For two or three days before the banquet we were very busy getting everything ready, and I was very anxious, as it was the first public dinner on a big scale that we had done. But, thank goodness, nothing went wrong, except that the woman we had in to help our cook turned out a very violent temper, and in a rage pulled our cook’s cap off and threw it on the fire, and she, trying to snatch it off again, upset a big saucepan of custard that was boiling, and it all ran over into her boots, and made her dance about, and shriek and yell that she was scalded to death—(she really was hurt, poor woman)—and that made the kitchen-maid, who was subject to epilepsy, fall down and have a fit. And as we sacked the assistant cook for her behaviour, and cook and the kitchen-maid were too ill to do anything all the next day, we had to send out right and left to get help. And we got a woman who was an excellent cook and very handy; but had a baby that she couldn’t leave, and so brought it with her. It was the peevishest baby that I ever came across, and shrieked itself into convulsions from morning till night, until at last the people staying in the hotel sent down and said, if that child didn’t leave off they should have to go. Except for these little things everything went on as well as could be expected, seeing what a strain it was on the resources of the establishment. That last line is a line out of my report, which I wrote for our county paper. It isn’t in the report which they had printed, but I wrote it, having seen it in a report of a banquet I had read, and I think “strain on the resources of the establishment” a very good expression under the circumstances.
But all’s well that ends well, and when the eventful evening arrived everything was right, and the coffee-room looked beautiful with the flags which we had put up, and evergreens, and coloured paper, and a big device over Mr. Wilkins’s head, on which was written—
England’s loss is Australia’s gain;
God speed Mr. Wilkins across the main.
When the company had all assembled there were fifty-one altogether who sat down, and it was a very pretty sight. We had extra waitresses in to help, and I remained in the room and superintended them, keeping near the door, of course. Harry behaved beautifully as the vicechairman, taking care never to be the landlord, or to interfere with anything, only once, when Graves—who, of course, couldn’t behave himself even on such an occasion—said, “I say, Mr. Vice, don’t you think this beer is a bit off?” Harry replied, “I don’t know, Mr. Graves; I’m drinking champagne,” which made everybody laugh.
There was plenty of champagne drunk, too, at the head of the table, Mr. Wilkins tasting it, as he said afterwards, for the first time in his life, and everything went off capitally, and not too noisy at first, though the way some of them ate, at the lower end, showed that they meant to have their money’s worth, as well as to show their respect for Wilkins.
After the cheese and celery the doctor rapped the table, and then Harry rapped the table too, and said, “Order for the chair.” And Mr. Wilkins, who knew, of course, what was coming, looked at the pattern of his cheese-plate as though it was a very beautiful picture, and made little pills with the bread by his side, and twisted the tablecloth, and did everything except look at the company.
The doctor made a very nice, kind little speech about Wilkins, referring to the many, many years he had been parish clerk, and how he was looked upon by everybody in the place as a friend, and how sorry they all were to lose him, and how they hoped that a long and happy life with his family awaited him in the new country.
Everybody cheered, and said “Hear, hear,” to the sentiments, the only person interrupting in the wrong place being Graves, who said, “Hear, hear,” when the doctor said, “and now Mr. Wilkins is about to leave us, perhaps for ever.”
At the end of the doctor’s speech everybody got up and raised their glasses, and shouted, “Three cheers for Wilkins!” And then they sang, “For he’s a jolly good fellow,” and kept on till I thought they would never leave off.
After that, Mr. Jarvis, the miller, sang a song, to give Mr. Wilkins time to pull himself together for his reply, and then Mr. Wilkins rose, and the company banged the table till the glasses jumped again, and I thought the whole arrangement would come down with a crash, the tables being only on tressels.