Charlotte ran to summon her three
brothers, for it was after six o'clock.
Never had an oyster stew such enthusiastic praise. Not an appetite was
lacking, not a spoon flagged. Mrs. Fields, moved to lavish hospitality,
in which she was upheld by the doctor, produced a chicken pie, which had
been originally intended for his dinner alone, and which she had at
first designed, when she proposed the oysters, to keep over until the
morrow. This was flanked by various dishes, impromptu but delectable,
and followed by a round of winter fruit and spongecake--the latter the
pride of the housekeeper's heart, and dear to her master from old
association.
"If you live like this all the time, Doctor Churchill," said John
Lansing Birch, leaning back in his chair at last with the air of a man
who asks no more of the gods, "I advise you to keep up a bachelor
establishment to the end of your days."
"How would that suit you, Mrs. Fields?" asked the doctor, laughing.
Mrs. Fields, from her place at the end of the table--they had insisted
on having her sit down with them--answered deliberately:
"As long as a man's a man I suppose nothing on earth ever will make him
feel so satisfied with himself and all creation as being set down in
front of a lot of eatables.
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