Dinner, which should be a science, has long been treated as one of the
Fine Arts. Now every Fine Art, as we all know, has its fashions and its
caprices. Those who are old enough to remember the dinners of twenty,
thirty, or forty years ago can remember many of their fashions and
caprices. In the Thirties, for instance, everything was carved upon the
table. It required a man with a strong wrist to give a dinner-party.
Fortunately, a dinner then consisted of few dishes. They drank sherry
with dinner, and port afterwards. The champagne, if there was any, was
sweet. The guests were bidden for half-past six: they sat down to dinner
before seven. At eight the ladies went up-stairs: at half-past ten the
men joined them. Their faces were flushed, their shoulders were inclined
to lurch, and their speech was the least bit thick. Wonderful to relate,
brandy-and-water used to be served to these topers in the drawing-room
itself.
Mr. Dering had altered little in his dinner customs. They mostly
belonged to the Sixties, with a survival of some belonging to the
Thirties. Things were carved upon the sideboard: this was in deference
to modern custom: champagne formed an integral part of the meal: but the
dinner itself was solid: the cloth after dinner was removed, leaving the
dark polished mahogany after the old fashion: the furniture of the room
was also in the old style: the chairs were heavy and solid: the walls
were hung with a dark crimson paper of velvety texture: the curtains and
the carpets were red: there were pictures of game and fruit: the
sideboard was as solid as the table.
Checkley the clerk, who was invited as a faithful servant of the House,
to the celebration of the new partnership, was the first to arrive.
Dressed in a hired suit, he looked like an undertaker's assistant: the
gloom upon his face heightened the resemblance. Why the partnership
caused this appearance of gloom, I know not. Certainly, he could never
expect to be made a partner himself. It was perhaps a species of
jealousy which filled his soul. He would no longer know so much of the
business.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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