CHAPTER XVII.
BROILING A LOBSTER.
MR.

SMITH'S appetite sometimes takes an epicurean turn, and then we indulge in a lobster, calf's-head soup, terrapins, or something of that sort.
Once upon a time, he sent home a lobster.

I did not feel very well that day, and concluded to leave the cooking of the animal to a new girl that I had taken a week or two before, on a strong recommendation.

She claimed to be a finished cook, and her testimonials were distinct on that head.
"Kitty," said I, "Mr.Smith has sent home a lobster, I believe ?" I had summoned the girl to my room.
"Yes, ma'am," she replied.

"Is it for dinner ?" "Of course it is; and you must see that it is well cooked." Kitty lingered a few moments, as if not entirely satisfied about something, and then retired to the kitchen.
"I wonder if she knows how to boil a lobster ?" said I to myself.
But then, the remembrance that she had come to me as a finished cook, crossed my mind, and I answered, mentally, my own question, by saying: "Of course she does." Not long afterwards, I went to the dining-room, which was over the kitchen.