Blyth, rubbing his hands cheerfully, and kicking into view another
empty bottle, as he settled himself in his chair--"What I like about
this is, that it's so thoroughly without ceremony. Do you know I really
feel at home already, though I never was here before in my
life?--Curious, Zack, isn't it?"
"Look out for the taters!" roared Mat suddenly from the fireplace.
Valentine started, first at the unexpected shout just behind him, next
at the sight of a big truculently-knobbed potato which came flying over
his head, and was dexterously caught, and instantly deposited on the
dirty table-cloth by Zack. "Two, three, four, five, six," continued
Mat, keeping the frying-pan going with one hand, and tossing the baked
potatoes with the other over Mr. Blyth's head, in quick succession for
young Thorpe to catch. "What do you think of our way of dishing up
potatoes in Kirk Street?" asked Zack in great triumph. "It's a little
sudden when you're not used to it," stammered Valentine, ducking his
head as each edible missile flew over him--"but it's free and
easy--it's delightfully free and easy." "Ready there with your plates.
The liver's a coming," cried Mat in a voice of martial command,
suddenly showing his great red-hot perspiring face at the table, as he
wheeled round from the fire, with the hissing frying-pan in one hand
and the long toasting-fork in the other.
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