Master Gammon ate and the kettle hummed.
Twice Mrs.Sumfit sounded a despairing, "Oh, deary me!" but it was useless.

No human power had ever yet driven Master Gammon to a demonstration of haste or to any acceleration of the pace he had chosen for himself.

At last, she was not to be restrained from crying out, almost tearfully,-- "When do you think you'll have done, Mas' Gammon ?" Thus pointedly addressed, Master Gammon laid down his knife and fork.

He half raised his ponderous, curtaining eyelids, and replied,-- "When I feels my buttons, marm." After which he deliberately fell to work again.
Mrs.Sumfit dropped back in her chair as from a blow.
But even dumplings, though they resist so doggedly for a space, do ultimately submit to the majestic march of Time, and move.

Master Gammon cleared his plate.