"That's the worst of you women-folk," he rebuffed me. "Just because a
fellow happens to be fond of you, you must pretend that you are entirely
indispensable. I got on very nicely, thank you, and your absence had no
deleterious influence upon my leg. There is some slight pain in it,
whether you are here or not."

"I know that the charm of my conversation makes you forget it at times,"
I told him.

"I don't deny the charm," said Daddy, who is the most scrupulously polite
man, as you know, "but just now the delight of something to eat is what
I'm hankering for."

"You are going to have Newfoundland turkey," I told him.

Daddy looked at me incredulously, and then his countenance fell.

"Don't tell me you are referring to codfish," he said.

"That is the sad news," I told him. "It is going to be perfectly
delicious, and you will have to wait a moment."

So I turned up my sleeves and armoured myself in a blue gingham apron
before invading the realm of Susie Sweetapple, who only knows how to boil
things, including the tea. Like a true artist I engaged in an
improvisation. The only really bad thing about codfish, Aunt Jennie, is
its intrusive quality when it is prepared by the hundreds and thousands
of quintals. Otherwise, like eggs and potatoes, it is capable of a
multiplicity of avatars. We brought the dish back in triumph.