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He knew that at the Miner's Restaurant he could get a plate of beans and a piece of bread for ten cents; or a fish-ball and some few trifles, but they gave "no bread with one fish-ball" there.
They exhausted the favourites at length, and the player wheeled round on his stool. "What about one of the guests for a song?" "Yes, yes!" cried several voices. "Where's Number One? He's our Madame Patti. You ought to hear him sing 'We don't serve bread with one fish-ball! It's really worth it. But it takes a lot of port to get him started. How d'you feel about it, Number One?"
Personally, being neither one nor the other, I remain uninterested in the modern novel." "Real life," said Portlaw, spearing a fish-ball, "is damn monotonous. The only gun-play is in the morning papers."
A facetious contemporary has described this great affair in the following graphic manner: "On attempting to mount the stairs hung at the side, Commodore Shubrick, standing on the quarter-deck, let drive a fish-ball, which he held in his hand, and struck the Admiral a little below the left eye.
Even as Atalanta might have dropped an apple behind her to tempt her pursuer to check his speed, so Miss Hoogencamp left that fish-ball behind her, and between her maiden self and contamination. We had finished our breakfast, my wife and I, before the Bredes appeared. We talked it over, and agreed that we were glad that we had not been obliged to take sides upon such insufficient testimony.
He knew that at the Miner's Restaurant he could get a plate of beans and a piece of bread for ten cents; or a fish-ball and some few trifles, but they gave "no bread with one fish-ball" there.
They came down to breakfast somewhat late, and, as soon as they arrived, the Biggleses swooped up the last fragments that remained on their plates, and made a stately march out of the dining-room, Then Miss Hoogencamp arose and departed, leaving a whole fish-ball on her plate.
Suddenly the chorus of an American song ran with mocking echoes through my brain. I had heard Pamela sing it at the Convent: The waiter roared it through the hall: "We don't give bread with one fish-ball! We-don't-give-bread with one fish-ba-a-ll!"
The dish is a survival of the rigid Puritanism which was the affliction and at the same time the making of New England; it is a fast, an aggravated fast, a scourge to indulgence, a reproach to gluttony; it comes Saturday night, and is followed Sunday morning by the dry, spongy, antiseptic, absorbent fish-ball as a castigation of nature and as a preparation for the austere observance of the Sabbath; it is the harsh, but no doubt deserved, punishment of the stomach for its worldliness during the week; inured to suffering, the native accepts the dose as a matter of course; to the stranger it seems unduly severe.
"What I'm going to do," Cleo explained, "is to put a lump of butter inside the whole, cleaned fish. Then I wrap him in leaves and outside of that I put a ball of wet clay. Then I put the fish, clay and all down in the fire, cover it with embers and let it bake." "A sort of fish-ball," commented Madaline. "Well, you'll see," said Cleo.
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