the uncommercial traveller-第15节

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picture　of　the　refreshment…table　at　that　terminus。　　The

conventional　shabby　evening…party　supper　…　accepted　as　the　model

for　all　termini　and　all　refreshment　stations；　because　it　is　the

last　repast　known　to　this　state　of　existence　of　which　any　human

creature　would　partake；　but　in　the　direst　extremity　…　sickens　your

contemplation；　and　your　words　are　these：　　'I　cannot　dine　on　stale

sponge…cakes　that　turn　to　sand　in　the　mouth。　　I　cannot　dine　on

shining　brown　patties；　composed　of　unknown　animals　within；　and

offering　to　my　view　the　device　of　an　indigestible　star…fish　in

leaden　pie…crust　without。　　I　cannot　dine　on　a　sandwich　that　has

long　been　pining　under　an　exhausted　receiver。　　I　cannot　dine　on

barley…sugar。　　I　cannot　dine　on　Toffee。'　　You　repair　to　the　nearest

hotel；　and　arrive；　agitated；　in　the　coffee…room。



It　is　a　most　astonishing　fact　that　the　waiter　is　very　cold　to　you。

Account　for　it　how　you　may；　smooth　it　over　how　you　will；　you　cannot

deny　that　he　is　cold　to　you。　　He　is　not　glad　to　see　you；　he　does

not　want　you；　he　would　much　rather　you　hadn't　come。　　He　opposes　to

your　flushed　condition；　an　immovable　composure。　　As　if　this　were

not　enough；　another　waiter；　born；　as　it　would　seem；　expressly　to

look　at　you　in　this　passage　of　your　life；　stands　at　a　little

distance；　with　his　napkin　under　his　arm　and　his　hands　folded；

looking　at　you　with　all　his　might。　　You　impress　on　your　waiter　that

you　have　ten　minutes　for　dinner；　and　he　proposes　that　you　shall

begin　with　a　bit　of　fish　which　will　be　ready　in　twenty。　　That

proposal　declined；　he　suggests　…　as　a　neat　originality　…　'a　weal　or

mutton　cutlet。'　　You　close　with　either　cutlet；　any　cutlet；

anything。　　He　goes；　leisurely；　behind　a　door　and　calls　down　some

unseen　shaft。　　A　ventriloquial　dialogue　ensues；　tending　finally　to

the　effect　that　weal　only；　is　available　on　the　spur　of　the　moment。

You　anxiously　call　out；　'Veal；　then！'　　Your　waiter　having　settled

that　point；　returns　to　array　your　tablecloth；　with　a　table　napkin

folded　cocked…hat…wise　（slowly；　for　something　out　of　window　engages

his　eye）；　a　white　wine…glass；　a　green　wine…glass；　a　blue　finger…

glass；　a　tumbler；　and　a　powerful　field　battery　of　fourteen　casters

with　nothing　in　them；　or　at　all　events　…　which　is　enough　for　your

purpose　…　with　nothing　in　them　that　will　come　out。　　All　this　time；

the　other　waiter　looks　at　you　…　with　an　air　of　mental　comparison

and　curiosity；　now；　as　if　it　had　occurred　to　him　that　you　are

rather　like　his　brother。　　Half　your　time　gone；　and　nothing　come　but

the　jug　of　ale　and　the　bread；　you　implore　your　waiter　to　'see　after

that　cutlet；　waiter；　pray　do！'　　He　cannot　go　at　once；　for　he　is

carrying　in　seventeen　pounds　of　American　cheese　for　you　to　finish

with；　and　a　small　Landed　Estate　of　celery　and　water…cresses。　　The

other　waiter　changes　his　leg；　and　takes　a　new　view　of　you；

doubtfully；　now；　as　if　he　had　rejected　the　resemblance　to　his

brother；　and　had　begun　to　think　you　more　like　his　aunt　or　his

grandmother。　　Again　you　beseech　your　waiter　with　pathetic

indignation；　to　'see　after　that　cutlet！'　　He　steps　out　to　see　after

it；　and　by…and…by；　when　you　are　going　away　without　it；　comes　back

with　it。　　Even　then；　he　will　not　take　the　sham　silver　cover　off；

without　a　pause　for　a　flourish；　and　a　look　at　the　musty　cutlet　as

if　he　were　surprised　to　see　it　…　which　cannot　possibly　be　the　case；

he　must　have　seen　it　so　often　before。　　A　sort　of　fur　has　been

produced　upon　its　surface　by　the　cook's　art；　and　in　a　sham　silver

vessel　staggering　on　two　feet　instead　of　three；　is　a　cutaneous　kind

of　sauce　of　brown　pimples　and　pickled　cucumber。　　You　order　the

bill；　but　your　waiter　cannot　bring　your　bill　yet；　because　he　is

bringing；　instead；　three　flinty…hearted　potatoes　and　two　grim　head

of　broccoli；　like　the　occasional　ornaments　on　area　railings；　badly

boiled。　　You　know　that　you　will　never　come　to　this　pass；　any　more

than　to　the　cheese　and　celery；　and　you　imperatively　demand　your

bill；　but；　it　takes　time　to　get；　even　when　gone　for；　because　your

waiter　has　to　communicate　with　a　lady　who　lives　behind　a　sash…

window　in　a　corner；　and　who　appears　to　have　to　refer　to　several

Ledgers　before　she　can　make　it　out　…　as　if　you　had　been　staying

there　a　year。　　You　become　distracted　to　get　away；　and　the　other

waiter；　once　more　changing　his　leg；　still　looks　at　you　…　but

suspiciously；　now；　as　if　you　had　begun　to　remind　him　of　the　party

who　took　the　great…coats　last　winter。　　Your　bill　at　last　brought

and　paid；　at　the　rate　of　sixpence　a　mouthful；　your　waiter

reproachfully　reminds　you　that　'attendance　is　not　charged　for　a

single　meal；'　and　you　have　to　search　in　all　your　pockets　for

sixpence　more。　　He　has　a　worse　opinion　of　you　than　ever；　when　you

have　given　it　to　him；　and　lets　you　out　into　the　street　with　the　air

of　one　saying　to　himself；　as　you　cannot　again　doubt　he　is；　'I　hope

we　shall　never　see　YOU　here　again！'



