“‘Where shall you eat your Christmas dinner?’ I inquired.
“‘At Baltimore,’ replied Mr. Irving. ‘Several of my company have brought their home-made Christmas puddings over with them, and are to carry them about, with the rest of the luggage, until the day arrives. I have determined to try the American Christmas puddings, which, I am told, are very good indeed,—like most things American.’
“‘Oh, our people manufacture them by thousands! After all, a Christmas pudding is only a mince-pie boiled.’
“Just so,’ said Mr. Irving, laughing in his silent, interior, Leatherstocking manner. ‘I am thinking,’ he exclaimed, ‘of the Christmas dinner I gave last year, in the room of the old Beefsteak Club, which, you know, is now part of the Lyceum Theatre. We had talked the matter over,—a few friends and myself,—and decided that we were tired of professional cooks and conventional bills of fare, and that the best stimulus for our jaded palates was a return to plain, homely dishes.
“‘You can fancy Stoker saying that. He said it over and over for at least a month, and kept humming, “There’s no place—or no dinner—like home,” in the most disquieting way, whenever the matter was mentioned. He also undertook to arrange the whole affair.
“‘Well, it was arranged. There were to be no professional caterers, no professional waiters, no luxuries of any kind,—except the wines, which I took under my own care, being cast for the part of the butler. Stoker was to buy the material. The property-man’s wife was to roast the beef and the turkey. The mistress of the wardrobe undertook to boil the pudding. An usher, born with a genius for cookery, who was discovered by Stoker, had charge of the soup, fish, and vegetables. We were to wait upon ourselves,—a genuine family party. A suggestion to order ices from Gunter’s, in case the pudding was a failure, was voted down indignantly.
“‘As Christmas approached I became quite interested in this home dinner,—hungry for it days in advance, as one may say. I began by inviting one friend who had a reputation as an epicure; then another asked to be allowed to share our homely feast. Presently our family party grew to thirty. I began to have forebodings. You see, a small family can wait upon themselves, but not a family of thirty.