excitedly; "don't mind us. It
might get burned already."

He watched her anxiously while she turned down the flame.

"Brown stewed fish sweet and sour, ain't it?" he asked, and Mrs.
Lesengeld nodded as she lowered the flame to just the proper height.

"I _thought_ it was," Scharley continued. "I ain't smelled it in forty
years already. My poor mother, _olav hasholom_, used to fix it something
elegant."

He heaved a sigh as he sat down on a nearby campstool.

"This smells just like it," he added. In front of the window a table
had been placed, spread with a spotless white cloth and laid for two
persons, and Scharley glanced at it hastily and turned his head away.

"Forty years ago come next _Shevuos_ I ain't tasted it already," he
concluded.

Mrs. Lesengeld coloured slightly and clutched at her apron in an agony
of embarrassment.

"The fact is we only got three knives and forks," she said, "otherwise
there is plenty fish for everybody."

"Why, we just had our lunch at the hotel before we started," Mr.
Williams said.

"_You_ did," Scharley corrected him reproachfully, "_aber_ I ain't
hardly touched a thing since last night. That shaving-dish party pretty
near killed me, already."

"Well, then, we got just enough knives and forks," Mrs. Lesengeld cried.
"Do you like maybe also _Bortch_, Mr. Scharley?"

"_Bortch!_" Mr. Scharley exclaimed, and his voice trembled with
excitement. "Do you mean a sort of soup _mit_ beets and--and--all that?"

"That's it," Mrs. Lesengeld replied, and Scharley nodded his head
slowly.

"Mrs. Lesengeld," he said, "would you believe me, it's so long since I
tasted that stuff I didn't remember such a thing exists even."

"And do you like it?" Mrs. Lesengeld repeated.

"Do I _like_ it!" Scharley cried. "_Um Gottes Willen_, Mrs. Lesengeld, I
_love_ it."

"Then sit right down," she said heartily. "Everything is ready."

"If you don't mind, Mr. Scharley," Williams interrupted, "I'll wait for
you at the office of the company. It's only a couple of hundred yards
down the beach."

"Go as far as you like, Mr. Williams," Scharley said as he tucked a
napkin between his collar and chin. "I'll be there when I get through."

After Mrs. Lesengeld had ushered out Mr. Williams, she proceeded to the
door of the rear room and knocked vigorously.

"Don't be foolish, Yetta, and come on out," she called. "It ain't nobody
but an old friend of my husband's."

A moment later Yetta entered the r