Up the Hill and Over | Page 9

has pleased Providence to place them. To consider
number fourteen in any environment save its own would be manifestly
unfair since, in relation to all the other rooms at the Imperial, number
fourteen was a good room, perhaps the very best. A description tempts
us, but perhaps its best description is to be found in its effect upon Dr.
Callandar. That effect was an immediate determination to depart by the
next train, provided the next train did not leave before he had had
something to eat.
He was aroused from gloomy musings by a discreet tap announcing the
return of the scouting party. The scouting party was piled with parcels
up to its round eyes and from the parcels issued an odour so delicious
that the doctor's depression vanished.
"Good hunting, eh?"
"Prime, sir. 'Tisn't store stuff, either! As soon as I see that look in your
eye I remembered 'bout the tea-fight over at Knox's Church last night
and how they'd be sure to be selling off what's left, for the benefit of the
heathen." The boy gave the roundest wink Callandar had ever seen and

deposited his parcels upon the bed. "They always have 'bout forty times
as much's they can use. Course I didn't get you any broken vittles," he
added, noticing the alarm upon the doctor's face. "It's all as good as the
best. Wait till you see!"
He began to clear the wash-stand in a businesslike manner, talking all
the time. "This here towel will do for a cloth. It's bran' clean--cross my
heart! I borrowed a dish or two offen the church. They know me....
We'll put the chicken in the middle and the ham along at this end and
the pie over there where it can't slip off--"
"I don't like pie, boy."
"I do. Pie's good for you. We'll put the beet salad by the chicken and
the cabbage salad by the ham and the chow-chow betwixt 'em. Then the
choc'late cake can go by the pie--"
"Boy, I don't like chocolate cake."
"Honest? Ah, you're kiddin' me! Really? Choc'late cake's awful good
for you. I love chocolate cake. This here cake was made by Esther
Coombe's Aunt Amy--it's a sure winner! Say, Mister, what do you like
anyway?"
"Ever so many more things than I did yesterday. By Jove, that chicken
looks good!"
"Yep. That's Mrs. Hallard's chicken. I thought you'd want the best. She
ris' it herself. And made the stuffin' too."
"Did she 'ris' the ham also?"
"Nope. It's Miss Taylor's ham. Home cured. The minister thinks a
whole lot of Miss Taylor's curin'. Ma thinks that if Miss Taylor wasn't
quite so hombly, minister might ask her jest on account of the ham.
You try it--wait a jiffy till I sneak some knives!"
Callandar looked at the decorated wash-stand and felt better. He had

forgotten all about the room, and when the knives came, in even less
than the promised jiffy, he forgot everything but the varied excellences
of the food before him. The chicken was a chicken such as one dreams
of. The salads were delicious, the homemade bread and butter fresh and
sweet; the ham might well cause feelings of a tender nature towards its
curer! The chocolate cake? He thought he might try a small piece and,
having tried, was willing to make the attempt on a larger scale. The boy
was a most efficient waiter, discerning one's desires before they were
expressed. But when they got to the pie, the doctor drew up another
chair at the pie side of the table and waved the waiter into it.
There was no false modesty about the boy; neither did he hold malice.
If he had felt slightly aggrieved at not having been invited earlier, he
forgot it after the first mouthful and for a time there was no further
conversation in number fourteen. The doctor had temporarily discarded
his theory that it is better to rise from the table feeling slightly hungry.
The boy had never had so foolish a theory to discard. The chicken, the
ham, the pie, disappeared as if conjured away. The boy grew rounder.
"Boy," said the doctor at last, "hadn't you better stop? You are 'swelling
wisibly afore my werry eyes!'"
The boy shook his head, but presently he began to have intervals when
he was able to speak.
"Better plant all you can," he advised. "Ma says the grub here would
kill a cat. I eat at home. Ma wouldn't risk my stomach here. It's fierce."
"But I'll have to eat, boy. Isn't there another hotel?"
"Yep; two. But you couldn't go to them. This here's the only decent one.
Gave you a nice room anyway." He looked around admiringly. "Going
to stay long?"
"No--that is, yes--I don't know! How can