It was a most fortunate thing that there was cold mutton for dinner. The economic principle governing the arrangement of the menu was that the simplicity of the mutton atoned for the extravagance of the birthday pudding, while the extravagance of the birthday pudding excused the simplicity of the mutton. Had the first course been anything richer than cold mutton, Henry could not have pretended even to begin the repast. As it was, he ate a little of the lean, leaving a wasteful margin of lean round the fat, which he was not supposed to eat; he also nibbled at the potatoes, and compressed the large remnant of them into the smallest possible space on the plate; then he unobtrusively laid down his knife and fork.
'Come, Henry,' said Aunt Annie, 'don't leave a saucy plate.'
Henry had already pondered upon a plausible explanation of his condition.
'I'm too excited to eat,' he promptly answered.
'You aren't feeling ill, are you?' his mother asked sharply.
'No,' he said. 'But can I have my birthday pudding for supper, after it's all over, instead of now?'
Mrs. Knight and Aunt Annie looked at one another. 'That might be safer,' said Aunt Annie, and she added: 'You can have some cold rice pudding now, Henry.'
'No, thank you, auntie; I don't want any.'
'The boy's ill,' Mrs. Knight exclaimed. 'Annie, where's the Mother Seigel?'