And here St. George and
Amory praised the admirable English muffins which some one had
taught the dubious cook to make; and Mr. Augustus Frothingham
tip-fingered his way about his plate among alien fruits and
queer-shaped cakes. "Are they cookies or are they manna?" Amory
wondered, "for they remind me of coriander seeds." And here Mrs.
Hastings, who always awoke a thought impatient and became
ultra-complacent with no interval of real sanity, wistfully asked
for a soft-boiled egg and added plaintively:
"Though I dare say the very hens in Yaque lay something besides
eggs--pineapples, very likely."
"I suppose," speculated Amory, "that when we get perfectly
intuitionized we won't have to eat either one because we'll know
beforehand exactly how they both taste."
"A _reductio ad absurdum_, my young friend," said the lawyer
sternly; "the real purpose of eating will remain for ever
unchanged."
Later, while Mrs. Hastings and Mr. Frothingham went out on the
terrace in the sun and wished for a morning paper ("I miss the
weather report so," complained Mrs.
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