Now, no more. We will
der glams ge-dig, Mommer, a fire. Ach, himmel! we have der pfeffer
forgotten."
The work of clam digging began at once, the little boys taking off their
shoes and stockings. At first August refused to be comforted, and it was
not until his father drove him into the water with his gold-headed cane
that he consented to join the others.
What a day that was for McTeague! What a never-to-be-forgotten day! He
was with Trina constantly. They laughed together--she demurely, her lips
closed tight, her little chin thrust out, her small pale nose, with its
adorable little freckles, wrinkling; he roared with all the force of his
lungs, his enormous mouth distended, striking sledge-hammer blows upon
his knee with his clenched fist.
The lunch was delicious. Trina and her mother made a clam chowder that
melted in one's mouth. The lunch baskets were emptied. The party were
fully two hours eating. There were huge loaves of rye bread full of
grains of chickweed. There were weiner-wurst and frankfurter sausages.
There was unsalted butter. There were pretzels. There was cold underdone
chicken, which one ate in slices, plastered with a wonderful kind of
mustard that did not sting.
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