Fish Market has just received five barrels of soft clams from Eastport. Get
there early, feller citizens! They won't last long.' Think o' that,
Gilbert? Clams!" He smacked his lips, and even forgot how warm it was.
"Clams! An' I ain't even seen one in five long years! Not even a clam!" He
turned his chair suddenly, and looked out of the open door, where the
country meandered away. "This is a hell of a hole! Why did we ever come
down here?" he whined. He swung about again, and faced his nephew. "Say,
Gil, do they have clams in France?"

"No; only mussels. Good ones, too."

Uncle Henry looked amazed. "They eat mussels?" he cried.

Gilbert looked up, smiled, and nodded.

"An' I hear they eat frogs, an' hosses, an' cheese with worms in it, too.
Say," the old man wanted to know, "what don't they eat over there?... An'
speakin' of eatin', ain't we never goin' to have no dinner?"

"I think it'll be ready soon, Uncle. Do be patient. I want to write."

Uncle Henry settled back in his chair, and for a brief interval became
absorbed in his newspaper. But not for long could he remain silent.
"Where's that Mr. Pell?" he asked.

"Inside, I think, lying down," Gilbert replied, nodding toward the alcove,
his pen rushing across the page.

Uncle Henry made a grimace. "He makes me sick, that feller."