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I cannot say that I disliked my dinner, and I ate very heartily; but a roast sucking-pig came on as a second course, which rather surprised me; but what surprised me more, was the quantity devoured by Mrs To. She handed her plate from the boiled pork to the roast, asked for some pettitoes, tried the sausages, and finished with a whole plateful of sucking-pig and stuffing.
I might have been king of Sennaar, but I am only his ambassador. You might have been only a chambermaid, but you are the brilliant and accomplished Miss Tattle. Tum, tum, tum, ti, ti, ti, what a pretty waltz! Here come Daisy and Timon Croesus, and now Mrs. Potiphar and Gauche Boosey, and now again Caroline Pettitoes and De Famille. She is smiling again, you see.
It is astonishing, now I come to think of it, how skilfully Brigadier-General Mrs. Pettitoes deployed those daughters of hers; how vigorously Mrs. Tabby led on her forlorn hope; and how unweariedly, Murat-like, Mrs. De Famille charged at the head of her cavalry. They deserve to be made Marshals of France, all of them.
"Praties, boy, or pit-taties, if I must be partic'lar." "Ah! goot, goot, I understan' pettitoes. Oui, oui, ye call him pomme de terre."
We sat down to table; the covers were removed, and, as the midshipmen prophesied, there was plenty of pork mock-turtle soup, made out of a pig's head a boiled leg of pork and peas-pudding a roast spare-rib with the crackling on sausages and potatoes, and pig's pettitoes.
Bardell's most particular acquaintance, who had just stepped in, to have a quiet cup of tea, and a little warm supper of a couple of sets of pettitoes and some toasted cheese. The cheese was simmering and browning away, most delightfully, in a little Dutch oven before the fire; the pettitoes were getting on deliciously in a little tin saucepan on the hob; and Mrs.
Morris, I could better record a bill of fare which would form a complete contrast to the vaunted luxuries of their inspiring deity, Mr. Oman of Edinburgh. Suffice it, as a specimen, that three pettitoes of an unfortunate roasting-pig, or rather pigling, which I fear must have died a natural death, formed the most substantial part of our repast.
Potiphar once a week. If your good humor can't digest such a hors d'oeuvre as little Mrs. Vite, what will you do with such a piece de resistance as Madame Gorgon?" Odious plain speaker! Yet I like the man. But, before I could reply, up came another couple Caroline Pettitoes and Norman de Famille. "You were at the bowling-alley?" said he. "Yes," answered Caroline. "You saw them together?" "Yes."
Once the game got started though, Lantier recovered his good humor and began to flaunt his extraordinary knack with a cue. When lunch time came Coupeau had an idea. He stamped his feet and cried: "We must go and fetch Salted-Mouth. I know where he's working. We'll take him to Mere Louis' to have some pettitoes." The idea was greeted with acclamation.
Norton, the Misses Berry, Madame Recamier, and all the brilliant women and famous foreigners. But why should we desert the pleasant pages of those men, and the recorded gossip of those women, to be squeezed flat against a wall, while young Doughface pours oyster gravy down our shirt front, and Carolina Pettitoes wonders at "Mr. Duesseldorf's" industry?
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