The only other notable efforts in the book were, as I have already
indicated, from the pens of Andrew Lang and Rudyard Kipling, and as the
preceding stories were characteristic of their authors, so were these
equally so. I have not the time to more than suggest their tenor
briefly. Mr. Lang's story was one of his charming made-over fairy tales,
and he unfortunately introduced that most fearsome of dragons Fafner
into it. He was held, however, in captivity, and had the situation in
which Mr. Lang left him been allowed to remain undisturbed, all would
have been well, and "Over the Plum-Pudding" would not have met with
disaster. Mr. Kipling, however, chose to contribute a Mulvaney story,
and herein lay the whole trouble. Mulvaney and his two roystering
companions, Ortheris and Learoyd, start in on a Christmas spree, and
they do it in their own complete fashion, and Mr. Kipling never in his
life drew his characters more vividly and vigorously; but this time he
did it too vigorously. The three musketeers of the British army got
beyond his control, and it is the fact that when "Over the Plum-Pudding"
was ready for presentation to the public they broke loose from the story
in which they were supposed to be confined; went rushing and roaring,
regardless of the etiquette of the situation, through every other tale
in the book, found the bottle of whiskey which the nurse-maid in Mr.
Caine's story had left on the mantel-piece, drained it to the dregs, and
then, under the mad influence of the alcohol, _let Fafner loose_.
Their fate may easily be imagined. They were at once destroyed by the
angry beast, who, after making a meal upon them, rushed like a
steam-engine through the Sherlock Holmes story, swallowing its
characters one and all as though they were naught but salted almonds;
breathed fire upon Meredith's shot-tower until it tottered and fell, a
smoking ruin; chewed up the frozen little gamin in the Van Bibber
sketch; withered Van Bibber and his overcoat and his friends by one
snorting blast of steam from his left nostril; and, in fact, to make a
long story shorter than it might be, strewed blue ruin from title-page
to finis of "Over the Plum-Pudding." It is the fact that on the morning
set for the presentation of the edition to the public, on opening my own
copy of the book there was not a character in it left alive; not a house
that had not been reduced to charred timbers and ashes; not a scene that
was not withered as by the flames of perdition, and where once had been
a strong portrayal of a scene of happy social revels, the ballroom of
Mrs. Winchley, where Van Bibber was to lead the cotillon, lay
Fafner--dead. Kipling's characters were too much for his digestion.