Part 94 (1/2)
”It seems to be a dead lock,” he said.
”No slang!” retorted Sir Patrick.
”For Heaven's sake, Sir, consider my anxiety, and tell me what you propose to do!”
”I propose to take you to London with me to-morrow, on this condition--that you promise me, on your word of honor, not to attempt to see your wife before Sat.u.r.day next.”
”I shall see her then?”
”If you give me your promise.”
”I do! I do!”
The next course came in. Sir Patrick entered on the question of the merits of the partridge, viewed as an eatable bird, ”By himself, Arnold--plainly roasted, and tested on his own merits--an overrated bird. Being too fond of shooting him in this country, we become too fond of eating him next. Properly understood, he is a vehicle for sauce and truffles--nothing more. Or no--that is hardly doing him justice. I am bound to add that he is honorably a.s.sociated with the famous French receipt for cooking an olive. Do you know it?”
There was an end of the bird; there was an end of the jelly. Arnold got his next chance--and took it.
”What is to be done in London to-morrow?” he asked.
”To-morrow,” answered Sir Patrick, ”is a memorable day in our calendar.
To-morrow is Tuesday--the day on which I am to see Miss Silvester.”
Arnold set down the gla.s.s of wine which he was just raising to his lips.
”After what has happened,” he said, ”I can hardly bear to hear her name mentioned. Miss Silvester has parted me from my wife.”
”Miss Silvester may atone for that, Arnold, by uniting you again.”
”She has been the ruin of me so far.”
”She may be the salvation of you yet.”
The cheese came in; and Sir Patrick returned to the Art of Cookery.
”Do you know the receipt for cooking an olive, Arnold?”
”No.”
”What _does_ the new generation know? It knows how to row, how to shoot, how to play at cricket, and how to bat. When it has lost its muscle and lost its money--that is to say, when it has grown old--what a generation it will be! It doesn't matter: I sha'n't live to see it. Are you listening, Arnold?”
”Yes, Sir.”
”How to cook an olive! Put an olive into a lark, put a lark into a quail; put a quail into a plover; put a plover into a partridge; put a partridge into a pheasant; put a pheasant into a turkey. Good. First, partially roast, then carefully stew--until all is thoroughly done down to the olive. Good again. Next, open the window. Throw out the turkey, the pheasant, the partridge, the plover, the quail, and the lark. _Then, eat the olive._ The dish is expensive, but (we have it on the highest authority) well worth the sacrifice. The quintessence of the flavor of six birds, concentrated in one olive. Grand idea! Try another gla.s.s of the white Burgundy, Arnold.”
At last the servants left them--with the wine and dessert on the table.
”I have borne it as long as I can, Sir,” said Arnold. ”Add to all your kindness to me by telling me at once what happened at Lady Lundie's.”