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

remarked:

`I ain’t got properly used to this board yet: that’s the reason of

it.’

He now began throwing the other rings at the board rather wildly,

without troubling to take aim. One struck the partition to the right

of the board: one to the left: one underneath: one went over the

counter, one on the floor, the other - the last - hit the board, and

amid a shout of applause, caught on the centre hook No. 13, the

highest number it was possible to scare with a single throw.

`I shall be all right now that I’ve got the range,’ observed the Semidrunk as he made way for his opponent.

`You’ll see something now,’ whispered Philpot to Easton. ‘This bloke

is a dandy!’

The Besotted Wretch took up his position and with an affectation of

carelessness began throwing the rings. It was really a remarkable

exhibition, for notwithstanding the fact that his hand trembled like

the proverbial aspen leaf, he succeeded in striking the board almost

in the centre every time; but somehow or other most of them failed to

catch on the hooks and fell into the net. When he finished his

innings, he had only scored 4, two of the rings having caught on the

No. 2 hook.

`‘Ard lines,’ remarked Bundy as he finished his beer and put the glass

down on the counter.

`Drink up and ‘ave another,’ said Easton as he drained his own glass.

`I don’t mind if I do,’ replied Crass, pouring what remained of the

pint down his throat.

Philpot’s glass had been empty for some time.

`Same again,’ said Easton, addressing the Old Dear and putting six

pennies on the counter.

By this time the Semidrunk had again opened fire on the board, but he

seemed to have lost the range, for none of the rings scored.

They flew all over the place, and he finished his innings without

increasing his total.

The Besotted Wretch now sailed in and speedily piled up 37. Then the

Semidrunk had another go, and succeeded in getting 8. His case

appeared hopeless, but his opponent in his next innings seemed to go

all to pieces. Twice he missed the board altogether, and when he did

hit it he failed to score, until the very last throw, when he made 1.

Then the Semidrunk went in again and got 10.

The scores were now:

Besotted Wretch …………………… 42

Semidrunk ……………………….. 31

So far it was impossible to foresee the end. It was anybody’s game.

Crass became so excited that he absentmindedly opened his mouth and

shot his second pint down into his stomach with a single gulp, and

Bundy also drained his glass and called upon Philpot and Easton to

drink up and have another, which they accordingly did.

While the Semidrunk was having his next innings, the Besotted Wretch

placed a penny on the counter and called for a half a pint, which he

drank in the hope of steadying his nerves for a great effort. His

opponent meanwhile threw the rings at the board and missed it every

time, but all the same he scored, for one ring, after striking the

partition about a foot above the board, fell down and caught on the

hook.

The other man now began his innings, playing very carefully, and

nearly every ring scored. As he played, the others uttered

exclamations of admiration and called out the result of every throw.

`One!’

`One again!’

`Miss! No! Got ‘im! Two!’

`Miss!’

`Miss!’

`Four!’

The Semidrunk accepted his defeat with a good grace, and after

explaining that he was a bit out of practice, placed a shilling on the

counter and invited the company to give their orders. Everyone asked

for `the same again,’ but the landlord served Easton, Bundy and the

Besotted Wretch with pints instead of half-pints as before, so there

was no change out of the shilling.

`You know, there’s a great deal in not bein’ used to the board,’ said

the Semidrunk.

`There’s no disgrace in bein’ beat by a man like ‘im, mate,’ said

Philpot. `‘E’s a champion!’

`Yes, there’s no mistake about it. ‘E throws a splendid ring!’ said

Bundy.

This was the general verdict. The Semidrunk, though beaten, was not

disgraced: and he was so affected by the good feeling manifested by

the company that he presently produced a sixpence and insisted on

paying for another half-pint all round.

Crass had gone outside during this conversation, but he returned in a

few minutes. `I feel a bit easier now,’ he remarked with a laugh as

he took the half-pint glass that the Semidrunk passed to him with a

shaking hand. One after the other, within a few minutes, the rest

followed Crass’s example, going outside and returning almost

immediately: and as Bundy, who was the last to return, came back he

exclaimed:

`Let’s ‘ave a game of shove-‘a’penny.’

`All right,’ said Easton, who was beginning to feel reckless. `But

drink up first, and let’s ‘ave another.’

He had only sevenpence left, just enough to pay for another pint for

Crass and half a pint for everyone else.

The shove-ha’penny table was a planed mahogany board with a number of

parallel lines scored across it. The game is played by placing the

coin at the end of the board - the rim slightly overhanging the edge -

and striking it with the back part of the palm of the hand, regulating

the force of the blow according to the distance it is desired to drive

the coin.

`What’s become of Alf tonight?’ inquired Philpot of the landlord

whilst Easton and Bundy were playing. Alf was the barman.

`‘E’s doing a bit of a job down in the cellar; some of the valves gone

a bit wrong. But the missus is comin’ down to lend me a hand

presently. ‘Ere she is now.’

The landlady - who at this moment entered through the door at the back

of the bar - was a large woman with a highly-coloured countenance and

a tremendous bust, incased in a black dress with a shot silk blouse.

