Ragged Trousered Philanthropists by Robert Tressell (fiction novels to read .txt) 📕

The Filling of the Tank

Viewed from outside, the `Cricketers Arms’ was a pretentious-looking

building with plate-glass windows and a profusion of gilding. The

pilasters were painted in imitation of different marbles and the doors

grained to represent costly woods. There were panels containing

painted advertisements of wines and spirits and beer, written in gold,

and ornamented with gaudy colours. On the lintel over the principal

entrance was inscribed in small white letters:

`A. Harpy. Licensed to sell wines, spirits and malt liquor by retail

to be consumed either on or off the premises.’

The bar was arranged in the usual way, being divided into several

compartments. First there was the `Saloon Bar’: on the glass of the

door leading into this was fixed a printed bill: `No four ale served

in this bar.’ Next to the saloon bar was the jug and bottle

department, much appreciated by ladies who wished to indulge in a drop

of gin on the quiet. There were also two small `private’ bars, only

capable of holding two or three persons, where nothing less than

fourpennyworth of spirits or glasses of ale at threepence were served.

Finally, the public bar, the largest compartment of all. At each end,

separating it from the other departments, was a wooden partition,

painted and varnished.

Wooden forms fixed across the partitions and against the walls under

the windows provided seating accommodation for the customers. A large

automatic musical instrument - a `penny in the slot’ polyphone -

resembling a grandfather’s clock in shape - stood against one of the

partitions and close up to the counter, so that those behind the bar

could reach to wind it up. Hanging on the partition near the

polyphone was a board about fifteen inches square, over the surface of

which were distributed a number of small hooks, numbered. At the

bottom of the board was a net made of fine twine, extended by means of

a semicircular piece of wire. In this net several india-rubber rings

about three inches in diameter were lying. There was no table in the

place but jutting out from the other partition was a hinged flap about

three feet long by twenty inches wide, which could be folded down when

not in use. This was the shove-ha’penny board. The coins - old

French pennies - used in playing this game were kept behind the bar

and might be borrowed on application. On the partition, just above

the shove-ha’penny board was a neatly printed notice, framed and

glazed:

NOTICE

Gentlemen using this house are requested to

refrain from using obscene language.

Alongside this notice were a number of gaudily-coloured bills

advertising the local theatre and the music-hall, and another of a

travelling circus and menagerie, then visiting the town and encamped

on a piece of waste ground about half-way on the road to Windley. The

fittings behind the bar, and the counter, were of polished mahogany,

with silvered plate glass at the back of the shelves. On the shelves

were rows of bottles and cut-glass decanters, gin, whisky, brandy and

wines and liqueurs of different kinds.

When Crass, Philpot, Easton and Bundy entered, the landlord, a

well-fed, prosperous-looking individual in white shirt-sleeves, and a

bright maroon fancy waistcoat with a massive gold watch-chain and a

diamond ring, was conversing in an affable, friendly way with one of

his regular customers, who was sitting on the end of the seat close to

the counter, a shabbily dressed, bleary-eyed, degraded, beer-sodden,

trembling wretch, who spent the greater part of every day, and all his

money, in this bar. He was a miserable-looking wreck of a man about

thirty years of age, supposed to be a carpenter, although he never

worked at that trade now. It was commonly said that some years

previously he had married a woman considerably his senior, the

landlady of a third-rate lodging-house. This business was evidently

sufficiently prosperous to enable him to exist without working and to

maintain himself in a condition of perpetual semi-intoxication. This

besotted wretch practically lived at the ‘Cricketers’. He came

regularly very morning and sometimes earned a pint of beer by

assisting the barman to sweep up the sawdust or clean the windows. He

usually remained in the bar until closing time every night. He was a

very good customer; not only did he spend whatever money he could get

hold of himself, but he was the cause of others spending money, for he

was acquainted with most of the other regular customers, who, knowing

his impecunious condition, often stood him a drink `for the good of

the house’.

The only other occupant of the public bar - previous to the entrance

of Crass and his mates - was a semi-drunken man, who appeared to be a

house-painter, sitting on the form near the shove-ha’penny board. He

was wearing a battered bowler hat and the usual shabby clothes. This

individual had a very thin, pale face, with a large, high-bridged

nose, and bore a striking resemblance to the portraits of the first

Duke of Wellington. He was not a regular customer here, having

dropped in casually about two o’clock and had remained ever since. He

was beginning to show the effects of the drink he had taken during

that time.

As Crass and the others came in they were hailed with enthusiasm by

the landlord and the Besotted Wretch, while the semi-drunk workman

regarded them with fishy eyes and stupid curiosity.

`Wot cheer, Bob?’ said the landlord, affably, addressing Crass, and

nodding familiarly to the others. `‘Ow goes it?’

`All reet me ole dear!’ replied Crass, jovially. `‘Ow’s yerself?’

