This important gentleman's
occupation might be guessed from his dress. A milk-white jerkin, and
hose of white kersey; a white apron twisted around his body in the
manner of a sash, in which, instead of a war-like dagger, was stuck a
long-bladed knife, hilted with buck's-horn; a white nightcap on his
head, under which his hair was neatly tucked, sufficiently pourtrayed
him as one of those priests of Comus whom the vulgar call cooks; and
the air with which he rated the publican for having neglected to send
some provisions to the Palace, showed that he ministered to royalty
itself.
"This will never answer," he said, "Master Kilderkin--the king twice
asked for sweetbreads, and fricasseed coxcombs, which are a favourite
dish of his most Sacred Majesty, and they were not to be had, because
Master Kilderkin had not supplied them to the clerk of the kitchen, as
by bargain bound." Here Kilderkin made some apology, brief, according
to his own nature, and muttered in a lowly tone after the fashion of
all who find themselves in a scrape. His superior replied, in a lofty
strain of voice, "Do not tell me of the carrier and his wain, and of
the hen-coops coming from Norfolk with the poultry; a loyal man would
have sent an express--he would have gone upon his stumps, like
Widdrington. What if the king had lost his appetite, Master Kilderkin?
What if his most Sacred Majesty had lost his dinner? O, Master
Kilderkin, if you had but the just sense of the dignity of our
profession, which is told of by the witty African slave, for so the
king's most excellent Majesty designates him, Publius Terentius,
_Tanguam in specula--in patinas inspicerejubeo_.
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