“Anything, sir; anything to keep the peace. Plum-pudding or pear-pudding, Thanksgiving or lobscouse.”
(Pratt was about half heeled over, as usual with him that time of day.)
“Lobscouse! Captain Pratt, I will thank you not to mention that abominable mixture in my presence. It passes my comprehension how you can eat such stuff. Neither do I like this flippant reference to so august a day as Thanksgiving.
“But a plum-pudding will be excellent—that is, if you think that darkey won’t ruin it in the making. I have a splendid recipe in my trunk, and although some of the necessary ingredients are probably lacking, it will be possible to produce a very fair pudding.”
“Let’s have it,” said I. “Anything for a change is my sentiments.”
“Darkeys usually have quite a knack for cooking, and I suppose if the recipe is placed before Cornwallis he will do the subject justice. I will get it at once.”
“The Lord only knows, Mr. Warriner. Did you ever hear a certain proverb that is common at sea: ‘God sends meat and the devil sends cooks?’ It’s astonishing how good provisions can be changed into all sorts of queer shapes. But get your directions and take them to the galley. The black imp may surprise us.”
Pratt went below, and soon after, Warriner and me went forward with the directions for the pudding. He told the cook what was wanted and then read off the recipe, so as to be sure and have no mistake. Never did I hear of such a lot of truck being put together, and I don’t believe the cook did either, for his eyes got bigger and bigger as Warriner read the list of what he called “ingredients.” My! that pudding took some of everything. There was raisins, currants, brown sugar, beef-suet, flour, bread-crumbs, citron, candied lemon-peel, eggs, nutmeg and salt! “Boil seven hours in a buttered mould. A sprig of holly should be stuck in the center. Pour brandy around the pudding when ready to serve, and set it on fire.” Holy Moses! Then there was a sauce with brandy and other things in it.
The cook sat down on a bench and looked at Warriner.
“Golly! you done took my bref away, boss. Bile seben hour! Whar we gwine to git dese yere tings? I ’low dere ain’t no brandy on dis craf’, an’ as fur ten eggs—waal, de hens is completely gi’n out, eben ef I does feed ’em on de Champyun Egg Food.”