Kansas University Weekly.
183
ing dish and do the cooking. It's easy as pie. I've read a great deal in the papers about how it is done."
The Bohemian air of doing a little cooking on our own account pleased us mightily, and we gave a ready assent to Grubb's plan. Grubb prided himself on his epicurean tastes, so that we felt entire confidence in his ability to bring the thing off successfully.
"Now Daub, you go out and bring a loaf of bread, a big hunk of cheese, some butter, pepper and salt, and a tankard of beer. Beer is better than these high-flown liquors, and far be it from us to rise above the accepted Bohemian beverage. While you are gone I will get the chafing-dish and other material."
"But who's going to bring the rabbit?" I asked in my ignorance.
"Rabbit! Rabbit! Who ever said anything about rabbits? You young ignoramus, this is not a rabbit, it is a rarebit, a rare bit of eating, something out of the ordinary. I think it would pay you to spend a few hours each day looking things up in an encyclopedia."
"Or a cook book," suggested Daub.
Squelched, but still ignorant, I retired to a corner where I could watch the proceedings. Daub and Booth went out together, and soon returned with their arms full of packages. Grubb at once set about putting together his chafing-dish.
"Let's see, is everything here?" said he as he counted over the packages on the table. "Why Daub, where's the beer?"
"I sent a man after some," said Daub. "He will be here in a jiffy. Here Booth, you go down stairs and meet him when he comes."
Grubb filled the hot water pan and began by putting in the butter and cheese. As it began to melt he stirred it with a large spoon.
"I wish that beer would hurry up," said he. Its pretty near time for it."
"Yes, I would like a few drops to quiet my nerves," suggested Daub.
"You confounded—"
"Does it make any difference whether you drink it before or after the rarebit?" I asked, feeling sure that my question was a safe one.
His answer was cut short by Booth, who appeared in the doorway and said, dramatically: "My lords, there is a gentleman without."
"Without what? Without the beer? asked Grubb, whose spirits seemed to have been dampened by something.
"Without his money," said Booth. "And if you gentlemen want any beer in your rarebit you had better be feeling in your pockets for some change."
"How much is it?" queried Grubb, putting his hand in his pocket.
"Three dollars," said Booth.
"Three dollars! Heavens and earth, Daub, did you order a whole brewery? The idea of three dollars worth of beer for a small Welsh rarebit! A teaspoonful would be plenty. Here," he said, addressing me, "you stir this and I will go down and straighten this fellow out. Be sure and stir this the right way."
"Which is the right way?" I yelled after him as he disappeared; but he was out of hearing. I turned to Booth and asked him if he knew which way I should stir it.
"I don't believe it makes any difference. My mother always used to beat eggs from left to right, but I have seen people do it the other way. Some of these new-fangled beaters turn both ways at once."
"I wouldn't stir it at all if I were you," said Daub. "Grubb seemed to be particular about it, and it wouldn't do to spoil it now."
We waited five, ten, fifteen minutes for Grubb, and when he finally did appear, he was the most forlorn looking object I ever saw. His coat was torn into shreds and the blood ran in a broad stream from a gash in his forehead.
"Which is the right way to turn this?" said I, still thinking of the rarebit.
"Any old way; turn it upside down; turn it around; turn it on the floor; turn it out of doors; turn it—" and he flung himself into a chair.
"What has happened?" asked Booth.