and, and the tables had marble tops, white as tombstones,
but more cheerful by half. As we went in, a man by the door called out,
"Tuw stews!" Then again, "One roast--one raw on half-shell!"

Another man began firing pots and pans at the heap of blazing coals
before him the moment this fellow stopped for breath. All this made me
so hungry that I really felt as if I couldn't wait; but I kind of
started back when I saw ever so many gentlemen and ladies in the room,
sitting by the tables and feeding deliciously. Some of the men had their
hats on, which did not strike me as over-genteel. But, after this one
halt, I entered with dignity, placed my satchel in a corner, and took an
upright position on one of the wooden chairs. Cousin Dempster sat down,
too. He took his hat off, which I felt as complimentary, and a touch of
the aristocratic.

"Now, what shall we have?" says he.

"A stew," says I, with a feeling of thanksgiving in my mouth.

Cousin D. said something in a low voice to the young man, who went to
the door, and called out:

"One roast! one stew--Saddlerock!"

I started up and caught that young man by the arm, a-feeling as if I had
got hold of a cannibal. Saddlerocks, indeed!

"Young man," says I, "you have mistaken your party; we didn't ask for
stewed grindstones--only oysters."

He looked at me, at first, wild as a night-hawk, and seemed as if he
wanted to run away.

"Don't be scared," says I; "no harm is intended; it is an oyster stew
that we want--nothing more. I'm not fond of hard meat. If you don't know
how to cook them--which is natural, being a man--I can tell you. Now be
particular--put in half milk, a considerable chunk of butter, not too
much pepper, and just let them come to a boil--no more. I do hate
oysters stewed to death. You understand?" says I, counting over the
ingredients on my fingers--"now go and do your duty."

"Yes'm," says he, and goes right to the door, and sings out: "One
stew!--one roast!" so loud that it made me jump. Then he came back into
the room, while I retired, with dignity, to my seat by the table.

It seemed to me that Cousin Dempster didn't quite like what I had done,
for his face was red as fire when I sat down again, and I heard him
mutter something about the eccentricities of genius. Indeed, I'm afraid
a profane word came with it, though I pretended not to hear.

By and by, in came the waiter-man, with two plates of cabbage cut fine,
and chucked a vinegar cruet d