“Yeah. ” “What ball?” The question was rhetorical. Baptist Kettleby (for so was the Master named) was a "goodly portly man, and a corpulent," whose fair round paunch bespoke the affection he entertained for good liquor and good living. He kept his keen eyes steadily fixed on Thames, as if awaiting to be addressed. The leg and wing of a duck were disposed of by this gentleman in a twinkling; a brace of pigeons and a pound of steak followed with equal celerity; and he had just begun to make a fierce assault upon the eggs and ham. I have yet another. Half a minute, Vee. ” Lucy would always press her face into her mother’s skirts when she heard the ending, no matter how many times she heard it.
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