The food was good, abundant, and well
cooked, but everywhere there was an utter absence of cleanliness.
The plates were greasy, the forks and knives bore the all too evident
remains of former meals, and everywhere were flies. In hundreds they
swarmed upon the food, while, drowned in the gravy, cooked in the
potatoes, overwhelmed in the maple syrup, buried in the butter, their
ghastly carcasses were to be seen. With apparent unconcern the men
brushed aside the living and picked out and set aside the remains of the
dead, the unhappy victims of their own greed or temerity, and went on
calmly and swiftly with their business. Not a word was spoken except
by Cameron himself, who, constrained by what he considered to be the
ordinary decencies of society, made an effort to keep up a conversation
with Mr. Haley at the head of the table and occasionally ventured a
remark to his wife, who, with Mandy, was acting as a waiter upon the
hungry men. But conversation is a social exercise, and Cameron found
himself compelled to abandon his well meant but solitary efforts at
maintaining the conventions of the breakfast table. There was neither
time nor occasion for conversation. The business of the hour was
something quite other, namely, that of devouring as large a portion
of the food set before them as was possible within the limits of time
assigned for the meal.
Pages:
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221