Australian Tales - Setis

of cooking a potato, or a red herring, for he had never manifested the
least talent in that way; and as for his plainly-written recipes, on which
he placed so much reliance, she well knew that such things are generally
of not much more practical use than the written directions of a conjurer,
as to the safest method of swallowing a sword, or a bundle of paperhangings;
and she dreaded the failure of his projects at a time when such
a mishap would be particularly inconvenient. She urged her objections in
her usual out-spoken, though good-tempered manner; but Mr. Phiggs so
pertinaciously clung to his crotchet, and pleaded his cause with so much
tact, that she at last, like a good pliant wife, withdrew her opposition;
though, at the same time, she laughingly predicted that “he would make a
pretty mess of it.” To that monition Mr. Phiggs nodded his head
sagaciously, and replied, “Wait a bit, Dolly; I believe I shall astonish
you, and receive the commendations of all our company.”
After despatching Samson to various tradesmen in the town for the
extra provisions required, and which were to be at the kitchen door at
peep of day, Mr. Phiggs sat down to study his chart — as he called it
— the plain directions for cooking an Indian breakfast, which he had
received from Captain Carraway, and which seemed to Mr. Phiggs as
simple as a little boy's “Reading Made Easy.”
An hour before daylight next morning. Mr. Phiggs crept quietly out of
bed, as he supposed, without awakening his wife; but had the bedroom
lamp burned a little brighter he would have seen the tassels on the
curtains dancing in sympathy with the merry mood of Mrs. Phiggs, who
was making the bedstead shake with her smothered laughter, at the idea
of the “pretty mess” she would have for breakfast.
Friend Samson turned out of bed at the first word of command, and
very soon he had kindled a fire in the old-fashioned kitchen range, large
enough to roast a calf.
Punctually at the prescribed time came the milkman with a large can of
extra milk and a basket of eggs; other tradesmen speedily followed with
various articles ordered on the previous night, and the dresser was soon
strewed with a strange collection of crude material for the feast. The
butcher brought the kidneys all correct, but “was very sorry the
thunderstorm in the night had spoilt his veal, so he had brought a nice bit
of tender beef instead.” That was annoying certainly, for the veal olives
were intended to form the leading triumph; however, Mr. Phiggs
promptly decided upon making some savoury sausage-cakes instead; so
Samson set to work with an axe, and soon the house began to vibrate
with his vigorous blows as he chopped up the beef into sausage-meat,
and at the same time chopped the kitchen-table into corduroy grooves
and ridges, the cedar chips nicely mixing with the meat by way of
seasoning.
The noise of Samson's axe awoke Sally Skewers, as it might have done