Pratt went below, and soon after, Warriner and me went forward with the directions for the pudding. He told the cook what was wanted and then read off the recipe, so as to be sure and have no mistake. Never did I hear of such a lot of truck being put together, and I don’t believe the cook did either, for his eyes got bigger and bigger as Warriner read the list of what he called “ingredients.” My! that pudding took some of everything. There was raisins, currants, brown sugar, beef-suet, flour, bread-crumbs, citron, candied lemon-peel, eggs, nutmeg and salt! “Boil seven hours in a buttered mould. A sprig of holly should be stuck in the center. Pour brandy around the pudding when ready to serve, and set it on fire.” Holy Moses! Then there was a sauce with brandy and other things in it. The cook sat down on a bench and looked at Warriner. “Golly! you done took my bref away, boss. Bile seben hour! Whar we gwine to git dese yere tings? I ’low dere ain’t no brandy on dis craf’, an’ as fur ten eggs—waal, de hens is completely gi’n out, eben ef I does feed ’em on de Champyun Egg Food.” “How should the poor things lay, shut up in a small coop? But as for the brandy, I will furnish that, and also some nice layer raisins. Currants, lemon-peel and citron we must do without, but ten eggs are a necessity, and the other things you have.” “We has jes’ got ’leben eggs, an’ ef yo’ takes ten from ’leben, dar ain’t but bery few lef’. Where we gwine to get moah?” “I neither know nor care,—we shall reach Vera Cruz sometime I devoutly hope,—but ten eggs go into this pudding. The question is, can you make it?” “_Can I make it_?” repeated the cook, as if someone had asked him whether he could breathe. “Waal, sah, dere ain’t no dish knowed to man or debil dat dis chile can’t make, Mistah Warmer. Must I bile de sass seben hour too?” “Certainly not. The sauce must not be made until to-morrow morning just before dinner, and is only to be boiled a few minutes. Can’t you read?” “Me read? Well, I hope not, boss. I’s got all my receipts in my head. None o’ yo’ new-fangled notions fur dis niggah.” I had to laugh, poor Warriner looked so disgusted. He just all gave up for a minute and thought the pudding was done for. Then he stamped his foot and said: “I am not to be thwarted by trifles, and will weigh out everything myself. Then you can mix the articles together.” Warriner fetched the raisins and brandy—if he’d been smart he wouldn’t have brought the brandy till the last minute—and between ’em they managed to mix up all the truck and get it in the mould. It was about the middle of the afternoon when they got it on to boil.