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Updated: June 11, 2025
Holland was himself as hale as a hawk, driving all day bare-headed about London, and eating Welsh rarebit every night before bed; he thought that any young man should be pleased to take his early muffin in Brook Street, and supply a few crumbs of war news for the daily peckings of eminent patients.
"But really, Poll, we can work out of them; try lots of new things, you know, to astonish your father. What does he like?" "Welsh rarebit," responded Polly promptly; "and baked macaroni, and lemon pudding, and " "Not too much, Polly; we can't do all that at once. We'll try something new every meal. Oh, say! don't let's tell your father Mary has gone.
Are you trying to hog the whole bench?" "Not when Swipes is around," was the retort. "I'll leave that to him." "Half-ton benches are a little out of my line," laughed the newcomer, as he found room at the table. "Bring me a rarebit, Adolph, and don't leave out the cheese." "No, sir, Mr. Morton! Ho! ho! Dot's a goot vun! A rarebit mitout der cheese! Ach!
Miss Meiggs's "What!" was almost a shriek. Foo, the table-boy, brought her just then a plate of creamy rarebit. He had a jacket of luminous green silk, with the fraternity monogram in white, and he wore his cue hanging. But the fragrance of the rarebit and the splendor of Foo's toilet were alike lost upon the aroused Miss Meiggs. Such a statement, from this man of all others!
Welsh rarebit in five minutes." Hastily changing his borrowed clothes Barry then went into his own room and packed his one bag, which he at once carried downstairs. Fortunately he owed the landlord nothing, and though he had but three shillings in the world, his face indicated nothing but a supreme content when he rejoined the old mate and his companions.
To Peter, it was just a quiet, happy evening at home, with the pianola and flashlight photographs, and a rarebit that wouldn't grow creamy in spite of his and Susan's combined efforts. But to Susan it was a glimpse of Paradise. "Peter loves to have his girl friends dine here," smiled old Mrs. Baxter in parting. "You must come again. He has company two or three times a week."
The Welsh rarebit and its liquid concomitants having been duly disposed of, Barry rose and told his friends that as he must be on board his new ship by midnight, and then had to write a letter, he must leave them. Then he shook hands all round, each man wishing him luck. Watson came to the door with him. "Got all you want, sonny? Anything I can do for you?"
Dreams might come from the subconscious mind, but a good many of them came from the stomach. They might be safety valves for the mind, but also they might be rarebit. He didn't want dreams; what he wanted was facts. Facts and hope. The office attendant came in. She was as tidy as the desk, as obsessed by order, as wooden. She placed a pad before the small man and withdrew. He rose.
28. =Welsh Rarebit.= Grate one pound of rich cheese, mix it over the fire with one gill of ale, working it smooth with a spoon; season it with a saltspoonful of dry mustard; meantime make two large slices of toast, lay them on a hot dish, and as soon as the cheese is thoroughly melted, pour it over the toast and send it to the table at once.
He would not allow the waitresses to be disturbed in their evening leisure, or kept from their sleep by such belated pleasures; and when he had provided the materials for the rarebit, he stood aloof, and left their combination to Mrs. Milray and her chafing-dish.
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