CHAPTER
IV.
THE FOOD QUESTION. - OBJECTIONS TO
PARAFFINE OIL AS AN ATMOSPHERE. -
ADVANTAGES OF CHEESE AS A TRAVELLING
COMPANION. - A MARRIED WOMAN DESERTS
HER HOME. - FURTHER PROVISION FOR
GETTING UPSET. - I PACK. - CUSSEDNESS
OF TOOTH-BRUSHES. - GEORGE AND HARRIS
PACK. - AWFUL BEHAVIOUR OF
MONTMORENCY. - WE RETIRE TO REST.
THEN we discussed the food question.
George said:
"Begin with breakfast." (George
is so practical.) "Now for breakfast we
shall want a frying-pan" - (Harris
said it was indigestible; but we
merely urged him not to be an ass, and
George went on) - "a tea-pot and a
kettle, and a methylated spirit
stove."
"No oil," said George, with a
significant look; and Harris and I agreed.
We had taken up an oil-stove once, but
"never again." It had been like
living in an oil-shop that week. It
oozed. I never saw such a thing as
paraffine oil is to ooze. We kept it in
the nose of the boat, and, from
there, it oozed down to the rudder,
impregnating the whole boat and
everything in it on its way, and it oozed
over the river, and saturated
the scenery and spoilt the atmosphere.
Sometimes a westerly oily wind
blew, and at other times an easterly oily
wind, and sometimes it blew a
northerly oily wind, and maybe a
southerly oily wind; but whether it came
from the Arctic snows, or was raised in
the waste of the desert sands, it
came alike to us laden with the fragrance
of paraffine oil.
And that oil oozed up and ruined the
sunset; and as for the moonbeams,
they positively reeked of paraffine.
We tried to get away from it at Marlow.
We left the boat by the bridge,
and took a walk through the town to
escape it, but it followed us. The
whole town was full of oil. We passed
through the church-yard, and it
seemed as if the people had been buried
in oil. The High Street stunk of
oil; we wondered how people could live in
it. And we walked miles upon
miles out Birmingham way; but it was no
use, the country was steeped in
oil.
At the end of that trip we met together
at midnight in a lonely field,
under a blasted oak, and took an awful
oath (we had been swearing for a
whole week about the thing in an
ordinary, middle-class way, but this was
a swell affair) - an awful oath never to
take paraffine oil with us in a
boat again-except, of course, in case of
sickness.
Therefore, in the present instance, we
confined ourselves to methylated
spirit. Even that is bad enough. You get
methylated pie and methylated
cake. But methylated spirit is more
wholesome when taken into the system
in large quantities than paraffine oil.
For other breakfast things, George
suggested eggs and bacon, which were
easy to cook, cold meat, tea, bread and
butter, and jam. For lunch, he
said, we could have biscuits, cold meat,
bread and butter, and jam - but
NO CHEESE. Cheese, like oil, makes too
much of itself. It wants the
whole boat to itself. It goes through the
hamper, and gives a cheesy
flavour to everything else there. You
can't tell whether you are eating
apple-pie or German sausage, or
strawberries and cream. It all seems
cheese. There is too much odour about
cheese.
I remember a friend of mine, buying a
couple of cheeses at Liverpool.
Splendid cheeses they were, ripe and
mellow, and with a two hundred
horse-power scent about them that might
have been warranted to carry
three miles, and knock a man over at two
hundred yards. I was in
Liverpool at the time, and my friend said
that if I didn't mind he would
get me to take them back with me to
London, as he should not be coming up
for a day or two himself, and he did not
think the cheeses ought to be
kept much longer.
"Oh, with pleasure, dear boy,"
I replied, "with pleasure."
I called for the cheeses, and took them
away in a cab. It was a
ramshackle affair, dragged along by a
knock-kneed, broken-winded
somnambulist, which his owner, in a
moment of enthusiasm, during
conversation, referred to as a horse. I
put the cheeses on the top, and
we started off at a shamble that would
have done credit to the swiftest
steam-roller ever built, and all went
merry as a funeral bell, until we
turned the corner. There, the wind
carried a whiff from the cheeses full
on to our steed. It woke him up, and,
with a snort of terror, he dashed
off at three miles an hour. The wind
still blew in his direction, and
before we reached the end of the street
he was laying himself out at the
rate of nearly four miles an hour,
leaving the cripples and stout old
ladies simply nowhere.
It took two porters as well as the driver
to hold him in at the station;
and I do not think they would have done
it, even then, had not one of the
men had the presence of mind to put a
handkerchief over his nose, and to
light a bit of brown paper.
