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The piece de resistance was a hunko de boeuf boile, flanked with some old clinging stuff. The entrees were pate de pumpkin, followed by fromage McFiggin, served under glass. Towards the end of the first course, speeches became the order of the day. Mrs. McFiggin was the first speaker. She referred at some length to the late Mr. McFiggin, who had always shown a marked preference for hunko de boeuf.
The salle a manger was very prettily decorated with texts, and the furniture upholstered with cheveux de horse, Louis Quinze. The boarders were all very quietly dressed: Mrs. McFiggin was daintily attired in some old clinging stuff with a corsage de Whalebone underneath. The ample board groaned under the bill of fare. The boarders groaned also. Their groaning was very noticeable.
The meal closed with general expressions of good-feeling. A little bird has whispered to us that there will be no more parties at the De Smythes' pour long-temps. Here is another little paragraph that would be of general interest in society. Yesterday evening at half after six a pleasant little diner was given by Madame McFiggin of Rock Street, to her boarders.
Hoodoo McFiggin is a good boy a religious boy. He had been given to understand that Santa Claus would bring nothing to his father and mother because grown-up people don't get presents from the angels. So he saved up all his pocket-money and bought a box of cigars for his father and a seventy-five-cent diamond brooch for his mother. His own fortunes he left in the hands of the angels.
The daughter of Metschnikoff McFiggin need crave a boon from no one." With that she hauled from her bosom the daguerreotype of her father and pressed it to her lips. The earl started as if shot. "That name!" he cried, "that face! that photograph! stop!" There! There is no need to finish; my readers have long since divined it. Gertrude was the heiress. The lovers fell into one another's arms.
Let us speak of Gertrude. Gertrude DeMongmorenci McFiggin had known neither father nor mother. They had both died years before she was born. Of her mother she knew nothing, save that she was French, was extremely beautiful, and that all her ancestors and even her business acquaintances had perished in the Revolution. Yet Gertrude cherished the memory of her parents.
For a parent to get up under cover of the darkness of night and palm off a ten-cent necktie on a boy who had been expecting a ten-dollar watch, and then say that an angel sent it to him, is low, undeniably low. I had a good opportunity of observing how the thing worked this Christmas, in the case of young Hoodoo McFiggin, the son and heir of the McFiggins, at whose house I board.
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