English fiction -- 19th century; London (England) -- Fiction; Poor -- Fiction; Poverty -- Fiction
Bob had a sovereign to get rid of. He shied for cocoa-nuts, he swung in
the boat with Pennyloaf, he rode with her on the whirligigs. When they
were choked, and whitened from head to foot, with dust, it was natural
to seek the nearest refreshment-booth. Bob had some half-dozen male and
female acquaintances clustered about him by now; of course. He must
celebrate the occasion by entertaining all of them. Consumed with
thirst, he began to drink without counting the glasses. Pennyloaf
plucked at his elbow, but Bob was beginning to feel that he must
display spirit. Because he was married, that was no reason for his
relinquishing the claims to leadership in gallantry which had always
been recognised. Hollo! Here was Suke Jollop! She had just quarrelled
with Clem, and had been searching for the hostile camp. ‘Have a drink,
Suke!’ cried Bob, when he heard her acrimonious charges against Clem
and Jack. A pretty girl, Suke, and with a hat which made itself proudly
manifest a quarter of a mile away. Drink! of course she would drink;
that thirsty she could almost drop! Bob enjoyed this secession from the
enemy. He knew Suke’s old fondness for him, and began to play upon it.
Elated with beer and vanity, he no longer paid the least attention to
Pennyloaf’s remonstrances; nay, he at length bade her ‘hold her
bloomin’ row!’ Pennyloaf had a tear in her eye; she looked fiercely at
Miss Jollop.
The day wore on. For utter weariness Pennyloaf was constrained to beg
that they might go into the ‘Paliss’ and find a shadowed seat. Her tone
revived tenderness in Bob; again he became gracious, devoted; he
promised that not another glass of beer should pass his lips, and Sake
Jollop, with all her like, might go to perdition. But heavens! how
sweltering it was under this glass canopy. How the dust rose from the
trampled boards! Come, let’s have tea. The programme says there’ll be a
military band playing presently, and we shall return refreshed to hear
it.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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