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But if we stay out of the sun, we're O.K. Just sit back and wait for Strong!" Roger shrugged his shoulders. "Well," commented Astro with a grin, "I'm not going to sit around waiting for Strong without eating!" He tore open a plastic package of roast-beef sandwiches and began eating. Tom measured out three small cups of Martian water.
From the garden we went into the kitchen, where the fire was burning hospitably, and diffused a genial warmth far and wide, together with the fragrance of some old English roast-beef, which, I think must at that moment have been nearly to a turn.
To lie on deck when the sun shines, and swing up and down, while the waves run hither and thither and toss their white caps, is all well enough to lie in your narrow berth and roll from side to side all night long; to walk uphill to your state-room door, and, when you get there, find you have got to the bottom of the hill, and opening the door is like lifting up a trap-door in the floor; to deliberately start for some object, and, before you know it, to be flung against it like a bag of sand; to attempt to sit down on your sofa, and find you are sitting up; to slip and slide and grasp at everything within reach, and to meet everybody leaning and walking on a slant, as if a heavy wind were blowing, and the laws of gravitation were reversed; to lie in your berth, and hear all the dishes on the cabin-table go sousing off against the wall in a general smash; to sit at table holding your soup-plate with one hand, and watching for a chance to put your spoon in when it comes high tide on your side of the dish; to vigilantly watch, the lurch of the heavy dishes while holding your glass and your plate and your knife and fork, and not to notice it when Brown, who sits next you, gets the whole swash of the gravy from the roast-beef dish on his light-colored pantaloons, and see the look of dismay that only Brown can assume on such an occasion; to see Mrs.
There is no poetry without it, nor heroism, nor social banqueting. What is Christmas without the sentiments which hallow the evergreen, the anthem, the mistletoe, the family reunion? What is even tangible roast-beef and plum-pudding without a party to enjoy them; and what is the life of the party but the interchange of sentiments?
From their small start he became rapidly wealthy as a dealer in real estate. Mr. Stoneleigh was a generous eater; his foods were truly simple in variety but luxurious in their quality and richness. Prime roast-beef, fried potatoes, waffles and griddle-cakes supplied him with heat, energy and avoirdupois. He suddenly quit eating at fifty-eight there was a cerebral hemorrhage one night.
The truth is, no one honestly prefers porridge to roast-beef; and in spite of a natural leaning to buff and blue, Jonathan will not be diverted from his luxurious repasts in Maga, by anything less "hot in the mouth." I remember that, in one of those Ambrosial Noctes, some one remarked in auld-lang-syne, that Maga is a ubiquity.
Remove the chicken and chop it fine; then add to the soup with the yolks of 3 well-beaten eggs; let all get very hot. Sprinkle with chopped parsley and serve at once. Yorkshire Pudding. Beat 3 eggs with a pinch of salt; add 1 pint of milk and 2/3 of a cup of flour. Stir until smooth. Then pour into a well-greased pan and bake until done. Serve with English roast-beef, and pour over the gravy.
The room was filled with that subtle odour that brought his other life back to him in a torrent. He was bathed in it, overwhelmed by it roast-beef, mutton, blacking, oil-cloth, decayed flowers, geraniums, damp stone, bread being toasted all these things were in it. He filled his nostrils with the delicious pathos and intimacy of it. She regarded him sternly. "Now, Mr. Peter, it's of no use.
Whilst Jimmy kneeled down on the hearth-rug rubbing the head of the tabby cat, Jones laid the cloth, and then he went away again and returned with a plate of hot roast-beef and Yorkshire pudding and potatoes and cauliflower. He placed a chair with its back to the fire, and told Jimmy to ring when he was ready for some apple-tart.
With the Moors, the festivals of religion are bonâ fide festivals. It may also be added, as characteristic of these North African barbarians, that, whilst many a poor person in our merry Christian England does not, and cannot, get his plum-pudding and roast-beef at Christmas, there is not a poor man or even a slave, in Morocco who does not eat his lamb on this great feast of the Mussulmans.
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