by W. W. Jacobs
CHAPTER XI--_Cupid takes a Hand_
Upper Thames Street is not what it used to be in the days whenFairbrothers' was young. One by one the low, grimy warehouses aredisappearing, to give place to noble edifices with elaborate officeroom and electric light. Bit by bit the narrow roadway becomes widened,and the blocking of traffic less frequent.
The language there is not what it used to be. Ancient carmen, who havebecome locally notorious over victories on the question of choking thenarrowest thoroughfare, and who have displayed powers of floweryrepartee that no cabman dare challenge, now ride sorrowfully along insilence. Not many of them are left; the newness is killing them off andplacing smart young uniformed men in their places.
The public-houses are disappearing, too; at least, the old ones are,for new ones rise rapidly on the same ground, and "business is carriedon as usual during alterations." The beer there is not what it used tobe; so say the old hands, and they ought to know, for they've taken itregularly enough, and can speak from experience.
Everything in Upper Thames Street is affected by the march of progress;and nothing more noticeably than the City man's caterer.
Forty years ago you had no choice but to pick a midday meal at thenearest tavern or a cook-shop. In the one you met red-faced men whoswore, took snuff, and whipped off a pint of ale like winking; in theother melancholy clerks, with family cares and whiskers, consumedboiled beef and carrots in a "dem'd demp," warm atmosphere, andfinished up with light snacks of plum-roll, as greasy and melancholy asthemselves. The young man with the clean collar was not catered forthen as he is to-day. There were young men then, of course--though notmany with clean collars--but they couldn't afford boiled beef, and werenot so educated to beer. Where they lunched is a mystery. I suspectthat the theory of a venerable dock porter, that "they took a bit o'grub in a handkercher, and ate it by the water-side," is very nearlycorrect. I suppose the office-boys of those days did the same thing.
Now the midday lunch is one great, wonderful and far-spreading meal. Itis as various as it is important; the one touch of interest to middayLondon. No class of the London worker is neglected; none so obscure,strange, or eccentric as to be forgotten. Boiled beef and carrots havefallen into disuse, except among a few obstinate grey-haired clerks,who would sooner give up clerking than change their habits; tavernlunches are popular enough, among bucolic book-keepers; but the greatman, the star luncher in the eye of the up-to-date caterer is the youngman with the clean collar.
For him and his kin we have the tea-shop, the dining-rooms, therestaurant, the cafe, Lyons', the A.B.C., the Mecca, and others. Snacksof fish, vegetarian dinners, quick lunches; smart waitresses to servehim and smile upon him. He sits upon a cushioned seat, looks at himselfin a mirror placed obsequiously before him, hangs his hat on a servile,gilded knob, and is requested to acquaint the manager with any uncivilbehaviour on the part of the menials of the establishment. When my lordhas finished his meal, which may cost anything from twopence upwards, agorgeous smoking-room yawns for his presence, at no extra cost. Hereagain the seats are cushioned and the mirrors opposite. Here aredraughts, dominoes, and chess, kept specially for him. All for theyoung man with the clean collar, whose pence are worth fawning for--thebest customer of the City caterer.
Upper Thames Street, with its noisy vans and riverside associations,has not been neglected by the caterer. It has its sprinkling of smarttea-rooms and restaurants within easy reach. To various of these theoffice youths of Fairbrothers' betake themselves daily, and to one inparticular go two members whom we will follow.
Henry Cacklin is a junior clerk of three months' service, a connoisseurof cigarettes, smart beyond his sixteen years, and a devil with thegirls. His companion, William Budd, is a mere office-boy, sixteen also,but with less business ability; due no doubt to his excessive interestin affairs that don't concern him. Cacklin has a strong partiality forsausage-and-mashed, when he can afford it, which is seldom. When hecannot it is his habit to look over the menu and inquire as to thequality of the present batch of sausages, finally deciding that as thelast were so disgustingly bad, he must try a ham sandwich and a cup ofcoffee.
Billy Budd, who makes no secret of his desire to have plenty for money,favours lemonade and the largest penny buns; a selection that arousesthe scorn of Cacklin, who wonders how any "feller" can expect to bechummy with the waitress on "buns"!
"Rotten tack that!" he says, contemptuously, toying delicately with hissandwich. "If you had brain work to do, old chap, you'd soon notice thewant of a bit of meat."
"No fear," said Billy. "What about old Busby? I saw him 'aving a bunand milk yesterday."
"Busby," said Cacklin, with a sneer; "a lot he hurts himself. I'd likehis job at half the price, and keep my grandmother out of the money."
Depreciation of other people's abilities was a sad failing withCacklin. He had at various times expressed his willingness to take overthe work of many of his superiors and do it with "one hand tied behindhim," besides showing them "a thing or two" about office work, if theyso desired it.
