It was really one of
the most fascinating things I ever saw; you couldn't describe it but
you could act it. The Doc. saw it too. Wasn't it funny, Doc.?"
"It was a marvel," said the Doctor. "I have always classed Rawson as
belonging to the palaeolithic age and imagined the missing link to
have about the same brain capacity as he has; since our experience
yesterday I have come to the conclusion that Rawson is a 'throw back'
and had normal ancestry. This is more apparent when we know he is
never savage but on the contrary very gentle."
The conversation was interrupted by the entrance of Bittleson, the
Colonel's batman. Bittleson had been deposed from his position as cook
two days before for being dirty and careless. He now came forward with
his cap on his head and saluted as only Bittleson could salute.
"Beg pardon, Sir," he hesitated with a deprecatory smile, pointing
with his thumb to the kitchen door, "but Rawson aint really up to
cooking stuff like this here sparrow grass--not yet. P'raps I had
better take a holt."
"All right," agreed the Colonel, "are you sure you know how to cook it
yourself?"
"Sure," answered Bittleson with an inflexion that spoke volumes as to
his knowledge. "Why when we was at Salisbury--"
"Shut up," commanded the Colonel and Bittleson respectfully saluted
and retired.
When the dinner was served we waded through our passable soup, tough
roast beef with "frits" and waited with pleasant anticipation for the
chef'd'oeuvre of the evening.
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