s-Royces. We've rather
worked the thing up at home. Come and dine with us and see for yourself."

We had sausages and mashed potatoes, with water. And I may say that never
have I enjoyed a meal more. You see, Holder kept on telling us all the time
about the famous dinner which now, owing to the War, we should never really
eat, but which we were at perfect liberty to imagine we were eating. I am
sorry you were not there. The _hors d'oeuvres_! Holder describes _hors
d'oeuvres_ better than any man I know. Oh, masterly, the colour ... RUSKIN,
perhaps. Anyhow, he carried us quite away.

His wife chose oysters. His description of oysters, instantly furnished,
was a little gem--a pearl, silver-grey, so much so that I too chose
oysters. His little boy, Dickie, chose caviare; but he really did not care
for it. He bit on a piece of button in his sausage, poor child. That was
why he did not appreciate the caviare. But Holder distracted his mind with
some very remarkable mushroom soup--_potage de champignons_--a brilliant
word-sketch. We all chose it.

For fish there was saus--pardon me, sole. The little lad, Dickie, chose
salmon; but Holder reminded him that he had had salmon the previous
evening; it was out of season in any case, and he described how the sole
tasted that probably Dickie will never touch. The boy appeared to enjoy it
immensely.

I think it was the game, simple roast partridges, exquisitely cooked, which
Mrs. Holder enjoyed most. Her eyes were frankly shining as she pensively
chewed the third quarter of her sausage, and she thrilled to the juices of
the partridge of the dinner she could no longer hope really to eat, but
which Holder, thank God, would often describe, at any rate until a tax is
put on conversation. Even then something might be done--deaf and dumb
language, possibly--an evasion, I admit, but even the New Poor must eat
occasionally.

We all enjoyed the game course most, with the exception of Dickie. The lad
had finished his sausage, and mashed potato alone is not inspiring. But
that great man, Holder, noticed it in time, and he satisfied the child with
a word-painting of the brown crisp skin of cooked goose. Then we drank some
magnificent wine. Holder ransacked the English language for it. A vivifying
champagne.

But enough of food, or you will think we were gourmands. None of us cared
for any sweets after such a meal. And that is what I like about the
Holders: with them enough is as good as the