried balls of minced collops, which
Cheon hastened to explain would have been sausages if only he had had
skins to pack them into.
"Him close up sausage!" he assured us, but that anxious quaver was back
in his voice, and to banish all clouds from his loyal old heart, we ate
heartily of the collops, declaring they were sausages in all BUT skins.
Skins, we persuaded him, were merely appendages to sausages, barriers, in
fact, between men and delectable feasts; and satisfied that we were
satisfied, he became all beams once more, and called our attention to the
curried duck.
The duck discussed, he hinted that dinner was the be all and end all of
"Clisymus," and, taking the hint, we sent the preparations merrily
forward.
Every chair and stool on the run was mustered; two tables were placed end
to end beneath that clustering, mistletoe and covered with clean white
tablecloths - remembering the story of the rags and hobble rings we
refrained from serviettes - the hop-beer was set in canvas water bags to
keep it cool; and Cheon pointing out that the approach from the kitchens
was not all that could be desired, an enormous tent-fly was stretched
away from the roof of the verandah, extending it half-way to the kitchen,
and further greenery was used, decorating it within and without to make
it a fitting passage-way for the transport of Cheon's triumphs. Then
Cheon's kitchen decorations were renewed and added to; and after that
further suggestions suggested and attended to. Everything that could be
done was done, and by eight o'clock all was ready for Cheon's triumphs,
all but our appetites and time of day.
By nine o'clock Mac and Tam had arrived, and after everything had been
sufficiently admired, we trooped in a body to the kitchen, obedient to a
call from Cheon.
Triumph after triumph was displayed, and after listening gravely and
graciously to our assurances that already everything was "more better'n
Pine Creek last year," Cheon allowed us a glimpse of the pudding through
a cloud of steam, the company standing reverently around the fire trench
in a circle, as it bent over the bubbling boiler; then scuttling away
before us like an old hen with a following of chickens, he led the way to
the waterbags, and asked our opinion on the hop-beer: "You think him
jump-up longa dinner time? Eh, boss ?" he said anxiously, as the Maluka,
holding a bottle between us and the light, examined it critically. "Me
make him three o'clock longa night-time."
It looked remarkably still and tranquil, but we hoped for the best, and
half an hour later were back at the waterbags, called thither to decide
whether certain little globules were sediment or air-bubbles.
