"Every night, now, I used to slip ashore, towards ten o'clock, at some little village, and buy ten or fifteen cents' worth of meal or bacon or other stuff to eat; and sometimes I lifted a chicken that warn't roosting comfortable, and took him along. Pap always said, take a chicken when you get a chance, because if you don't want him yourself you can easy find somebody that does, and a good deed ain't ever forgot. I never see pap when he didn't want the chicken himself, but that is what he used to say, anyway. I hadn't had a bite to eat since yesterday, so Jim he got out some corn-dodgers and buttermilk, and pork and cabbage and greens—there ain't nothing in the world so good when it's cooked right—and whilst I eat my supper we talked and had a good time. . . . and then Jim starts talking about happy days with the naked chef, and me his pukka and I says 'what the Finn!' Anyways I tells Jim that some things in life, like Essex, beyond market baskets, and kitchen nightmares entrées are just better left to the Brittish and French folks. And he agreed, saying "Lovely Jubbly" or some other such radish parsnipity allotment girls.

So it begins.