"Here, what do y' think!" said Billy, suddenly, stuffing his mouth fullof bun, "Saw old Polly last night and his girl. Nice little daisy, too,she was. Called him 'Thomas'--'Oh, Thomas!'"
Billy was convulsed for a few minutes at his own vulgar wit; much tothe disgust of his companion, whose attitude towards the fair sex wasdistinctly _blase_.
"She's no catch," said Cacklin; "I'd like him to see the little bit ofgoods I met up at Richmond last Sunday. Great Scott! old man, she wasrippin'; and quite a kid--only seventeen. She was fair gone, too; I hada regular howling job to get away from her. Promised to meet her onThursday, just to get away!"
Cacklin laughed at the recollection of his own subterfuge, and tipped awink to the waitress, who replied with a haughty stare.
"I say," said Billy, turning in his usual way to other people'saffairs; "Early's fairly got it, ain't he?"
"What do you mean by 'fairly got it'?" said Cacklin, annoyed at theindifference of the waitress.
"Why, got it with her--the missis. They went off together this morningin a hansom, as chummy as you like. Handed her in, he did, and put iton like winking when he spoke to the cabman; laughin' and talkin' likeblazes, they were."
Cacklin winked again, but this time at Billy Budd.
"If you want to know anything, my boy," he said, "you put your money onEarly. He knows his book, you take my tip. I've watched the game fromthe beginning, and I know a thing or two about it. The others may thinkthey're fly, and he may bamboozle them; but he'd have to get up beforesix to get over me on that lay."
He paused to light a cigarette, and then leant back in his seat.
"Now I'll tell you a bit more," he said, with a knowing squint. "Mr.George Early's playing up to hook her, and he'll do it, too. Put thatin your cigarette-holder, my son. She'll be Mrs. George Early soon, ifyou want to know anything."
"No fear," said Billy.
"Oh?" said Cacklin. "Well, if you like to bet on it I'll lay you a quidthat it comes off. I'll lay you a level quid that he marries her. Andit's a certainty, too, you'd lose the money."
"She wouldn't marry him," said Billy, stolidly.
"Wouldn't she?" said Cacklin. "You don't know anything about women, myboy. I suppose she hasn't had him up at her 'ouse much the last threeweeks, eh? Only about four times a week. They haven't been up in theoffice together much, have they? They ain't been out and about much,either? I didn't meet 'em at Earl's Court, did I, and Watkins didn'tsee 'em go to the Trocadero together, did he? You've had your eyesshut. Why, he's been following her about, and she's been running afterhim when he didn't, ever since the first day he did the bossing up inher office."
"What about saving her life? Matthews said she was chased by a madhorse, and Early saved her just as she was going to be trampled todeath."
"Matthews is a silly fool. I know all about his saving her: I've heardthe true story. She's cracked on him over that, and thinks him a hero.All women are the same. Ther
e was a fine gel cracked on me once throughhelping her over the road on a wet day. If Early takes my tip, he'llkeep the game up for all it's worth."
"What sort of boss d' you think he'd be?" said Billy.
"Thunderin' good!" said Cacklin, briefly.
"He ought to give us all a rise if he marries her," said William Budd,ruminating.
"So he will, you can bet," said the junior clerk. "Early's the rightsort of chap to boss the show; he's been putting the other chaps intheir places a bit in the last few weeks. About time, too. He's madePolly sit up, and Gray's been nearly off his crumpet. A lot of lazy'ounds, they are; rousing up the other chaps when they sleep all daythemselves."
With this summary verdict on his superiors, Cacklin produced adraught-board and prepared to give a scientific display of his powers,in a friendly game with Billy. This game was a regular feature in Mr.Cacklin's lunch-hour, and usually resulted in his making all thescientific moves while his opponent won the game; whereupon he wouldenter into a lengthy explanation of his slight error in not huffing atthe right time, by which action he would have taken four kings andliterally "romped home."
The present game came to an end in the usual way, Cacklin ascribing hisdefeat to his own generosity in giving his opponent "a chance" at acritical moment.
"Now I'll have a cheque if you _don't_ mind," he said, in sweetlyinsinuating tones to the waitress. "I must get back and start the menat work, and see my lady secretary about her holidays."
"Get back and sweep out the passage, you mean," said the girl, pertly.
Cacklin ignored this rude remark, and lit a fresh cigarette.
"Who was that young feller I saw you with last night?" he said, winkingat Billy.
"Keeper of the monkey-house, of course. Lucky thing he didn't see you."
"Don't be saucy now," said the junior clerk, pleasantly, "or I sha'n'ttake you up the river on Sunday. Give him my love this evening, andmind you're home by ten."
"Take him off," said the girl to Billy; "the coffee's got in his head."