A Little Dinner at Timminss | Page 8

which stood in the hall

as he came in from chambers, and over the boy who had brought
them--and the little bill.
The women had had a long debate, and something like a quarrel, it
must be owned, over the bill of fare. Mrs. Gashleigh, who had lived a
great part of her life in Devonshire, and kept house in great state there,
was famous for making some dishes, without which, she thought, no
dinner could be perfect. When she proposed her mock-turtle, and
stewed pigeons, and gooseberry-cream, Rosa turned up her nose--a
pretty little nose it was, by the way, and with a natural turn in that
direction.
"Mock-turtle in June, mamma!" said she.
"It was good enough for your grandfather, Rosa," the mamma replied:
"it was good enough for the Lord High Admiral, when he was at
Plymouth; it was good enough for the first men in the county, and
relished by Lord Fortyskewer and Lord Rolls; Sir Lawrence Porker ate
twice of it after Exeter races; and I think it might be good enough for--"
"I will NOT have it, mamma!" said Rosa, with a stamp of her foot; and
Mrs. Gashleigh knew what resolution there was in that. Once, when she
had tried to physic the baby, there had been a similar fight between
them.
So Mrs. Gashleigh made out a carte, in which the soup was left with a
dash--a melancholy vacuum; and in which the pigeons were certainly
thrust in among the entrees; but Rosa determined they never should
make an entree at all into HER dinner-party, but that she would have
the dinner her own way.
When Fitz returned, then, and after he had paid the little bill of 6L. 14s.
6d. for the glass, Rosa flew to him with her sweetest smiles, and the
baby in her arms. And after she had made him remark how the child
grew every day more and more like him, and after she had treated him
to a number of compliments and caresses, which it were positively
fulsome to exhibit in public, and after she had soothed him into good
humor by her artless tenderness, she began to speak to him about some
little points which she had at heart.
She pointed out with a sigh how shabby the old curtains looked since
the dear new glasses which her darling Fitz had given her had been put
up in the drawing-room. Muslin curtains cost nothing, and she must
and would have them.

The muslin curtains were accorded. She and Fitz went and bought them
at Shoolbred's, when you may be sure she treated herself likewise to a
neat, sweet pretty half-mourning (for the Court, you know, is in
mourning)--a neat sweet barege, or calimanco, or bombazine, or tiffany,
or some such thing; but Madame Camille, of Regent Street, made it up,
and Rosa looked like an angel in it on the night of her little dinner.
"And, my sweet," she continued, after the curtains had been accorded,
"mamma and I have been talking about the dinner. She wants to make it
very expensive, which I cannot allow. I have been thinking of a
delightful and economical plan, and you, my sweetest Fitz, must put it
into execution."
"I have cooked a mutton-chop when I was in chambers," Fitz said with
a laugh. "Am I to put on a cap and an apron?"
"No: but you are to go to the 'Megatherium Club' (where, you wretch,
you are always going without my leave), and you are to beg Monsieur
Mirobolant, your famous cook, to send you one of his best
aides-de-camp, as I know he will, and with his aid we can dress the
dinner and the confectionery at home for ALMOST NOTHING, and
we can show those purse-proud Topham Sawyers and Rowdys that the
HUMBLE COTTAGE can furnish forth an elegant entertainment as
well as the gilded halls of wealth."
Fitz agreed to speak to Monsieur Mirobolant. If Rosa had had a fancy
for the cook of the Prime Minister, I believe the deluded creature of a
husband would have asked Lord John for the loan of him.
IV.
Fitzroy Timmins, whose taste for wine is remarkable for so young a
man, is a member of the committee of the "Megatherium Club," and the
great Mirobolant, good-natured as all great men are, was only too
happy to oblige him. A young friend and protege of his, of considerable
merit, M. Cavalcadour, happened to be disengaged through the
lamented death of Lord Hauncher, with whom young Cavalcadour had
made his debut as an artist. He had nothing to refuse to his master,
Mirobolant, and would impress himself to be useful to a gourmet so
distinguished as Monsieur Timmins. Fitz went away as pleased as
Punch with this encomium of