Dickens, Charles – The Uncommercial Traveller

before him in succession the cloudy oil and furry vinegar, the

clogged cayenne, the dirty salt, the obscene dregs of soy, and the

anchovy sauce in a flannel waistcoat of decomposition.

We went out to transact our business. So inspiriting was the

relief of passing into the clean and windy streets of Namelesston

from the heavy and vapid closeness of the coffee-room of the

Temeraire, that hope began to revive within us. We began to

consider that perhaps the lonely traveller had taken physic, or

done something injudicious to bring his complaint on. Bullfinch

remarked that he thought the waiter who ought to wait upon us had

brightened a little when suggesting curry; and although I knew him

to have been at that moment the express image of despair, I allowed

myself to become elevated in spirits. As we walked by the softlylapping

sea, all the notabilities of Namelesston, who are for ever

going up and down with the changelessness of the tides, passed to

and fro in procession. Pretty girls on horseback, and with

detested riding-masters; pretty girls on foot; mature ladies in

hats, – spectacled, strong-minded, and glaring at the opposite or

weaker sex. The Stock Exchange was strongly represented, Jerusalem

was strongly represented, the bores of the prosier London clubs

were strongly represented. Fortune-hunters of all denominations

were there, from hirsute insolvency, in a curricle, to closelybuttoned

swindlery in doubtful boots, on the sharp look-out for any

likely young gentleman disposed to play a game at billiards round

the corner. Masters of languages, their lessons finished for the

day, were going to their homes out of sight of the sea; mistresses

of accomplishments, carrying small portfolios, likewise tripped

homeward; pairs of scholastic pupils, two and two, went languidly

along the beach, surveying the face of the waters as if waiting for

some Ark to come and take them off. Spectres of the George the

Fourth days flitted unsteadily among the crowd, bearing the outward

semblance of ancient dandies, of every one of whom it might be

said, not that he had one leg in the grave, or both legs, but that

he was steeped in grave to the summit of his high shirt-collar, and

had nothing real about him but his bones. Alone stationary in the

midst of all the movements, the Namelesston boatmen leaned against

the railings and yawned, and looked out to sea, or looked at the

moored fishing-boats and at nothing. Such is the unchanging manner

of life with this nursery of our hardy seamen; and very dry nurses

they are, and always wanting something to drink. The only two

nautical personages detached from the railing were the two

fortunate possessors of the celebrated monstrous unknown barkingfish,

just caught (frequently just caught off Namelesston), who

carried him about in a hamper, and pressed the scientific to look

in at the lid.

The sands of the hour had all run out when we got back to the

Temeraire. Says Bullfinch, then, to the youth in livery, with

boldness, ‘Lavatory!’

Page 209

Dickens, Charles – The Uncommercial Traveller

When we arrived at the family vault with a skylight, which the

youth in livery presented as the institution sought, we had already

whisked off our cravats and coats; but finding ourselves in the

presence of an evil smell, and no linen but two crumpled towels

newly damp from the countenances of two somebody elses, we put on

our cravats and coats again, and fled unwashed to the coffee-room.

There the waiter who ought to wait upon us had set forth our knives

and forks and glasses, on the cloth whose dirty acquaintance we had

already had the pleasure of making, and which we were pleased to

recognise by the familiar expression of its stains. And now there

occurred the truly surprising phenomenon, that the waiter who ought

not to wait upon us swooped down upon us, clutched our loaf of

bread, and vanished with the same.

Bullfinch, with distracted eyes, was following this unaccountable

figure ‘out at the portal,’ like the ghost in Hamlet, when the

waiter who ought to wait upon us jostled against it, carrying a

tureen.

‘Waiter!’ said a severe diner, lately finished, perusing his bill

Leave a Reply