I took my ticket, and marched proudly up
the platform, with my cheeses,
the people falling back respectfully on
either side. The train was
crowded, and I had to get into a carriage
where there were already seven
other people. One crusty old gentleman
objected, but I got in,
notwithstanding; and, putting my cheeses
upon the rack, squeezed down
with a pleasant smile, and said it was a
warm day.
A few moments passed, and then the old
gentleman began to fidget.
"Very close in here," he said.
"Quite oppressive," said the
man next him.
And then they both began sniffing, and,
at the third sniff, they caught
it right on the chest, and rose up
without another word and went out.
And then a stout lady got up, and said it
was disgraceful that a
respectable married woman should be
harried about in this way, and
gathered up a bag and eight parcels and
went. The remaining four
passengers sat on for a while, until a
solemn-looking man in the corner,
who, from his dress and general
appearance, seemed to belong to the
undertaker class, said it put him in mind
of dead baby; and the other
three passengers tried to get out of the
door at the same time, and hurt
themselves.
I smiled at the black gentleman, and said
I thought we were going to have
the carriage to ourselves; and he laughed
pleasantly, and said that some
people made such a fuss over a little
thing. But even he grew strangely
depressed after we had started, and so,
when we reached Crewe, I asked
him to come and have a drink. He
accepted, and we forced our way into
the buffet, where we yelled, and stamped,
and waved our umbrellas for a
quarter of an hour; and then a young lady
came, and asked us if we wanted
anything.
"What's yours?" I said, turning
to my friend.
"I'll have half-a-crown's worth of
brandy, neat, if you please, miss," he
responded.
And he went off quietly after he had
drunk it and got into another
carriage, which I thought mean.
From Crewe I had the compartment to
myself, though the train was crowded.
As we drew up at the different stations,
the people, seeing my empty
carriage, would rush for it. "Here
y' are, Maria; come along, plenty of
room." "All right, Tom; we'll
get in here," they would shout. And they
would run along, carrying heavy bags, and
fight round the door to get in
first. And one would open the door and
mount the steps, and stagger back
into the arms of the man behind him; and
they would all come and have a
sniff, and then droop off and squeeze
into other carriages, or pay the
difference and go first.
From Euston, I took the cheeses down to
my friend's house. When his wife
came into the room she smelt round for an
instant. Then she said:
"What is it? Tell me the
worst."
I said:
"It's cheeses. Tom bought them in
Liverpool, and asked me to bring them
up with me."
And I added that I hoped she understood
that it had nothing to do with
me; and she said that she was sure of
that, but that she would speak to
Tom about it when he came back.
My friend was detained in Liverpool
longer than he expected; and, three
days later, as he hadn't returned home,
his wife called on me. She said:
"What did Tom say about those
cheeses?"
I replied that he had directed they were
to be kept in a moist place, and
that nobody was to touch them.
She said:
"Nobody's likely to touch them. Had
he smelt them?"
I thought he had, and added that he
seemed greatly attached to them.
"You think he would be upset,"
she queried, "if I gave a man a sovereign
to take them away and bury them?"
I answered that I thought he would never
smile again.
An idea struck her. She said:
"Do you mind keeping them for him?
Let me send them round to you."
"Madam," I replied, "for
myself I like the smell of cheese, and the
journey the other day with them from
Liverpool I shall ever look back
upon as a happy ending to a pleasant
holiday. But, in this world, we
must consider others. The lady under
whose roof I have the honour of
residing is a widow, and, for all I know,
possibly an orphan too. She
has a strong, I may say an eloquent,
objection to being what she terms
`put upon.' The presence of your
husband's cheeses in her house she
would, I instinctively feel, regard as a
`put upon'; and it shall never
be said that I put upon the widow and the
orphan."
"Very well, then," said my
friend's wife, rising, "all I have to say is,
that I shall take the children and go to
an hotel until those cheeses are
eaten. I decline to live any longer in
the same house with them."
She kept her word, leaving the place in
charge of the charwoman, who,
when asked if she could stand the smell,
replied, "What smell?" and who,
when taken close to the cheeses and told
to sniff hard, said she could
detect a faint odour of melons. It was
argued from this that little
injury could result to the woman from the
atmosphere, and she was left.
The hotel bill came to fifteen guineas;
and my friend, after reckoning
everything up, found that the cheeses had
cost him eight-and-sixpence a
pound. He said he dearly loved a bit of
cheese, but it was beyond his
means; so he determined to get rid of
them. He threw them into the
canal; but had to fish them out again, as
the bargemen complained. They
said it made them feel quite faint. And,
after that, he took them one
dark night and left them in the parish
mortuary. But the coroner
discovered them, and made a fearful fuss.
