The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 14, No. 85, November, 1864: A Magazine of Literature, Art, and PoliticsVarious
History
The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 14, No. 85, November, 1864: A Magazine of Literature, Art, and Politics
Various
American periodicals
_Eupeptos._--All right. Advance, pancakes! Here's a prime one, steaming
hot, crisp and fizzling. Allow me to put it on your plate, Sir?
_Duespeptos._--Not by a long chalk. Hands off, I tell ye, or there'll
be a free fight afore shortly. You'd better make up yer mind to oncet
thet this 'ere thing a'n't goin' to ram nohow.
_Eupeptos._--Sorry I can't suit you. Better luck next time. Ah! here's
the very thing. Waiter, pass the fried steak, salt mackerel, and fried
potatoes to Mr. Rink.
_Duespeptos._--Wun't stan' it,--I snore I wun't! I tell ye, I'm
gittin' master-riled. Jest you take yer own fodder, an' keep quiet.
_Eupeptos._--Pardon me, Sir, but my eye has just fallen on yonder dish
of dough-nuts, faced by those incense-breathing griddle-cakes. Look
slightly soggy, but not disagreeable. This sea-air, you know, gives a
man a tremendous appetite for anything, and the digestion of an ostrich.
Risk it, won't you?
_Duespeptos._ (With determined air, clenching knife and fork pointing
skywards.)--Stranger, le' 's come to a distinct understandin' on this
subjick afore we git much older. You know puffickly wal what I am,--a
confirmed dyspeptic for twenty-five year. An' I a'n't ashamed on it,
nuther; but I'm proud to say I glory in it. You know puffickly wal what
my notions is about all this 'ere stuff, an' still you keep stickin' it
into my face. Now, ef you want me to lambaste ye, I'm the man to do it,
an' do it hahnsome. But ef yer life a'n't insured clean up to the hub,
an' ef ye've got any survivin' friends, I advise ye not to tote any more
o' that 'ere grub in this direction. I give ye fair warnin',--yer've
raised my dander, an' put my Ebenezer up. I'd jest as lieves wallop ye
as eat, an' ten times lieveser.
_Eupeptos._--Really, Sir, no offence intended. I saw that your taste was
delicate, and offered you these various tit-bits in the hope that some
one of them might prove acceptable. But pray, Sir, do not starve
yourself on my account. What in the world can you eat? Do not, I beseech
you, by undue fasting, deprive the world of so distinguished----
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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