"I beg your pardon most heartily," said Mr. Fogo, as they appeared;
"the fact is--"
"There's no call, sir. I reckon us'll get the grip o't wi' time an'
practice; on'y bein' new to the ropes, so to spake--"
Mr. Fogo looked at Tamsin. She broke into a merry laugh.
It snapped the spell. The Twins, who had been waiting on each other
for a lead with the first spoonful of soup, set down their spoons and
joined in, at first decorously, then with uproar.
"Talk 'bout fun!" gasped Peter at length, with tears in his eyes,
"Bill Stickles at the Market Ord'nary can't match et--an' he's
reckoned a tip-topper for fun. An' this es fash'n! Well, I never
did. Ho, ho, ho!"
From this moment the success of the dinner was assured. All talked,
and talked with freedom. The brothers threw off their restraint, and
were their natural and well-mannered selves. It is true that Peter
would pause now and again to slap his thigh and renew his mirth; it
is true also that he continued to wear his white gloves throughout
the meal. But he pocketed them when Caleb removed the cloth, and the
company fell into more easy postures.
It was late that evening when the Twins consulted their watches and
rose to go, and as yet nothing had been said on the subject nearest
to Mr.
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