CHAPTER XXVIII

MR. O’DICEY’S DINNER

ALTHOUGH Mr. O’Dicey talked of a mutton chop—a quiet chop, it was only a pleasant figurative sort of way he had of speaking of as good a dinner as money can procure, and Mr. Chousey’s instructions were to send up the best entertainment the house could afford. So long as a man played, Mr. O’Dicey said he was unwise to deny himself anything, for it was only to increase the stakes a little and have it all back. Whatever O’Dicey did, therefore, he did in the most liberal manner, trusting to other people paying for it. Accordingly a first-class dinner was ordered in the best room at the Dolphin, the waiters were beshorted and bebuckled, and the prime vintages brought up from the cave. Nothing was omitted that could add to the bill, and though the dinner might cost three times as much as it would in a private house, we should like to know the private house where you could get such a one at such short notice. As of course it would not do for O’Dicey to be fussy or fidgetty about it, he was not there to receive our friend, who arrived a few minutes before six; and when “Mr. Goldspink” was ushered into the Dolphin—a room radiant with mirrors, and shining with French polish, and cut crimson velvet furniture—he found the exemplary Major admiring a number of the Turner collection of engravings, while Joe was raking the sea through a standard telescope, looking at this ship and that, as though he expected a cargo of something coming in. They both desisted from their avocations as Jasper entered, and received him with an obsequious civility that was extremely flattering to our friend. They apologised for the absence of their host. “Dare say’d Mr. Goldspink knew O’Dicey as well as they did—excellent fellow, but anything but punctual; however, it wasn’t quite time yet, so they wouldn’t say anything,” and proceeded to discuss the sea, and the weather, and the state of the country, courting and encouraging our young friend’s opinion instead of laying down the law in the dictatorial tone of some of the elders. So they roved gaily from subject to subject, until Jasper landed them on the Roseberry Rocks race-course, when, just as he was explaining how it was that the Forty Thieves had been so unsuccessful at the recent meeting, the door flew open, and in bounced Mr. O’Dicey, flourishing a highly-scented cambric kerchief, curled, dressed, and jewelled, as if he were going to a ball. “Ah, my dear fellow!” exclaimed he, seizing Jasper’s fat hand; “Ah, my dear fellow! I beg you ten thousand pardons for not being here to receive and introduce you; but better late than never,’ added he, patting Jasper familiarly on the back. “This,” continued he, bringing forward the model Major by the arm, “is my excellent friend Major Minster, late aide-de-camp by Lord Strutandstride; and this,” continued he, doing the same by Joe, “is my good friend Mr. Wanless—Mr. Joseph Wanless; two gentlemen, let me say, whom the more you know the more you’ll like, than which no higher compliment can be paid to any one;” whereupon they all went through the form of grinning, and scraping, and bowing, without which the acquaintance would have been incomplete. Mr. O’Dicey then compressed his gibus hat, and chucking it in a corner, proceeded to reconnoitre the round table. The dinner, of course, was to be à la Russe, that convenient invention for serving réchauffers; and there was a splendid vine-wreath-pillared “A. B. Savory” epergne, full of cut flowers in the centre, with transparent Wenham-lake ice in the four richly cut glass side-dishes. The table linen was immaculately white, and the pyramidical napkins stood like sentries over the clear crystal. All things looked promising and well. Just as Mr. O’Dicey had completed a hasty survey, the door opened, and little Curlew came sneaking in after his waiter-announced name, and having been presented to Jasper, was formally introduced to the other two gentlemen, as though they had never had the pleasure of seeing each other before. Ere he had got much advanced with his ingratiation, in flung Captain Arthur Gammon, quite in the O’Dicey style, scented, jewelled, and varnished, like his great prototype. After shaking hands with his host, nodding to Joe, and “old-boying” the Major, he made a passing bow to our hero, in return for Mr. O’Dicey’s introduction of “My friend Mr. Goldspink,” and then proceeded to reconnoitre himself in the mirror. First he frizzed up his dark curly hair, then he twitted his luxuriant whiskers, next he examined his teeth, and then encouraged his collar.

