Without being exactly a gourmand, Mr. Crane took a deep and solemn interest in his dinner, the cooking of which he criticised with equal acumen and severity. On the present occasion he helped himself to soup, and tasted the first spoonful with an air of anxious inquiry. As he became aware of the flavour, his countenance fell, and the shadow on his brow darkened.
“Have you tasted that compound, Mrs. Crane?” he asked, in a tone indicative of deep but tragic feeling.
“It’s rather salt, is it not?” returned Kate.
“Rather salt! it’s brine, made with sea-water, I’m certain such a deleterious mixture as that is sure to disagree with me: the way they dress my food in this house is undermining my constitution—bringing me to my grave! I’m certain of it! Roberts, take that down to Mrs. Trimmins, and tell her I can’t touch it; and mind such stuff as that does not come up again. That’s the way money is wasted in this family; that woman gets the best and most expensive materials, and then, just because she has not to pay for them herself, goes and spoils them by her unpardonable carelessness—it’s too bad!—oyster sauce. My dear Kate, you’ve given me no sounds now!”
“Really,” rejoined Kate, colouring with annoyance, and making vigorous but fruitless pokes at the cod with the fish-slice, “really, I’m afraid there are no sounds with this fish.”
“No sounds!” repeated Mr. Crane, in a high, whimpering falsetto; “codfish and no sounds! the only part, as Mrs. Trimmins knows; that I care about! Serve up a codfish without sounds! No, really this cannot be allowed to go on; there’s no man cares less about his eating than I do! Take it away, Roberts, I shall not touch a bit. A crust of bread and cheese, if it is but clean and wholesome, is all I require; still, when I do sit down to a dinner, I like to have that dinner fit to eat. As a bachelor, I put up with such annoyances; if they spoilt one’s dinner, one dined at one’s club for the next week, and so gave the cook a hint, which rendered her more careful; but I own, when I married, I did hope that these things might be remedied; that while I was out, working hard from breakfast till dinner-time, to provide funds for all these expenses, the eye of a mistress might have been applied to an occasional inspection of her household; and that her husband’s comfort would have been a fitter study for an amiable and domestic character, than the immoral and pernicious writings of German and French novelists. Take that horrible joint up to your mistress, Roberts, and bring me the cutlets and Tomata-sauce. I should have thought Mrs. Trimmins might have known by this time how much I dislike a great coarse leg of mutton; but I suppose your rural tastes lead you to prefer it to a more refined style of cookery, in which case I must only request that your favourite dish may always be placed at your end of the table; I declare the sight of it is enough to destroy my appetite, and makes me quite uncomfortable!”
“Don’t you think there may be a little fancy in that?” returned Kate, as cutlet and Tomata-sauce at last filled Mr. Crane’s mouth, and stopped his grumbling monologue; “I cannot help thinking good roast meat must contain more nourishment, and for that reason be more wholesome than made dishes.”
A struggle between his rising anger and his descending food having occasioned a fit of choking, which did not tend to increase his general amiability, Mr. Crane, as soon as he was sufficiently recovered, continued—
“Unless it may be for the sake of contradicting me, my dear, I cannot conceive—ugh! ugh!—I cannot conceive why you should imagine it possible you can form a judgment about the matter; with such a strong—I may say Herculean—digestion as you are gifted with, how should you guess how these things affect a delicate organisation like mine? You can doubtless eat these fearful legs of mutton with impunity; but were you to eat the legs of a horse—as I verily believe you could—that would be no argument in favour of dieting me on dog’s-meat. I know you think me fanciful; your more robust temperament does not enable you to sympathise with the difficulties my delicate, sensitive digestion subjects me to—ugh!”
“The better way will be to give the housekeeper a general order never again to send a leg of mutton up to table,” returned Kate; “I have no especial predilection for the joint, and can dine quite as satisfactorily on anything else.”