The hunger of others does not inspire me. I
gave you all there was. Your hunger ought to have inspired you to
do something with those gooseberries."
"I'd like to know what sort of a meal you'd have got up with
a can of gooseberries?"
"Why, my dear young nephew," exclaimed Jack, "if I'd been
awakened to action I'd have fricasseed those gooseberries, built
them up into a gastronomical poem; and made a meal of them fit
for a king. A great cook like I am is an artist as much as a
great poet. He--"
"Oh, bother!" I interrupted; "the gooseberries are gone.
There's the grouse Ollie shot yesterday. Do something with that
for breakfast."
Jack disappeared in the wagon, and began to throw grouse
feathers out the front end with a great flourish. The poor horses
were much dejected, and stood with their heads down. They had
eaten but little of the hay. Water was what they wanted.
"We must hitch up and go on without waiting for breakfast," I
said to Ollie. "It can't be far to water now, and they must have
some. Jack can be cooking the grouse in the wagon.
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