He said it was a plot to deprive him of
his living by waking up the
corpses.
My friend got rid of them, at last, by
taking them down to a sea-side
town, and burying them on the beach. It
gained the place quite a
reputation. Visitors said they had never
noticed before how strong the
air was, and weak-chested and consumptive
people used to throng there for
years afterwards.
Fond as I am of cheese, therefore, I hold
that George was right in
declining to take any.
"We shan't want any tea," said
George (Harris's face fell at this); "but
we'll have a good round, square, slap-up
meal at seven - dinner, tea, and
supper combined."
Harris grew more cheerful. George
suggested meat and fruit pies, cold
meat, tomatoes, fruit, and green stuff.
For drink, we took some
wonderful sticky concoction of Harris's,
which you mixed with water and
called lemonade, plenty of tea, and a
bottle of whisky, in case, as
George said, we got upset.
It seemed to me that George harped too
much on the getting-upset idea.
It seemed to me the wrong spirit to go
about the trip in.
But I'm glad we took the whisky.
We didn't take beer or wine. They are a
mistake up the river. They make
you feel sleepy and heavy. A glass in the
evening when you are doing a
mouch round the town and looking at the
girls is all right enough; but
don't drink when the sun is blazing down
on your head, and you've got
hard work to do.
We made a list of the things to be taken,
and a pretty lengthy one it
was, before we parted that evening. The
next day, which was Friday, we
got them all together, and met in the
evening to pack. We got a big
Gladstone for the clothes, and a couple
of hampers for the victuals and
the cooking utensils. We moved the table
up against the window, piled
everything in a heap in the middle of the
floor, and sat round and looked
at it.
I said I'd pack.
I rather pride myself on my packing.
Packing is one of those many things
that I feel I know more about than any
other person living. (It
surprises me myself, sometimes, how many
of these subjects there are.) I
impressed the fact upon George and
Harris, and told them that they had
better leave the whole matter entirely to
me. They fell into the
suggestion with a readiness that had
something uncanny about it. George
put on a pipe and spread himself over the
easy-chair, and Harris cocked
his legs on the table and lit a cigar.
This was hardly what I intended. What I
had meant, of course, was, that
I should boss the job, and that Harris
and George should potter about
under my directions, I pushing them aside
every now and then with, "Oh,
you - !" "Here, let me do
it." "There you are, simple enough!" - really
teaching them, as you might say. Their
taking it in the way they did
irritated me. There is nothing does
irritate me more than seeing other
people sitting about doing nothing when
I'm working.
I lived with a man once who used to make
me mad that way. He would loll
on the sofa and watch me doing things by
the hour together, following me
round the room with his eyes, wherever I
went. He said it did him real
good to look on at me, messing about. He
said it made him feel that life
was not an idle dream to be gaped and
yawned through, but a noble task,
full of duty and stern work. He said he
often wondered now how he could
have gone on before he met me, never
having anybody to look at while they
worked.
Now, I'm not like that. I can't sit still
and see another man slaving
and working. I want to get up and
superintend, and walk round with my
hands in my pockets, and tell him what to
do. It is my energetic nature.
I can't help it.
However, I did not say anything, but
started the packing. It seemed a
longer job than I had thought it was
going to be; but I got the bag
finished at last, and I sat on it and
strapped it.
"Ain't you going to put the boots
in?" said Harris.
And I looked round, and found I had
forgotten them. That's just like
Harris. He couldn't have said a word
until I'd got the bag shut and
strapped, of course. And George laughed -
one of those irritating,
senseless, chuckle-headed, crack-jawed
laughs of his. They do make me so
wild.
I opened the bag and packed the boots in;
and then, just as I was going
to close it, a horrible idea occurred to
me. Had I packed my tooth-
brush? I don't know how it is, but I
never do know whether I've packed
my tooth-brush.
My tooth-brush is a thing that haunts me
when I'm travelling, and makes
my life a misery. I dream that I haven't
packed it, and wake up in a
cold perspiration, and get out of bed and
hunt for it. And, in the
morning, I pack it before I have used it,
and have to unpack again to get
it, and it is always the last thing I
turn out of the bag; and then I
repack and forget it, and have to rush
upstairs for it at the last moment
and carry it to the railway station,
wrapped up in my pocket-
handkerchief.
