Cheon was
Cheon, and only Cheon; and there is no word in the English language to
define Cheon or the position he filled, simply because there was never
another like Cheon.
"Chuckie!" he sang, placing the pullets before the Maluka, and
dispatching Jimmy's Nellie for hot plates; "Roast Vealer for Mac," and as
Mac smiled and acknowledged the honour, Rosy was dismissed. "Boilee
Ham" was allotted to the Dandy; and as Bertie's Nellie scampered away,
Cheon announced other triumphs in turn and in order of merit, each of the
company receiving a dish also in order of merit: Tam-o'-Shanter
contenting himself with the gravy boat, while, from the beginning, the
Quiet Stockman had been honoured with the hop-beer.
Long before the last waitress was relieved, the carvers were at work, and
the company was bubbling over with merriment. "Have some veal, chaps?"
the Sanguine Scot said, opening the ball by sticking a carving fork into
the great joint, and waving the knife in a general way round the company;
then as the gravy sizzed out in a steaming gurgle he added invitingly:
"Come on, chaps! This is VEAL prime stuff! None of your staggering Bob
tack"; and the Maluka and the Dandy bidding against him, to Cheon's
delight, every one "came on" for some of everything; for veal and ham and
chicken and several vegetables and sauces blend wonderfully together when
a Cheon's hand has been at the helm.
The higher the plates were piled the more infectious Cheon's chuckle
became, until nothing short of a national calamity could have checked our
flow of spirits. Mishaps only added to our enjoyment, and when a bottle
of hop-beer went off unexpectedly as the Quiet Stockman was preparing to
open it, and he, with the best intentions in the world, planted his thumb
over the mouth of the bottle, and directed two frothing streams over
himself and the company in general, the delight of every one was
unbounded - a delight intensified a hundredfold by Cheon, who, with his
last doubt removed, danced and gurgled in the background, chuckling in an
ecstasy of joy: "My word, missus! That one beer PLENTY jump up!" As
there were no carpets to spoil, and every one's clothes had been washed
again and again, no one's temper was spoiled, and a clean towel quickly
repairing all damages, our only regret was that a bottle of beer had been
lost.
But the plum-pudding was yet to come, and only Cheon was worthy to carry
it to the feast; and as he came through the leafy way, bearing the huge
mottled ball, as big as a bullock's head - all ablaze with spirits and
dancing light and crowned with mistletoe - it would have been difficult
to say which looked most pleased with itself, Cheon or the pudding; for
each seemed wreathed in triumphant smiles.
We held our breaths in astonishment, each feeling like the entire
Cratchit family rolled into one, and by the time we had recovered speech,
Cheon was soberly carrying one third of the pudding to the missus.
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