Or；　take　any　other　of　the　numerous　travelling　instances　in　which；

with　more　time　at　your　disposal；　you　are；　have　been；　or　may　be；

equally　ill　served。　　Take　the　old…established　Bull's　Head　with　its

old…established　knife…boxes　on　its　old…established　sideboards；　its

old…established　flue　under　its　old…established　four…post　bedsteads

in　its　old…established　airless　rooms；　its　old…established

frouziness　up…stairs　and　down…stairs；　its　old…established　cookery；

and　its　old…established　principles　of　plunder。　　Count　up　your

injuries；　in　its　side…dishes　of　ailing　sweetbreads　in　white

poultices；　of　apothecaries'　powders　in　rice　for　curry；　of　pale

stewed　bits　of　calf　ineffectually　relying　for　an　adventitious

interest　on　forcemeat　balls。　　You　have　had　experience　of　the　old…

established　Bull's　Head　stringy　fowls；　with　lower　extremities　like

wooden　legs；　sticking　up　out　of　the　dish；　of　its　cannibalic　boiled

mutton；　gushing　horribly　among　its　capers；　when　carved；　of　its

little　dishes　of　pastry　…　roofs　of　spermaceti　ointment；　erected

over　half　an　apple　or　four　gooseberries。　　Well　for　you　if　you　have

yet　forgotten　the　old…established　Bull's　Head　fruity　port：　　whose

reputation　was　gained　solely　by　the　old…established　price　the

Bull's　Head　put　upon　it；　and　by　the　old…established　air　with　which

the　Bull's　Head　set　the　glasses　and　D'Oyleys　on；　and　held　that

Liquid　Gout　to　the　three…and…sixpenny　wax…candle；　as　if　its　old…

established　colour　hadn't　come　from　the　dyer's。



Or　lastly；　take　to　finish　with；　two　cases　that　we　all　know；　every

day。



We　all　know　the　new　hotel　near　the　station；　where　it　is　always

gusty；　going　up　the　lane　which　is　always　muddy；　where　we　are　sure

to　arrive　at　night；　and　where　we　make　the　gas　start　awfully　when　we

open　the　front　door。　　We　all　know　the　flooring　of　the　passages　and

staircases　that　is　too　new；　and　the　walls　that　are　too　new；　and　the

house　that　is　haunted　by　the　ghost　of　mortar。　　We　all　know　the

doors　that　have　cracked；　and　the　cracked　shutters　through　which　we

get　a　glimpse　of　the　disconsolate　moon。　　We　all　know　the　new

people；　who　have　come　to　keep　the　new　hotel；　and　who　wish　they　had

never　come；　and　who　（inevitable　result）　wish　WE　had　never　come。　　We

all　know　how　much　too　scant　and　smooth　and　bright　the　new　furniture

is；　and　how　it　has　never　settled　down；　and　cannot　fit　itself　into

right　places；　and　will　get　into　wrong　places。　　We　all　know　how　the

gas；　being　lighted；　shows　maps　of　Damp　upon　the　walls。　　We　all　know

how　the　ghost　of　mortar　passes　into　our　sandwich；　stirs　our　negus；

goes　up　to　bed　with　us；　ascends　the　pale　bedroom　chimney；　and

prevents　the　smoke　from　following。　　We　all　know　how　a　leg　of　our

chair　comes　off　at　breakfast　in　the　morning；　and　how　the　dejected

waiter　attributes　the　accident　to　a　general　greenness　pervading　the

establishment；　and　informs　us；　in　reply　to　a　local　inquiry；　that　he

is　thankful　to　say　he　is　an　entire　stranger　in　that　part　of　the

country　and　is　going　back　to　his　own　connexion　on　Saturday。



We　all　know；　on　the　other　hand；　the　great　station　hotel　belonging

to　the　company　of　proprietors；　which　has　suddenly　sprung　up　in　the

back　outskirts　of　any　place　we　like　to　name；　and　where　we　look　out

of　our　palatial　windows　at　little　back　yards　and　gardens；　old

summer…houses；　fowl…houses；　pigeon…traps；　and　pigsties。　　We　all

know　this　hotel　in　which　we　can　get　anything　we　want；　after　its

kind；　for　money；　but　where　nobody　is　glad　to　see　us；　or　sorry　to

see　us；　or　minds　（our　bill　paid）　whether　we　come　or　go；　or　how；　or

when；　or　why；　or　cares　about　us。　　We　all　know　this　hotel；　where　we

have　no　individuality；　but　put　ourselves　into　the　general　post；　as

it　were；　and　are　sorted　and　disposed　of　according　to　our　division。

We　all　know　that　we　can　get　on　very　well　indeed　at　such　a　place；

but　still　not　perfectly　well；　and　this　may　be；　because　the　place　is

largely　wholesale；　and　there　is　a　lingering　personal　retail

interest　within　us　that　asks　to　be　satisfied。



To　sum　up。　　My　uncommercial　travelling　has　not　yet　broug