She had several jewelled gold rings on the fingers of each fat white

hand, and a long gold watch guard hung round her fat neck. She

greeted Crass and Philpot with condescension, smiling affably upon

them.

Meantime the game of shove-ha’penny proceeded merrily, the Semidrunk

taking a great interest in it and tendering advice to both players

impartially. Bundy was badly beaten, and then Easton suggested that

it was time to think of going home. This proposal - slightly modified -

met with general approval, the modification being suggested by

Philpot, who insisted on standing one final round of drinks before

they went.

While they were pouring this down their throats, Crass took a penny

from his waistcoat pocket and put it in the slot of the polyphone.

The landlord put a fresh disc into it and wound it up and it began to

play `The Boys of the Bulldog Breed.’ The Semidrunk happened to know

the words of the chorus of this song, and when he heard the music he

started unsteadily to his feet and with many fierce looks and gestures

began to roar at the top of his voice:

`They may build their ships, my lads,

And try to play the game,

But they can’t build the boys of the Bulldog breed,

Wot made ole Hingland’s -‘

`‘Ere! Stop that, will yer?’ cried the Old Dear, fiercely. `I told

you once before that I don’t allow that sort of thing in my ‘ouse!’

The Semidrunk stopped in confusion.

`I don’t mean no ‘arm,’ he said unsteadily, appealing to the company.

`I don’t want no chin from you!’ said the Old Dear with a ferocious

scowl. `If you want to make that row you can go somewheres else, and

the sooner you goes the better. You’ve been ‘ere long enough.’

This was true. The man had been there long enough to spend every

penny he had been possessed of when he first came: he had no money

left now, a fact that the observant and experienced landlord had

divined some time ago. He therefore wished to get rid of the fellow

before the drink affected him further and made him helplessly drunk.

The Semidrunk listened with indignation and wrath to the landlord’s

insulting words.

`I shall go when the bloody ‘ell I like!’ he shouted. `I shan’t ask

you nor nobody else! Who the bloody ‘ell are you? You’re nobody!

See? Nobody! It’s orf the likes of me that you gets your bloody

livin’! I shall stop ‘ere as long as I bloody well like, and if you

don’t like it you can go to ‘ell!’

`Oh! Yer will, will yer?’ said the Old Dear. `We’ll soon see about

that.’ And, opening the door at the back of the bar, he roared out:

`Alf!’

`Yes, sir,’ replied a voice, evidently from the basement.

`Just come up ‘ere.’

`All right,’ replied the voice, and footsteps were heard ascending

some stairs.

`You’ll see some fun in a minute,’ gleefully remarked Crass to Easton.

The polyphone continued to play 1The Boys of the Bulldog Breed.’

Philpot crossed over to the Semidrunk. `Look ‘ere, old man,’ he

whispered, `take my tip and go ‘ome quietly. You’ll only git the

worse of it, you know.’

`Not me, mate,’ replied the other, shaking his head doggedly. `‘Ere I

am, and ‘ere I’m goin’ to bloody well stop.’

`No, you ain’t,’ replied Philpot coaxingly. `‘Look ‘ere. I’ll tell you

wot we’ll do. You ‘ave just one more ‘arf-pint along of me, and then

we’ll both go ‘ome together. I’ll see you safe ‘ome.’

`See me safe ‘ome! Wotcher mean?’ indignantly demanded the other. ‘Do

you think I’m drunk or wot?’

`No. Certainly not,’ replied Philpot, hastily. `You’re all right, as

right as I am myself. But you know wot I mean. Let’s go ‘ome. You

don’t want to stop ‘ere all night, do you?’

By this time Alf had arrived at the door of the back of the bar. He

was a burly young man about twenty-two or twenty-three years of age.

`Put it outside,’ growled the landlord, indicating the culprit.

The barman instantly vaulted over the counter, and, having opened wide

the door leading into the street, he turned to the half-drunken man

and, jerking his thumb in the direction of the door, said:

`Are yer goin’?’

`I’m goin’ to ‘ave ‘arf a pint along of this genelman first -‘

`Yes. It’s all right,’ said Philpot to the landlord. `Let’s ‘ave two

‘arf-pints, and say no more about it.’

`You mind your own business,’ shouted the landlord, turning savagely

on him. `‘E’ll get no more ‘ere! I don’t want no drunken men in my

‘ouse. Who asked you to interfere?’

`Now then!’ exclaimed the barman to the cause of the trouble,

`Outside!’

`Not me!’ said the Semidrunk firmly. `Not before I’ve ‘ad my ‘arf -‘

But before he could conclude, the barman had clutched him by the

collar, dragged him violently to the door and shot him into the middle

of the road, where he fell in a heap almost under the wheels of a

brewer’s dray that happened to be passing. This accomplished, Alf

shut the door and retired behind the counter again.

`Serve ‘im bloody well right,’ said Crass.

`I couldn’t ‘elp laughin’ when I seen ‘im go flyin’ through the bloody

door,’ said Bundy.

`You oughter ‘ave more sense than to go interferin’ like that,’ said