Chapter 8
The Carl of the Drab Coat came bumping and stumping and clumping
into the camp, and was surrounded by a multitude that adored him
and hailed him with tears.
"Meal!" he bawled, "meal for the love of the stars!"
And he bawled, "Meal, meal!" until he bawled everybody into
silence.
Fionn addressed him.
"What for the meal, dear heart?"
"For the inside of my mouth," said the Carl, "for the recesses
and crannies and deep-down profundities of my stomach. Meal, meal!"
he lamented.
Meal was brought.
The Carl put his coat on the ground, opened it carefully, and
revealed a store of blackberries, squashed, crushed, mangled,
democratic, ill-looking.
"The meal!" he groaned, "the meal!"
It was given to him.
"What of the race, my pulse?" said Fionn.
"Wait, wait," cried the Carl
