"It's not much like fighting for our lives back there in the gorge, is
it, Robert?" he asked. "It's a strange world here in America. We're
lying in a rocky hollow one day, shooting at people who are shooting at
us, and both sides shooting to kill, and two or three days later we're
sitting at an inn in a town, eating off silver and china."
"It's a quick and pleasant transformation," said Robert,
appreciatively.
He would have called it supper, but in Montreal it was dinner, and it
was served by Lizette and Marie. There was fish from the St. Lawrence,
chicken, beef, many vegetables, good white bread and coffee, all
prepared in the excellent manner characteristic of Monsieur Jolivet's
famous inn. Tayoga ate abundantly but delicately. He had learned the use
of knife and fork at the school in Albany, and, like Robert, he was
fastidious at the table.
Monsieur Jolivet, after his manner, gave them much of his own presence.
One must be polite to the Bostonnais at such a time. He discoursed quite
freely of Montreal, and of its advantages as a great trading post with
the Indians, who already brought there vast quantities of furs.
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