“Fair princess,” he said, “I should like very much a pork-chop and some mashed potatoes.”
She lifted the cover: there was such a pork-chop as Simpson never served, with a dish of mashed potatoes that would have formed at least six portions in our degenerate days in Rupert Street.
When he had helped himself to these delicacies, the lady put the cover on the dish again, and watched him eating with interest. He was for some time too much occupied with his own food to remark that his companion did not eat a morsel; but big as it was, his chop was soon gone; the shining silver of his plate was scraped quite clean with his knife, and, heaving a great sigh, he confessed a humble desire for something to drink.
“Call for what you like, sweet sir,” said the lady, lifting up a silver filigree bottle, with an india-rubber cork, ornamented with gold.
“Then,” said Master Wolfgang—for the fellow's tastes were, in sooth, very humble—“I call for half-and-half.” According to his wish, a pint of that delicious beverage was poured from the bottle, foaming, into his beaker.
Having emptied this at a draught, and declared that on his conscience it was the best tap he ever knew in his life, the young man felt his appetite renewed; and it is impossible to say how many different dishes he called for. Only enchantment, he was afterwards heard to declare (though none of his friends believed him), could have given him the appetite he possessed on that extraordinary night. He called for another pork-chop and potatoes, then for pickled salmon; then he thought he would try a devilled turkey-wing. “I adore the devil,” said he.
“So do I,” said the pale lady, with unwonted animation; and the dish was served straightway. It was succeeded by black-puddings, tripe, toasted cheese, and—what was most remarkable—every one of the dishes which he desired came from under the same silver cover: which circumstance, when he had partaken of about fourteen different articles, he began to find rather mysterious.
“Oh,” said the pale lady, with a smile, “the mystery is easily accounted for: the servants hear you, and the kitchen is BELOW.” But this did not account for the manner in which more half-and-half, bitter ale, punch (both gin and rum), and even oil and vinegar, which he took with cucumber to his salmon, came out of the self-same bottle from which the lady had first poured out his pint of half-and-half.
“There are more things in heaven and earth, Voracio,” said his arch entertainer, when he put this question to her, “than are dreamt of in your philosophy:” and, sooth to say, the archer was by this time in such a state, that he did not find anything wonderful more.
“Are you happy, dear youth?” said the lady, as, after his collation, he sank back in his chair.