Mary Jane Married: Tales of a Village Inn

by George R. Sims

It will be quite a different trade, of course, to what we have been accustomed to, as coffee-room customers and commercial gentlemen come in every day by the trains, and it is a big racing house when the races are on, and they are very famous races indeed. It will be something new for me to study the commercial gentlemen and the sporting gentlemen, as we didn’t have any at the ‘Stretford Arms,’ not having any shops or a racecourse. I am told that I shall pick up a lot of character among the commercials, who are most entertaining and full of anecdotes; but it will be too late to put them in my book, as I must finish it now. I know I shall have no time at the “Royal Hotel,” for it will be a big task to manage it, and take us all we know.

I am told, too, that some of the sporting gentlemen would make capital stories, one of them being a young marquis, who is very odd and goes on anyhow. I suppose it will be what Harry calls “a warm time” at race time. I rather dread it. If it is too warm I shall keep out of the way.

But that is like me. Here am I beginning to worry about things before they happen, and instead of that I ought to be getting this chapter finished, for to-morrow is “the change,” and the new people take my dear old home over and enter into possession.

Everybody about the place is so sorry that we are going, and the nicest and kindest things have been said of us. There was some talk of giving Harry a banquet; but we thought it best not for many reasons, and so last night a few old friends and customers came into our bar-parlour and had a little supper with us, and during supper the Doctor, who has been one of our best friends, presented us, in the name of the company, with a most beautiful silver salver for our sideboard, and on it was engraved “To Mr. and Mrs. Beckett, from a few old customers of the ‘Stretford Arms,’ wishing them long life, success, and happiness.”

It was very kind of them, wasn’t it? and we both felt it very deeply. It is a most beautiful salver, and we shall treasure it as long as we live, and I hope our children will treasure it after we are gone. It is very gratifying, when you have tried to keep up the character of your house and to make your customers comfortable, to know that your efforts have been appreciated, and that everybody wishes you well in your new undertaking.

We are going to spend a week in London before we take possession of the “Royal Hotel,” as Harry has his solicitor and the brokers to see, and a lot of business to attend to, and I want to take my boy to the Zoological Gardens. He is very fond of his Noah’s Ark, and is always delighted to hear his father tell him about the great big animals that live in foreign parts, and I am most anxious to hear what the dear child will say when he sees a real elephant and hears a real lion roar. He is most intelligent for his age, and, though we were rather afraid while he was teething, he has had the most perfect health ever since, and is as fine a little fellow as you could find in the kingdom, and very sturdy on his legs. He has a little sailor suit now, and marches about as proud as you please; but he will keep his hands in his pockets. The sailor suit which I bought him included a knife on a piece of whip-cord, which was the terror of my life for a long time. I wanted to take it away; but he screamed himself almost into convulsions, and I was obliged to let him keep it; but I lived in hourly dread of nurse coming rushing in to say Master Harry had cut himself.

I can’t think why it is that boy children always want to keep their hands in their pockets, and so dearly love a knife. Little girls don’t care about knives; but, then, little girls are easier to manage in every way than little boys, who begin to assert their independence at the very earliest age.

I hope where we are going to will suit my little ones as well as this place has done; but everybody tells me that it is a most healthy town, and so I won’t begin to fidget on that score, though I should feel much happier if our nice, kind, clever doctor could be near us. But, of course, that can’t be.

I believe I shall cry to-morrow when we leave the dear old ‘Stretford Arms;’ but I shall try not to. I have been very happy in it, and we have been very fortunate, far more than we had any right to expect, seeing that we were only young beginners.

The packing up has been an awful job. It is really wonderful how things accumulate. We have had to buy boxes and I don’t know what, and we shall want a big van to take everything, as we take some of our furniture away with us, the new people having some of their own they want to bring in. I am very glad, as it will always be something to remind us of the old place.