London (England) -- Fiction; Working class -- Fiction
The resolution was carried.
“Now,” said the Chair, “if any of you thought of standing me a drink, or
even of ’aving one yourself, p’raps you’ll seize the opportunity whilst
the waiters are in the room, and then we can shut them out whilst we go
on to the next bisness.”
“Erb!” cried Spanswick along the table, “what’s yours?”
It was felt that this was a great piece of strategy on Spanswick’s part,
and Erb’s refusal counted nothing for righteousness; one or two of Erb’s
supporters shook their heads to intimate that this was not diplomacy.
The waiters brought in japanned trays of glasses on their high,
outstretched palms, carrying change everywhere, in their pockets, in
their tweed caps, in a knot in their handkerchiefs, in their mouths.
They completed their work in a few minutes and went, obeying leisurely
the Chairman’s imperious wave of the hammer.
“We come, now,” said Payne loudly, “to what I venture to term the
principal item on the agender. That is, the appointment of seceretary.”
Both Erb and Spanswick showed signs of puzzled astonishment. “There’s no
less than two suggestions that have been ’anded up: one is that we should
’ave a honery seceretary, which I may explain for the benefit of some,
means one who will perform his services in a honery way: the other is
that we should ’ave a paid seceretary, which means that we should have to
plank down about a ’undred a year, otherwise, two quid a week, and that’d
cover his slight travelling expenses. There’s a good deal,” added the
Chair impartially, “to be said on both sides, and, at this stage of the
proceedings, I don’t attempt to dictate. This room’s a bit warmish, and
if you don’t mind me taking off my coat, why, I shall be more comfortable
than what I am at the present moment.”
The men around the table imitated example, and, hanging their jackets on
the backs of the chairs, addressed themselves to the new subject.
“What?” said the Chair. “You woke up again?”
“I should like to ask,” said the gloomy Great Eastern man, ignoring this
remark, “whether there’s any sense in paying a ’undred pounds a year for
a article that we can get for nothing? That’s all I want to know.”
“Argue the point, my good sir,” urged the Chair, “argue in a speech.”
“I’ve said my say,” retorted the other stubbornly.
“If it was the self-same article,” said the Chair, shaking his hammer in
a friendly way towards the Great Eastern man, “then I should be with you.
But is it?” The shirt sleeves rested on the tables; the men began to
show renewed interest.
“I asked a plain question, I want a plain answer!”
“Oh!” said the Chair, disgustedly, “you go to—well, I won’t say where.
You’ve got no more idea of conducting a meeting than this ’ammer. Why
don’t someone prepose a resolution?”
“Beg—propose,” said a young man desperately, “my friend Spanswick—honery
sec’tary—new society.”
“Beg second that,” jerked another youth.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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