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As the Lübeck boat was not to leave until the morrow, I went to Wilkin's to get my supper. This famous establishment occupies a low-ceiled basement, which is divided into cabinets ornamented with more show than taste. Oysters, turtle-soup, a truffled filet, and a bottle of Veuve Cliquot iced, composed my simple bill of fare.
I feel assured also that the padres, besides being tasteful in their potages and entrees, do not stultify their ideas for lack of that element which Horace, Hafiz, and Byron have praised so much. The champagne think of champagne Cliquot in East Africa!
The present chief of the dangerous "profession" of sword-swallowing is Chevalier Cliquot, a French Canadian by birth, whose major trick is to swallow a real bayonet sword, weighted with a cross-bar and two 18-pound dumbbells. He can swallow without difficulty a 22-inch cavalry sword; formerly, in New York, he gave exhibitions of swallowing fourteen 19-inch bayonet swords at once.
That fine castle, Flemming, is the château of Boursault, apparently built in the era of the Crusades, but really a marvel of yesterday. It rose into being, not to the sound of a lyre, like the towers of Troy, but at the bursting of innumerable bottles, causing to resound all over the world the name of the widow Cliquot." At length we entered the station of Épernay.
Made partner in his shipping firm well before he was thirty, he had sailed with a wet sheet and a flowing tide; dancers, claret, Cliquot, and piquet; a cab with a tiger; some travel all that delicious early-Victorian consciousness of nothing save a golden time.
For midwinter's day celebrations, a mixture of one teaspoonful of methylated spirit in a pint of hot water, flavoured with a little ginger and sugar, served to remind some of cock- tails and Veuve Cliquot. At breakfast each had a piece of seal or half a penguin breast.
Harley," said Grandmother Ludlow, lashing the septuagenarian footman with one sharp look because he had spilt two or three drops of Veuve Cliquot on the tablecloth, "tell me about the present state of the money market." Under his hostess's consistent courtesy and marked attentions George Harley had been squirming during the first half of dinner.
"Only this morning I open the ice box and they were all dancing the cancan." "Major," persisted the friend, "I'll go you a bottle of Veuve Cliquot, you cannot show me an actual living terrapin." "What do you take me for confidence man?" The Major retorted. "How you expect an old sport like me to bet upon a certainty?" "Never mind your ethics. The wager is drink, not money.
Sally wept for gratitude, and said: "Oh, Electra, jewel of women, darling of my heart, we are free at last, we roll in wealth, we need never scrimp again. It's a case for Veuve Cliquot!" and he got out a pint of spruce-beer and made sacrifice, he saying "Damn the expense," and she rebuking him gently with reproachful but humid and happy eyes.
Then he stirred the shells about in the box with his cane. Still not a show of life. Of a sudden he stopped, reflected a moment, then looked at his watch. "Ah," he murmured. "I quite forget. The terrapin, they are asleep. It is ten-thirty, and the terrapin he regularly go to sleep at ten o'clock by the watch every night." And without another word he reached for the Veuve Cliquot!
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