fat volume, luscious with illustrations of highly-coloured food--it
appeared an airy and graceful structure of dazzling whiteness. Served as
Dan sent it to table, it suggested rather in form and colour a miniature
earthquake. Spongy it undoubtedly was. One forced it apart with the
assistance of one's spoon and fork; it yielded with a gentle tearing
sound. Another favourite dainty of his was manna-cake. Concerning it
I would merely remark that if it in any way resembled anything the
Children of Israel were compelled to eat, then there is explanation
for that fretfulness and discontent for which they have been, perhaps,
unjustly blamed--some excuse even for their backward-flung desires in
the direction of the Egyptian fleshpots. Moses himself may have been
blessed with exceptional digestion. It was substantial, one must say
that for it. One slice of it--solid, firm, crusty on the outside,
towards the centre marshy--satisfied most people to a sense of
repletion. For supper parties Dan would essay trifles--by no means open
to the criticism of being light as air--souffle's that guests, in spite
of my admonishing kicks, would persist in alluding to as pudding; and in
winter-time, pancakes. Later, as regards these latter, he acquired some
skill; but at first the difficulty was the tossing. I think myself a
safer plan would have been to turn them by the aid of a knife and fork;
it is less showy, but more sure. At least, you avoid all danger of
catching the half-baked thing upon your head instead of in the pan,
of dropping it into the fire, or among the cinders. But "Thorough" was
always Dan's motto; and after all, small particles of coal or a few
hairs can always be detected by the careful feeder, and removed.

A more even-tempered man than Dan for twenty-three hours out of every
twenty-four surely never breathed. It was a revelation to me to discover
that for the other he could be uncertain, irritable, even ungrateful.
At first, in a spirit of pure good nature, I would offer him counsel and
advice; explain to him why, as it seemed to me, the custard was pimply,
the mayonnaise sauce suggestive of hair oil. What was my return? Sneers,
insult and abuse, followed, if I did not clear out quickly, by spoilt
tomatoes, cold coffee grounds--anything that happened to be handy.
Pained, saddened, I would withdraw, he would kick the door to after me.
His greatest enemy appeared to be the oven. The oven it was that set
itself to thwart his b