MR. BULL'S GLASS OF WATER.
Mr. John Bull, suddenly impressed with the excellence of water, demanded that his town mansion should forthwith be supplied.
"Bless your soul, Sir," cried nine of his servants, "the house has water enough, and very good water, brought twice a week."
"Bring me a glass of it," said Bull, and while they were fetching the glass (for John's servants are the dreariest dawdles on the face of the earth, and are as long opening a door, cleaning a passage, or doing any little job, except a money job, as the servants of Monsieur le Nez, over the way, are in throwing his whole house out of windows), Mr. Bull took up a Blue Book.
"Colourless, transparent, inodorous, and tasteless; such are the conditions of purity in water," read John. "O, here you are at last, you lazy rascal; give me the glass. What do you call this stuff, you scoundrel—pea-soup?"
"Capital water, Sir, stunning tipple, sir," said the fellow audaciously; "your steward pays me a shilling a pint for all I bring in."
"Does he!" said John, glancing across the room, to be sure that his stick was in its corner. "Where do you fetch this stuff from, tell me that?"
"Nearest place, in course, Sir. Thames-ditch, Sir."
"That all my drains run into! Take that, Sir!" roared the old gentleman, kicking him down stairs.
Another servant, smirking, ran in with another glass.
"Less colour," said John, "but smells like the end of a gas-pipe." And the bearer went over the bannisters. A third tried his luck, declaring that the water he brought came from a beautiful tank near Sadler's Wells.
"Full of live things," said John, shuddering.
A fourth rushed up, "Try this, Sir; a dodge of my own, Sir, a pipe from a tan-pit, Sir—tan very healthy."
"Tastes of animal decomp——I'll tan you, Sir," thundered John, planting his fist between the rogue's eyes, "put that in your pipe!"
Well, all the other servants came with glass after glass of dirty water; for fetching which, John Bull's steward was, they said, in the habit of paying them enormously, besides encouraging them to beat anybody who came to the house with a filter, or offered to bring cleaner water at a cheaper rate. John waxed furious, declared they were all rogues and cheats, and commanded his steward, one Wood, to contrive that he should have decent water. So Wood, who is the merriest, most goodnatured bungler in the world, proposed that they should all pour their different supplies into one great tank, which he thought would make the water pure. John Bull didn't quite see how eight quarts of dirty water would, by being mixed, make two gallons of clean; but this plan is going to be tried. It seems most likely that John will never get a Glass of Clean Water.
A Good Supply of Water—or John Bull—inundated with the various schemes & Streams, of—"water, water, every where"—