Mr. Gerzson fell
to, like a man, on the very first invitation; and each armed with a
wooden spoon, attacked the maize pottage from different points till
their assiduously tunnelling spoons met together in the centre of the
large platter.
"A capital dish, your reverence, really capital."
"Very good for poor folks like we are, I admit. I know you don't have
fare like this in Hungary."
"I suppose we don't know how to prepare it properly," said Gerzson.
And then the priest explained how hot the water must be when maize meal
or sweet-broom meal has to be mixed with it, how the whole mess must be
stirred with a spoon, how a little finely grated cheese has to be added
to it, and how it had then all to be tied up in a cloth like a
plum-pudding and have milk poured over it. And Squire Gerzson listened
to him as attentively as if he had come all the way from Arad to Hidvar
on purpose to learn the art of cooking maize pottage. And after that
they pledged each other's health in long draughts from the mead jug.
"And now," said the priest when they had well supped, "I know that your
honour spent all last night upon the road. You must be tired and instead
of boring yourself by listening to my uninteresting gossip, it would be
better, methinks, if we both went to bed."
"I shouldn't mind lying down at all, but alas! I have an appointment
here with some one.
Pages:
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322