“That accounts for it,” said Irving. “Who ever heard of a Christmas pudding without a blaze, except, perhaps, in Ireland?”
“Oh, we’ll soon light it up!” said Stoker. “Waiter, bring some brandy!”
Presently the pudding flamed up, to the delight of the African gentlemen who served it.
“I fear there is no sauce,” said one of the ladies.
“No sauce! Christmas pudding and no sauce!” I exclaimed. “Here’s stage management!”
“Sauce!” said Stoker,—“to plum pudding?”
“Yes, always in England,” said Loveday.
This kind of mild banter was checked by Irving filling his glass with champagne, and observing, “After the experience of last year, of course we ought not to have entrusted Stoker with the pudding. However, let us make the best of it. It seems a very good pudding, after all. I want you all to fill your glasses. Let us wish each other in the old way, ‘A merry Christmas and A happy New Year,’ and ‘God bless our absent friends!’”
Some of us gulped the wine a little spasmodically, and some of us found it hard to keep back our tears. Who can pledge that familiar toast, and not think of the empty chairs that seem so very, very empty at Christmas!