glorious
blaze in the kitchen, I can tell you.'

Mr Codlin followed with a willing mind, and soon found that the
landlord had not commended his preparations without good reason. A
mighty fire was blazing on the hearth and roaring up the wide chimney
with a cheerful sound, which a large iron cauldron, bubbling and
simmering in the heat, lent its pleasant aid to swell. There was a
deep red ruddy blush upon the room, and when the landlord stirred the
fire, sending the flames skipping and leaping up--when he took off the
lid of the iron pot and there rushed out a savoury smell, while the
bubbling sound grew deeper and more rich, and an unctuous steam came
floating out, hanging in a delicious mist above their heads--when he
did this, Mr Codlin's heart was touched. He sat down in the
chimney-corner and smiled.

Mr Codlin sat smiling in the chimney-corner, eyeing the landlord as
with a roguish look he held the cover in his hand, and, feigning that
his doing so was needful to the welfare of the cookery, suffered the
delightful steam to tickle the nostrils of his guest. The glow of the
fire was upon the landlord's bald head, and upon his twinkling eye, and
upon his watering mouth, and upon his pimpled face, and upon his round
fat figure. Mr Codlin drew his sleeve across his lips, and said in a
murmuring voice, 'What is it?'

'It's a stew of tripe,' said the landlord smacking his lips, 'and
cow-heel,' smacking them again, 'and bacon,' smacking them once more,
'and steak,' smacking them for the fourth time, 'and peas,
cauliflowers, new potatoes, and sparrow-grass, all working up together
in one delicious gravy.' Having come to the climax, he smacked his
lips a great many times, and taking a long hearty sniff of the
fragrance that was hovering about, put on the cover again with the air
of one whose toils on earth were over.

'At what time will it be ready?' asked Mr Codlin faintly.

'It'll be done to a turn,' said the landlord looking up to the
clock--and the very clock had a colour in its fat white face, and
looked a clock for jolly Sandboys to consult--'it'll be done to a turn
at twenty-two minutes before eleven.'

'Then,' said Mr Codlin, 'fetch me a pint of warm ale, and don't let
nobody bring into the room even so much as a biscuit till the time
arrives.'

Nodding his approval of this decisive and manly course of procedure,
the landlord retired to draw the beer, and presently returning with it,
applied himself t