The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists [101]
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 Semi-drunk 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 Semi-drunk 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 Semi-drunk 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 Semi-drunk 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 Semi-drunk 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
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 Semi-drunk 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 Semi-drunk 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 Semi-drunk 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 Semi-drunk 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 Semi-drunk 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