“Here’s to the man who drinks good ale and goes to bed quite mellow.
He lives as he ought to live, and dies a damned good fellow.
He lives as he ought to live,
He lives as he ought to live,
He lives as he ought to live,
And dies a damned good fellow.
“Here’s to the man who drinks no ale and goes to bed quite sober.
He withers as the leaves do, and dies in the month of October.
He withers as the leaves do.
He withers as the leaves do.
He withers as the leaves do.
And dies in the month of October.”
Then came the verse in which all the ladies joined with great enthusiasm:
“Here’s to the girl who gets a kiss, and runs and tells her mother.
May she live to be an old maid, and never get another!”
The chorus pealed out, Betty Beverley’s clear and ringing soprano above all the rest:
“May she live to be an old maid,
May she live to be an old maid,
May she live to be an old maid,
And never get another.”
Then the folding doors to the dining-room were thrown open and the real supper was served, to which coffee, biscuit, “old ham,” and the round of beef were merely the appetizers. An emperor of a turkey was at the head of the table, with another at the foot, and one at each side scarcely inferior in imperial splendor. There were cold pickled oysters, and hot oysters, creamed, steamed, fried, stewed, and in scallop shells. There were great dishes of terrapin, not indeed the diamond-back of Maryland fame, but the slider, a dry-land terrapin, an excellent creature when accompanied with the butter, cream, eggs, sherry, and brandy which are lavished upon him. There were, of course, more old hams, rounds of beef, and a gigantic saddle of Southdown mutton, which Major Lindsay himself carved with a magnificent flourish. The boned turkey was a gem, the work in the case being done by Dr. Markham, the cheery, pleasant-faced village doctor, who, it was popularly reported, in getting the bones out of the turkey used the identical instruments with which he cut off legs and arms. But the doctor’s services being in demand by hostesses at Christmas time, no prejudice existed against either the boned turkey or the doctor.
There were pigeon-pie, wild ducks, chicken salad, and a few other incidentals, to be topped off by ices, custards, jellies, and cakes of innumerable varieties. It took an hour to get through with the supper, and when the guests had feasted and left the dining-room, there was still enough left to feed a couple of regiments.
The musicians had had their supper and a glass of apple toddy, and eggnog in addition, and were ready again with fiddles and “lap organ” to start the flying feet once more. Betty had more partners than she could accommodate, and told each one the same story in various forms, punctuated by a sidelong glance, which was Betty’s own—that she only wished she could dance with him all the evening. Tom Lindsay, a handsome youngster, who called Betty by her first name and assumed proprietary rights over her, was encouraged to do so by this arch-hypocrite of a girl. But in this Betty only followed the prevailing fashion. All of the university students and young officers present, except Fortescue, found themselves involved in at least half a dozen desperate flirtations, which promised to continue during the whole week, and then never to be heard of again.
