“I been drinking water all my life,” said Alvin, “and I don’t get no piles.”

“But this mean you are, how you say ...” Then he rattled off a stream of French.

“Used to it,” said Arthur, translating.

“Yes! Yoost a twit!”

“Used. To. It,” Arthur repeated helpfully.

“English is the stupidest language on Earth. Except for German, and it is not a language, it is a head cold.”

“You speak French?” Alvin asked Arthur Stuart.

“No,” said Arthur, as if it were the stupidest idea in the world.

“Well, you understood Mr. Audubon.”

“I guessed,” said Arthur. “I don’t even talk English all that good.”

Right, thought Alvin. You can talk English any way you want to. You just like to break the rules and sound like this is your first day out of a deep-woods cabin.

“Come on in and get something to eat,” said Mike. “And if you won’t drink water, Mr. Odd Bone—”

“Audubon,” Jean-Jacques corrected him.

“I hope hard cider will do the trick, cause I don’t reckon Mistress Louder has anything stronger.”

“Can I have some hard cider?” asked Arthur Stuart.

“No, but you can have a cookie,” said Alvin.

“Hurrah!”

“If she offers you one,” said Alvin. “And no hinting.

“Mistress Louder always knows what a fellow’s hungry for,” said Arthur Stuart. “It’s her knack.”

Jean-Jacques laughed. “The food I am hungry for has never been served in this whole continent!”

“What do you mean?” said Mike Fink. “We got frogs and snails here.”

“But you have no garlic.”

“We got onions so strong they make you fart blue,” said Mike. “And I tasted a Red man’s peppercorn one time that made me think I was a fish and I woke up in the river.”

“The food of France does nothing so wonderful. It taste so good that every day God send a saint down to Paris to bring him his dinner, but what does he know?”

They continued the bragging contest into the kitchen. But Alvin stopped off in the small parlor, where Verily sat comfortably with a book on his lap. He glanced at Alvin and then back down at the book.

“Oh, you’re back,” said Verily. “I assumed you had been killed and Arthur sold into slavery.” He turned a page. “Next time, perhaps.” He said it with no expression at all. Mike was right. Alvin had never seen Verily Cooper so mad.

“I’m sorry,” Alvin said.

“All right then,” said Verily, setting down the book and rising to his feet. “Let’s go.” Verily walked toward the door.

“This late in the afternoon?” asked Alvin as he passed!

Verily stopped and looked at Alvin in feigned surprise. “Afternoon? So late? I had no idea.”

“I said I’m sorry,” said Alvin.

“I’m not like Peggy,” said Verily. “I can’t see your heartfire off in the distance and assure myself that everything’s all right. I just sit here waiting.”

“I can’t believe this,” said Alvin. “You sound like a wife.”

“I sound angry,” said Verily. “I think it’s interesting that in your mind this translates as ‘sounding like a wife.’”