“Why, a batter-pudding,” he said, taking up a table-spoon, “is my favorite pudding! Ain’t that lucky? Come on, little ‘un, and let’s see who’ll get most.” The waiter certainly got most. He entreated me more than once to come in and win, but what with his table-spoon to my tea-spoon, his dispatch to my dispatch, and his appetite to my appetite, I was left far behind at the first mouthful, and had no chance with him.