`A.1,’ replied the `Old Dear’, getting up from his chair in readiness

to execute their orders.

`Well, wot’s it to be?’ inquired Philpot of the others generally.

`Mine’s a pint o’ beer,’ said Crass.

`Half for me,’ said Bundy.

`Half o’ beer for me too,’ replied Easton.

`That’s one pint, two ‘arves, and a pint o’ porter for meself,’ said

Philpot, turning and addressing the Old Dear.

While the landlord was serving these drinks the Besotted Wretch

finished his beer and set the empty glass down on the counter, and

Philpot observing this, said to him:

`‘Ave one along o’ me?’

`I don’t mind if I do,’ replied the other.

When the drinks were served, Philpot, instead of paying for them,

winked significantly at the landlord, who nodded silently and

unobtrusively made an entry in an account book that was lying on one

of the shelves. Although it was only Monday and he had been at work

all the previous week, Philpot was already stony broke. This was

accounted for by the fact that on Saturday he had paid his landlady

something on account of the arrears of board and lodging money that

had accumulated while he was out of work; and he had also paid the Old

Dear four shillings for drinks obtained on tick during the last week.

`Well, ‘ere’s the skin orf yer nose,’ said Crass, nodding to Philpot,

and taking a long pull at the pint glass which the latter had handed

to him.

Similar appropriate and friendly sentiments were expressed by the

others and suitably acknowledged by Philpot, the founder of the feast.

The Old Dear now put a penny in the slot of the polyphone, and winding

it up started it playing. It was some unfamiliar tune, but when the

Semidrunk Painter heard it he rose unsteadily to his feet and began

shuffling and dancing about, singing:

‘Oh, we’ll inwite you to the wedding,

An’ we’ll ‘ave a glorious time!

Where the boys an’ girls is a-dancing,

An’ we’ll all get drunk on wine.’

`‘Ere! that’s quite enough o’ that!’ cried the landlord, roughly. `We

don’t want that row ‘ere.’

The Semidrunk stopped, and looking stupidly at the Old Dear, sank

abashed on to the seat again.

`Well, we may as well sit as stand - for a few minutes,’ remarked

Crass, suiting the action to the word. The others followed his

example.

At frequent intervals the bar was entered by fresh customers, most of

them working men on their way home, who ordered and drank their pint

or half-pint of ale or porter and left at once. Bundy began reading

the advertisement of the circus and menageries and a conversation

ensued concerning the wonderful performances of the trained animals.

The Old Dear said that some of them had as much sense as human beings,

and the manner with which he made this statement implied that he

thought it was a testimonial to the sagacity of the brutes. He

further said that he had heard - a little earlier in the evening - a

rumour that one of the wild animals, a bear or something, had broken

loose and was at present at large. This was what he had heard - he

didn’t know if it were true or not. For his own part he didn’t

believe it, and his hearers agreed that it was highly improbable.

Nobody ever knew how these silly yarns got about.

Presently the Besotted Wretch got up and, taking the india-rubber

rings out of the net with a trembling hand, began throwing them one at

a time at the hooks on the. board. The rest of the company watched

him with much interest, laughing when he made a very bad shot and

applauding when he scored.

`‘E’s a bit orf tonight,’ remarked Philpot aside to Easton, ‘but as a

rule ‘e’s a fair knockout at it. Throws a splendid ring.’

The Semidrunk regarded the proceedings of the Besotted Wretch with an

expression of profound contempt.

`You can’t play for nuts,’ he said scornfully.

`Can’t I? I can play you, anyway.’

`Right you are! I’ll play you for drinks round!’ cried the

Semidrunk.

For a moment the Besotted Wretch hesitated. He had not money enough

to pay for drinks round. However, feeling confident of winning, he

replied:

`Come on then. What’s it to be? Fifty up?’

`Anything you like! Fifty or a ‘undred or a bloody million!’

`Better make it fifty for a start.’

`All right!’

`You play first if you like.’

`All right,’ agreed the Semidrunk, anxious to distinguish himself.

Holding the six rings in his left hand, the man stood in the middle of

the floor at a distance of about three yards from the board, with his

right foot advanced. Taking one of the rings between the forefinger

and thumb of his right hand, and closing his left eye, he carefully

`sighted’ the centre hook, No. 13; then he slowly extended his arm to

its full length in the direction of the board: then bending his elbow,

he brought his hand back again until it nearly touched his chin, and

slowly extended his arm again. He repeated these movements several

times, whilst the others watched with bated breath. Getting it right

at last he suddenly shot the ring at the board, but it did not go on

No. 13; it went over the partition into the private bar.

This feat was greeted with a roar of laughter. The player stared at

the board in a dazed way, wondering what had become of the ring. When

someone in the next bar threw it over the partition again, he realized

what had happened and, turning to the company