226 BOOK OF A HUNDRED BEARS 



The Park air does make one think of eating long 

 before the dinner hour, and we were fully ready, 

 but not prepared for such a meal. The table was 

 set with beautiful silver, exquisite naperj^, and 

 shaded candles. The duchess who waited on us 

 was the best of her kind — swift, handy, and good 

 to look at. 



And the dinner! It began with a bisque of 

 tomato, smooth as its porcelain namesake; then a 

 great planked whitefish; a saute of chicken livers; 

 a broiled squab with a punch of Maraschino that 

 Sherry could not surpass; a green salad; a Nes- 

 selrode pudding; black coffee and real Camem- 

 bert cheese — none of your imitations — and a 

 touch, you know, just a touch, of that nectar that 

 is brewed by some wondrous beings from the es- 

 sence of the humble but much-loved mint — green, 

 translucent — that finishing touch that, with its 

 soothing force, harmonizes all that has gone 

 before. 



I fear I grow old. I lose my sense of proportion. 

 In retrospect, that dinner looms as grandly as Old 

 Faithful. It was the most beautiful thing in the 



