Psychological fiction; Railroad stations -- England -- London -- Fiction
“I _will_ name,” said Our Missis. “There was roast fowls, hot and cold;
there was smoking roast veal surrounded with browned potatoes; there was
hot soup with (again I ask shall I be credited?) nothing bitter in it,
and no flour to choke off the consumer; there was a variety of cold
dishes set off with jelly; there was salad; there was—mark me!—_fresh_
pastry, and that of a light construction; there was a luscious show of
fruit. There was bottles and decanters of sound small wine, of every
size and adapted to every pocket; the same odious statement will apply to
brandy; and these were set out upon the counter so that all could help
themselves.”
Our Missis’s lips so quivered, that Mrs. Sniff, though scarcely less
convulsed than she were, got up and held the tumbler to them.
“This,” proceeds Our Missis, “was my first unconstitutional experience.
Well would it have been, if it had been my last and worst. But no. As I
proceeded further into that enslaved and ignorant land, its aspect became
more hideous. I need not explain to this assembly, the ingredients and
formation of the British Refreshment sangwich?”
Universal laughter—except from Sniff, who, as sangwich-cutter, shook his
head in a state of the utmost dejection as he stood with it agin the
wall.
“Well!” said Our Missis, with dilated nostrils. “Take a fresh crisp long
crusty penny loaf made of the whitest and best flower. Cut it longwise
through the middle. Insert a fair and nicely fitting slice of ham. Tie
a smart piece of ribbon round the middle of the whole to bind it
together. Add at one end a neat wrapper of clean white paper by which to
hold it. And the universal French Refreshment sangwich busts on your
disgusted vision.”
A cry of “Shame!” from all—except Sniff, which rubbed his stomach with a
soothing hand.
“I need not,” said Our Missis, “explain to this assembly, the usual
formation and fitting of the British Refreshment Room?”
No, no, and laughter. Sniff agin shaking his head in low spirits agin
the wall.
“Well,” said Our Missis, “what would you say to a general decoration of
everythink, to hangings (sometimes elegant), to easy velvet furniture, to
abundance of little tables, to abundance of little seats, to brisk bright
waiters, to great convenience, to a pervading cleanliness and
tastefulness positively addressing the public and making the Beast
thinking itself worth the pains?”
Contemptuous fury on the part of all the ladies. Mrs. Sniff looking as
if she wanted somebody to hold her, and everybody else looking as if
they’d rayther not.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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