new wonder the ease and rapidity with which Mr. Quigg managed
everything.

While the meat and eggs were frying, the artist made coffee, thrust
some potatoes into the oven beside the biscuit, then completed his
morning toilet over a tin basin and a hand mirror.

"Better take a wash and a brush," said he to Ralph. "I'll dish up the
breakfast."

So, while Mr. Quigg set the table, the lad washed his face, brushed his
hair, and despite his homely looking jeans and rough brogans, presented
a very sightly appearance as he sat down opposite the little
photographer.

At least so the latter thought, and remained in apparent deep
reflection while eating.

Ralph saw the white granulated sugar for the first time, and, mistaking
it for salt, was about to sprinkle some on his egg.

"That's a queer way to eat sugar," said Quigg, happening to notice the
move.

"Goes pretty good that way, though," returned Ralph, determined to
martyr his palate rather than own up to any further ignorance.

He was already beginning to divine the primitive nature of his native
manner of life, but the consciousness of this fact only strengthened
his desire to familiarize himself with these strange usages.