Of course I had to turn every mortal
thing out now, and, of course, I
could not find it. I rummaged the things
up into much the same state
that they must have been before the world
was created, and when chaos
reigned. Of course, I found George's and
Harris's eighteen times over,
but I couldn't find my own. I put the
things back one by one, and held
everything up and shook it. Then I found
it inside a boot. I repacked
once more.
When I had finished, George asked if the
soap was in. I said I didn't
care a hang whether the soap was in or
whether it wasn't; and I slammed
the bag to and strapped it, and found
that I had packed my tobacco-pouch
in it, and had to re-open it. It got shut
up finally at 10.5 p.m., and
then there remained the hampers to do.
Harris said that we should be
wanting to start in less than twelve
hours' time, and thought that he and
George had better do the rest; and I
agreed and sat down, and they had a
go.
They began in a light-hearted spirit,
evidently intending to show me how
to do it. I made no comment; I only
waited. When George is hanged,
Harris will be the worst packer in this
world; and I looked at the piles
of plates and cups, and kettles, and
bottles and jars, and pies, and
stoves, and cakes, and tomatoes, &c.,
and felt that the thing would soon
become exciting.
It did. They started with breaking a cup.
That was the first thing they
did. They did that just to show you what
they COULD do, and to get you
interested.
Then Harris packed the strawberry jam on
top of a tomato and squashed it,
and they had to pick out the tomato with
a teaspoon.
And then it was George's turn, and he
trod on the butter. I didn't say
anything, but I came over and sat on the
edge of the table and watched
them. It irritated them more than
anything I could have said. I felt
that. It made them nervous and excited,
and they stepped on things, and
put things behind them, and then couldn't
find them when they wanted
them; and they packed the pies at the
bottom, and put heavy things on
top, and smashed the pies in.
They upset salt over everything, and as
for the butter! I never saw two
men do more with one-and-twopence worth
of butter in my whole life than
they did. After George had got it off his
slipper, they tried to put it
in the kettle. It wouldn't go in, and
what WAS in wouldn't come out.
They did scrape it out at last, and put
it down on a chair, and Harris
sat on it, and it stuck to him, and they
went looking for it all over the
room.
"I'll take my oath I put it down on
that chair," said George, staring at
the empty seat.
"I saw you do it myself, not a
minute ago," said Harris.
Then they started round the room again
looking for it; and then they met
again in the centre, and stared at one
another.
"Most extraordinary thing I ever
heard of," said George.
"So mysterious!" said Harris.
Then George got round at the back of
Harris and saw it.
"Why, here it is all the time,"
he exclaimed, indignantly.
"Where?" cried Harris, spinning
round.
"Stand still, can't you!"
roared George, flying after him.
And they got it off, and packed it in the
teapot.
Montmorency was in it all, of course.
Montmorency's ambition in life, is
to get in the way and be sworn at. If he
can squirm in anywhere where he
particularly is not wanted, and be a
perfect nuisance, and make people
mad, and have things thrown at his head,
then he feels his day has not
been wasted.
To get somebody to stumble over him, and
curse him steadily for an hour,
is his highest aim and object; and, when
he has succeeded in
accomplishing this, his conceit becomes
quite unbearable.
He came and sat down on things, just when
they were wanted to be packed;
and he laboured under the fixed belief
that, whenever Harris or George
reached out their hand for anything, it
was his cold, damp nose that they
wanted. He put his leg into the jam, and
he worried the teaspoons, and
he pretended that the lemons were rats,
and got into the hamper and
killed three of them before Harris could
land him with the frying-pan.
Harris said I encouraged him. I didn't
encourage him. A dog like that
don't want any encouragement. It's the
natural, original sin that is
born in him that makes him do things like
that.
The packing was done at 12.50; and Harris
sat on the big hamper, and said
he hoped nothing would be found broken.
George said that if anything was
broken it was broken, which reflection
seemed to comfort him. He also
said he was ready for bed.
We were all ready for bed. Harris was to
sleep with us that night, and
we went upstairs.
We tossed for beds, and Harris had to
sleep with me. He said:
"Do you prefer the inside or the
outside, J.?"
I said I generally preferred to sleep
INSIDE a bed.
Harris said it was old.
George said:
"What time shall I wake you
fellows?"
Harris said:
"Seven."
I said:
"No - six," because I wanted to
write some letters.
Harris and I had a bit of a row over it,
but at last split the
difference, and said half-past six.
"Wake us at 6.30, George," we
said.
George made no answer, and we found, on
going over, that he had been
asleep for some time; so we placed the
bath where he could tumble into it
on getting out in the morning, and went
to bed ourselves.
