III.

Solomon surpasses himself.—­A Period of Joy is generally followed by a Time of Sorrow.—­Gloomy Forebodings.—­The Legend of Petticoat Jack.—­Captain Corbet discourses of the Dangers of the Deep, and puts in Practice a new and original Mode of Navigation.

This interruption put an end to their attempts at fishing, and was succeeded by another interruption of a more pleasing character, in the shape of dinner, which was now loudly announced by Solomon.  For some time a savory steam had been issuing from the lower regions, and had been wafted to their nostrils in successive puffs, until at last their impatient appetite had been roused to the keenest point, and the enticing fragrance had suggested all sorts of dishes.  When at length the summons came, and they went below, they found the dinner in every way worthy of the occasion.  Solomon’s skill never was manifested more conspicuously than on this occasion; and whether the repast was judged of by the quantity or the quality of the dishes, it equally deserved to be considered as one of the masterpieces of the distinguished artist who had prepared it.

“Dar, chil’en,” he exclaimed, as they took their places, “dar, cap’en, jes tas dem ar trout, to begin on, an see if you ever saw anythin to beat ’em in all your born days.  Den try de stew, den de meat pie, den de calf’s head; but dat ar pie down dar mustn’t be touched, nor eben so much as looked at, till de las ob all.”

And with these words Solomon stepped back, leaning both hands on his hips, and surveyed the banquet and the company with a smile of serene and ineffable complacency.

“All right, Solomon, my son,” said Bart.  “Your dinner is like yourself—­unequalled and unapproachable.”

“Bless you, bless you, my friend,” murmured Bruce, in the intervals of eating; “if there is any contrast between this present voyage and former ones, it is all due to our unequalled caterer.”

“How did you get the trout, Solomon?” said Phil.

“De trout?  O, I picked ’em up last night down in de village,” said Solomon.  “Met little boy from Gaspereaux, an got ’em from him.”

“What’s this?” cried Tom, opening a dish—­“not lobster!”

“Lobster!” exclaimed Phil.

“So it is.”

“Why, Solomon, where did you get lobster?”

“Is this the season for them?”

“Think of the words of the poet, boys,” said Bart, warningly,—­

“In the months without the R,
Clams and lobsters pison are.”

Solomon meanwhile stood apart, grinning from ear to ear, with his little black beads of eyes twinkling with merriment.

“Halo, Solomon!  What do you say to lobsters in July?”

Solomon’s head wagged up and down, as though he were indulging in some quiet, unobtrusive laughter, and it was some time before he replied.

“O, neber you fear, chil’en,” he said; “ef you’re only goin to get sick from lobsters, you’ll live a long day.  You may go in for clams, an lobsters, an oysters any time ob de yeah you like,—­ony dey mus be cooked up proper.”