Great Britain -- Social conditions -- 19th century; London (England) -- Description and travel
consorted with hard biscuits, a stone filter of cold water, a hard pale
clock, and a hard little old woman with flaxen hair, of an
undeveloped-farinaceous aspect, as if she had been fed upon seeds. He
might have entered even here, but for the timely remembrance coming upon
him that Jairing’s was but round the corner.
Now, Jairing’s being an hotel for families and gentlemen, in high repute
among the midland counties, Mr. Grazinglands plucked up a great spirit
when he told Mrs. Grazinglands she should have a chop there. That lady,
likewise felt that she was going to see Life. Arriving on that gay and
festive scene, they found the second waiter, in a flabby undress,
cleaning the windows of the empty coffee-room; and the first waiter,
denuded of his white tie, making up his cruets behind the Post-Office
Directory. The latter (who took them in hand) was greatly put out by
their patronage, and showed his mind to be troubled by a sense of the
pressing necessity of instantly smuggling Mrs. Grazinglands into the
obscurest corner of the building. This slighted lady (who is the pride
of her division of the county) was immediately conveyed, by several dark
passages, and up and down several steps, into a penitential apartment at
the back of the house, where five invalided old plate-warmers leaned up
against one another under a discarded old melancholy sideboard, and where
the wintry leaves of all the dining-tables in the house lay thick. Also,
a sofa, of incomprehensible form regarded from any sofane point of view,
murmured ‘Bed;’ while an air of mingled fluffiness and heeltaps, added,
‘Second Waiter’s.’ Secreted in this dismal hold, objects of a mysterious
distrust and suspicion, Mr. Grazinglands and his charming partner waited
twenty minutes for the smoke (for it never came to a fire), twenty-five
minutes for the sherry, half an hour for the tablecloth, forty minutes
for the knives and forks, three-quarters of an hour for the chops, and an
hour for the potatoes. On settling the little bill—which was not much
more than the day’s pay of a Lieutenant in the navy—Mr. Grazinglands took
heart to remonstrate against the general quality and cost of his
reception. To whom the waiter replied, substantially, that Jairing’s
made it a merit to have accepted him on any terms: ‘for,’ added the
waiter (unmistakably coughing at Mrs. Grazinglands, the pride of her
division of the county), ‘when indiwiduals is not staying in the ’Ouse,
their favours is not as a rule looked upon as making it worth Mr.
Jairing’s while; nor is it, indeed, a style of business Mr. Jairing
wishes.’ Finally, Mr. and Mrs. Grazinglands passed out of Jairing’s
hotel for Families and Gentlemen, in a state of the greatest depression,
scorned by the bar; and did not recover their self-respect for several
days.
Or take another case. Take your own case.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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