Wisht I was there now!" He
glanced at the alcove that led to another room, as if conscious that Morgan
Pell might have heard him. He wanted to say something more to Gilbert, but
something told him he had better keep silent. Instead, he read an item from
the paper aloud to him. "Listen to this, Gilbert," he said: "'The Elite
Fish Market has just received five barrels of soft clams from Eastport. Get
there early, feller citizens! They won't last long.' Think o' that,
Gilbert? Clams!" He smacked his lips, and even forgot how warm it was.
"Clams! An' I ain't even seen one in five long years! Not even a clam!" He
turned his chair suddenly, and looked out of the open door, where the
country meandered away. "This is a hell of a hole! Why did we ever come
down here?" he whined. He swung about again, and faced his nephew. "Say,
Gil, do they have clams in France?"
"No; only mussels. Good ones, too."
Uncle Henry looked amazed. "They eat mussels?" he cried.
Gilbert looked up, smiled, and nodded.
"An' I hear they eat frogs, an' hosses, an' cheese with worms in it, too.
Say," the old man wanted to know, "what don't they eat over there?... An'
speakin' of eatin', ain't we never goin' to have no dinner?"
"I think it'll be ready soon, Uncle.
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