I think I shall have some
cornbread and coffee, and so will Mrs. Fairfax."
"I doan think you quite understand me, sah," averred Uncle Noah, "an'
sah, I 'spects yoh dyspepsia ain't so bad dis mornin'. We has foh
breakfast, sah, grapefruit, cereal wif cream, quail on toast, fried
oysters--er--_oatmeal, fried chicken, hot muffins, co'nbread an'
coffee_!"
There was no mistaking the emphasis this time. Colonel Fairfax darted
a lightning glance at the negro and amended his selection with a
question in his voice. "Well, now I come to think of it, Uncle Noah,"
he said, "my dyspepsia isn't nearly so bad. I'll have, let me see,
oatmeal--that was in the list, I believe--er--fried chicken--am I
right?--muffins, cornbread and coffee."
There was a conviction in the Colonel's deep voice that something
extraordinary was afoot, and Uncle Noah, flurried by its ominous ring,
hurried from the room. Dimly he had pictured his master's gracious
astonishment and pleasure. Any queries relative to the financial
source of the Christmas delicacies, however, had been lost entirely in
the darky's jubilant excitement.
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