“Come, you’ll do, old boy,” said O’Dicey, digging his double in the ribs as he passed to the bell knob, which scarcely responded to his touch ere the door opened, and in poured the servants, bearing the banquet.

A first-class hotel dinner is by no means a bad thing—barring the payment; a second-class one is to be deprecated, and a third avoided. Still, save at Richmond or Greenwich, an hotel dinner, though far more expensive, is never half so much appreciated as one at a private house; just as people consider a ball given at Willis’s Rooms is no equivalent for their hostesses not turning their houses inside out to receive them at home. Chousey knew how to do the thing, both in the way of catering and charging, and there was no exception to be taken to anything here. There was turtle soup, both clear and thick, Severn salmon, Torbay soles, and a variety of other fish, all hot and prime of their kind. Chousey’s wine, too, was good, and his decanters holding surprisingly little, and three-quarters emptied bottles, being invariably whipped away, for fear of any little sediment at the bottom, an apparently great consumption caused very little headache. Abstemiousness is one of the hardships of a gambler’s life, who must always have his keenest wits about him ready for action; and Mr. O’Dicey, though always calling for wine, and sipping, and tasting, and eyeing and urging his friends to generous potations, in reality drank very little himself. Joe and the Major, who were generally on short commons, and only the out-riggers, or heavy fathers, of the entertainment, made up for their host’s deficiency, and ate and drank, and ate and drank, with the most laudable sea-side appetites.

“Venzon coming, sir,” whispered Mr. Chousey in Joe’s ear, as he was going to have a second côtelette de veau.

“Venzon is there!” replied he, pausing to consider.

“Yez-ir—venzon from the Earl of Blazington’s—best park in England,” replied the landlord.

Our landlord was right. There was venison; not from Lord Blazington’s, but from the Duke of Tergiversations, the migratory haunch having at length found a resting-place at Chousey’s, who had given Mrs. Trattles a couple of dozen of fine pale sherry (out of the cask), for the same. It was now in what Chousey called high order, so high, indeed, that if Captain Gammon had not been under recognisances, in the shape of a long-standing bill, to keep his peace, Chousey would have preferred having it carved at the other end of the room. As it was, however, he ventured it at the side table, and by helping Mr. Wanless first, and deluging his plate with sweet sauce, he got him to utter the approving “capital,” so essential to the prosperity of a haunch, and which set all the other eaters anxious for their turns. Gobble, gobble, gobble, was presently the order of the day, broken by occasional demands for the jelly or the French beans. The best test of their sincerity was that, after being refreshed by a round of Bordeaux, they all got hot plates and went in for more venison. So the travelled haunch came to good account at last.

Turtle and venison are very convincing, and sweets and savouries are of little account after. The Bordeaux, and the Johannesberger, and the Steinberger, and the sparkling, and the old dry Sillery, and the creaming champagnes, presently did duty for the viands, and host and guests discarding the non-health drinking system, were extremely attentive to our hero; so attentive, indeed, that he was more than ever convinced that he was “somebody.” At length, the lobster salad, and the ice-pudding, and the jellies, and the creams, and the fritters, of this mutton-chop dinner, began to be passed or hastily rejected, each man feeling as though he would never be hungry again, and some nice fresh parmesan cheese was introduced, to give zest to a glass of Clos Vougeot. This latter was introduced on its side, in the cosey cradle, with all the pomp and circumstance peculiar to Babies and Burgundy, the well-stained cork carefully extracted amidst observations on the capricious character of the wine, and hopes that the bottle would prove good. And very good it was, though O’Dicey would have had up a dozen ere he would have been foiled in his object. Finger-glasses were then placed on the table; splashing, dabbling, and drying becoming general; after which a short grace was said by the host, and amidst a flourish of napkins, and shaking of legs, an adjournment was moved to the window, while the waiters cleared away the things. The ground-reaching windows were then partially opened, and our now-flushed friends poured out to enjoy the fresh air of the balcony.