Yes. This is my happy thing for the day.

I never go as a passenger; nor, though I am something of a salt, do I ever go to sea as a Commodore, or a Captain, or a Cook . . . And as for going as cook,—though I confess there is considerable glory in that, a cook being a sort of officer on ship-board—yet, somehow, I never fancied broiling fowls;—though once broiled, judiciously buttered, and judgmatically salted and peppered, there is no one who will speak more respectfully, not to say reverentially, of a broiled fowl than I will.

Nobody ever told me. I am entranced.

Oh, and the thing where my car wasn’t really broken, and the air is beautiful, the leaves a gilded green against the blue blue sky broken with high white clouds and the softest of breezes. A fine day.

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