180 THE RIFLE AND HOUND IN CEYLON, chap. vih. 



This knight of the gridiron was a famous fellow, and 

 could perform wonders ; of stoical countenance, he 

 was never seen to smile. His whole thoughts were 

 concentrated in the mysteries of gravies, and the 

 magic transformation of one animal into another by 

 the art of cookery ; in this he excelled to a marvellous 

 degree. The farce of ordering dinner was always 

 absurd. It was something in this style : ' Cook ! ' 

 {Cook answers) ' Coming, sar ! ' {enter cook) : ' Now, 

 cook, you make a good dinner ; do you hear?' Cook: 

 ' Yes, sar; master tell, I make.' — 'Well, mulligatawny 

 soup.' ' Yes, sar.' — ' Calves' head with tongue and 

 brain sauce.' ' Yes, sar.' — ' Gravy omelette.' ' Yes, 

 sar.' — ' Mutton chops.' ' Yes, sar.' — ' Fowl cotelets.' 

 ' Yes, sar.' — ' Beefsteaks.' ' Yes, sar.' — ' Marrow"- 

 bones.' 'Yes, sar.' — 'Rissoles.' 'Yes, sar.' All 

 these various dishes he literally imitated uncommonly 

 well, the different portions of an elk being their only 

 foundation. 



The kennel bench was comfortably littered, and 

 the pack took possession of their new abode with the 

 usual amount of growling and quarrelling for places ; 

 the angry grumbling continuing throughout the night 

 between the three champions of the kennel — Smut, 

 Bran, and Killbuck. After a night much disturbed by 

 this constant quarrelling, we unkennelled the hounds 

 just as the first grey streak of dawn spread above 

 Totapclla Peak. 



