How do you prefer your shad cooked, Mr.
Plaisted?" she added, in a concerned voice.
"I do not care for shad in any shape or form," he said, rather shortly,
which caused everyone to look up in dismay, all except Dexie, and she
seemed intent on finding the minutest bone.
"I am very sorry! You should have spoken about it sooner. Eliza, remove Mr.
Plaisted's plate. I hope we have something else you can relish."
He made a show at eating what was set before him, but it was hard work.
Could his entertainers talk of nothing else but shad? It appeared not, for
when the conversation seemed about to turn to other things a skilfully put
question, or a bit of information, brought the fish back to be discussed in
another light; consequently, the shad question was pretty well sifted. The
method of catching them, the amount caught during the last season, the
catch of the previous year compared with other years; in fact, Dexie seemed
to have the fishing reports at her finger-ends, or at the end of her
tongue, to speak literally, and Mr. Sherwood seemed delighted with the
chance to air the knowledge he possessed to such an attentive listener.
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