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We have them creamed on toast; we have them fried in butter; and we have them in soup and such beauties! I'm going to try and can some for winter and spring use. But the finest part of the mushroom is the finding it.
A drenching of that violence, he tells me, sans blague, has sent more than one luckless fellow in good earnest posthaste to another world. Pooh! A livre! cries Monsieur Lynch. The clumsy things are dear at a sou. One umbrella, were it no bigger than a fairy mushroom, is worth ten such stopgaps. No woman of any wit would wear one.
The men of those days were Hugo, Thiers, Dumas, Daudet, Alfred de Musset; the magnificent blackguard, the Duc de Morny, and the great, simple Canrobert, the captain of barricades, who became a marshal of France. Over all was the mushroom Emperor, his anterooms crowded with the titled charlatans of Europe, his court radiant with countesses created overnight.
I was not often with him: but it was something to feel that there was one among us who was free from ambition and worldly cares, content to live on in the enjoyment of humble duties and simple pleasures, one who would not have changed colour at the news of a bequest of ten thousand pounds, but could be very eager about his grand-nephew's prize at school, and about the first forget-me-not of the season beside his pond, and the first mushroom in his meadow.
As daylight, darkened by the windows, could not penetrate to this corner, the cook had left two dips burning, whose unsnuffed wicks showed a sort of mushroom growth, giving the red light which promises length of life to the candle from slowness of combustion a discovery due to some miser. "My dear uncle, you ought to wrap yourself more warmly when you go down to that parlor."
It must be confessed, at any rate, that he entertained no small contempt for the mushroom aristocratic imitations that he witnessed in America; and this made him a little sarcastic, and therefore rather rude, in his association with what he called "the monkey aristocracy" of the new world.
"Why," he says, "I got it from the fust bin on the left-hand side." "Why, you cussid ode idiot," I says, "you've browt 'em mushroom ketchup!" It was on May 25, 1865, that I enlisted in her Majesty's Fourth Royal Irish Dragoon Guards. I was just past my eighteenth birthday, and, for reasons not worth specifying nowadays, the world had come to an end.
Principal among these was "flower viewing" at all seasons; couplet composing; chess; draughts; football; mushroom picking, and maple-gathering parties, as well as other minor pursuits. Gambling, also, prevailed widely during the Muromachi epoch and was carried sometimes to great excesses, so that samurai actually staked their arms and armour on a cast of the dice.
Beating his own head and tearing his hair were always the safety valves of Mahomet's rage, but as hair is not of that mushroom growth that reappears in a night, he had patches upon his cranium as bald as a pumpkin shell, from the constant plucking, attendant upon losses of temper; he now not only tore a few extra locks from his head, but he shouted out a tirade of abuse towards the far-distant Achmet, calling him a "son of a dog," cursing his father, and paying a few compliments to the memory of his mother, which if only half were founded upon fact were sad blots upon the morality of the family to which Mahomet himself belonged, through his close relationship to Achmet, whom he had declared to be his mother's brother's cousin's sister's mother's son.
They approached the patch where they had seen the ray and Rick paused suddenly. There was an odd shape on the sand near the patch. He flippered over to it and examined it. Scotty joined him. It looked like an oversized mushroom protruding from the sand at an angle. Rick unsheathed his knife and poked at it. The sharp tip penetrated for a fraction of an inch, then stopped.
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