“‘All right,’ I says.  ’I’m ‘bout ready to turn in anyway.’”

The narrator paused for a moment.  John was rather wondering what it all had to do with the Erie Canal, but he said nothing.

“Wa’al, next mornin’,” David resumed, “I got up an’ shaved an’ dressed, an’ set ‘round waitin’ fer the breakfust bell to ring till nigh on to half-past nine o’clock.  Bom-by the’ came a knock at the door, an’ I says, ‘Come in,’ an’ in come one o’ them fellers.  ‘Beg pah’din, sir,’ he says.  ‘Did you ring, sir?’

“‘No,’ I says, ‘I didn’t ring.  I was waitin’ to hear the bell.’

“‘Thank you, sir,’ he says.  ‘An’ will you have your breakfust now, sir?’

“‘Where?’ I says.

“‘Oh,’ he says, kind o’ grinnin’, ’I’ll bring it up here, sir, d’rec’ly,’ he says, an’ went off.  Putty soon come another knock, an’ in come the feller with a silver tray covered with a big napkin, an’ on it was a couple of rolls wrapped up in a napkin, a b’iled egg done up in another napkin, a cup an’ saucer, a little chiney coffee-pot, a little pitcher of cream, some loaf sugar in a silver dish, a little pancake of butter, a silver knife, two little spoons like what the childern play with, a silver pepper duster an’ salt dish, an’ an orange.  Oh, yes, the’ was another contraption—­a sort of a chiney wineglass.  The feller set down the tray an’ says, ‘Anythin’ else you’d like to have, sir?’

“‘No,’ I says, lookin’ it over, ’I guess there’s enough to last me a day or two,’ an’ with that he kind o’ turned his face away fer a second or two.  ‘Thank you, sir,’ he says.  ’The second breakfust is at half-past twelve, sir,’ an’ out he put.  Wa’al,” David continued, “the bread an’ butter was all right enough, exceptin’ they’d fergot the salt in the butter, an’ the coffee was all right; but when it come to the egg, dum’d if I wa’n’t putty nigh out of the race; but I made up my mind it must be hard-b’iled, an’ tackled it on that idee.  Seems t’ amuse ye,” he said with a grin, getting up and helping himself.  After swallowing the refreshment, and the palliating mouthful of water, he resumed his seat and his narrative.

“Wa’al, sir,” he said, “that dum’d egg was about ’s near raw as it was when i’ was laid, an’ the’ was a crack in the shell, an’ fust thing I knowed it kind o’ c’lapsed, an’ I give it a grab, an’ it squirtid all over my pants, an’ the floor, an’ on my coat an’ vest, an’ up my sleeve, an’ all over the tray.  Scat my ——!  I looked gen’ally like an ab’lition orator before the war.  You never see such a mess,” he added, with an expression of rueful recollection.  “I believe that dum’d egg held more ’n a pint.”

John fairly succumbed to a paroxysm of laughter.

“Funny, wa’n’t it?” said David dryly.

“Forgive me,” pleaded John, when he got his breath.

“Oh, that’s all right,” said David, “but it wa’n’t the kind of emotion it kicked up in my breast at the time.  I cleaned myself up with a towel well ‘s I could, an’ thought I’d step out an’ take the air before the feller ‘d come back to git that tray, an’ mebbe rub my nose in’t.”