Sketches by Boz, Illustrative of Every-Day Life and Every-Day PeopleDickens, Charles
General
Sketches by Boz, Illustrative of Every-Day Life and Every-Day People
Dickens, Charles
London (England) -- Social life and customs -- 19th century; London (England) -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
The two old washerwomen, who are seated on the little bench to the left
of the bar, are rather overcome by the head-dresses and haughty
demeanour of the young ladies who officiate. They receive their
half-quartern of gin and peppermint, with considerable deference,
prefacing a request for ‘one of them soft biscuits,’ with a ‘Jist be
good enough, ma’am.’ They are quite astonished at the impudent air of
the young fellow in a brown coat and bright buttons, who, ushering in
his two companions, and walking up to the bar in as careless a manner
as if he had been used to green and gold ornaments all his life, winks
at one of the young ladies with singular coolness, and calls for a
‘kervorten and a three-out-glass,’ just as if the place were his own.
‘Gin for you, sir?’ says the young lady when she has drawn it:
carefully looking every way but the right one, to show that the wink
had no effect upon her. ‘For me, Mary, my dear,’ replies the gentleman
in brown. ‘My name an’t Mary as it happens,’ says the young girl,
rather relaxing as she delivers the change. ‘Well, if it an’t, it ought
to be,’ responds the irresistible one; ‘all the Marys as ever _I_ see,
was handsome gals.’ Here the young lady, not precisely remembering how
blushes are managed in such cases, abruptly ends the flirtation by
addressing the female in the faded feathers who has just entered, and
who, after stating explicitly, to prevent any subsequent
misunderstanding, that ‘this gentleman pays,’ calls for ‘a glass of
port wine and a bit of sugar.’
Those two old men who came in ‘just to have a drain,’ finished their
third quartern a few seconds ago; they have made themselves crying
drunk; and the fat comfortable-looking elderly women, who had ‘a glass
of rum-srub’ each, having chimed in with their complaints on the
hardness of the times, one of the women has agreed to stand a glass
round, jocularly observing that ‘grief never mended no broken bones,
and as good people’s wery scarce, what I says is, make the most on ’em,
and that’s all about it!’ a sentiment which appears to afford unlimited
satisfaction to those who have nothing to pay.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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