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Updated: May 2, 2025
"I'd been able to pick you out in the dark from the description Nat gave. Come on in, grub's almost ready." "Will you speak to him about the old man?" asked Jack of Nat, in a low voice. "Oh, yes, sure," and Nat told his uncle in a few words of the wounded one, and Jack's desire to have him brought in. "I'll send some of the men in the wagon," Mr. Kent said.
Taste is there, no doubt. But such taste! The food is without variety: oak, for three years at a stretch, and nothing else. What can the grub's palate appreciate in this monotonous fare? The tannic relish of a fresh piece, oozing with sap, the uninteresting flavour of an over-dry piece, robbed of its natural condiment: these probably represent the whole gustative scale.
By the time the rice and bacon were done, and the flap-jack, still raw in the middle, was burnt to charcoal on both sides, the Colonel's eyes were smarting, in the acrid smoke, and the tears were running down his cheeks. "Grub's ready!" The Boy came up and dropped on his heels in the usual attitude. The Colonel tore a piece off the half-charred, half-raw pancake.
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