I feigned enlightenment instanter, and have always had a "cla-ass" feeling in London, from that day to this. I make no doubt that the cabby who frequents the public bar has a "cla-ass" feeling just as important.
The Guards that I knew best were "Mengy," "Q," and the "Swordsman," as I insisted on calling him on account of his special knowledge in pig-sticking. (He told me that he had spent two solid weeks on this subject in order to write an authoritative review for The Times.) These three men, "Mengy" in the middle as "Little Billie," would have taken the prize in a "Trilby" interpretation of side-street trios.
"Mengy" was a doctor of philosophy in general, and lecturer on mummies in particular. Germany gave him his start, and London his pause. Academically, he intended to be wise in Egyptology; humanely, simply one of the guards.
"Q"—good old "Q"—had a gentleman's instincts unsupported financially. He dreamed about music, wrote articles, reviews, and poems about it, hummed it and buzzed it, but "Q" was no musician. Like "Mengy," he had quite resigned himself inwardly to the post of a "Guard."
The "Swordsman" was a great, canny Scot. But he had cannied and caddied in the wrong way, pecuniarily. Fifty odd years of "sax-pence" had slipped by him, and he had nary a one to show. But what a mine of useless facts he had got together over in the Reading Room! What a peripatetic gossiper about trifles he had become!
When these three men got together, and a liquidating friend was along, the "Tavern" or "Plough," as the case might be, became the scene of as doughty passages at arms at the bar as Bloomsbury has ever known. As guards of their beverages they were matchless, while, as "Pub" hunters, it is to be questioned whether Bloomsbury, until the Guards came to earth, ever knew how many public houses she had. Perhaps "Q" was the most inveterate explorer. When "Q" got a pound or two for a review, he slicked up in his finest manner and went forth alone to seek and find. Somehow the "Plough" and the "Tavern" did not appeal to him when he was in funds. But he would give you his shirt if you happened upon him in some new "Pub" which he had located, and was trying to impress with his spirit. Then was "Q" indeed in his glory. His high hat never had such a luster as on such occasions.
"Why, my dear fellow," he would say, "how fortunate to meet you here! What is it to be?"
Perhaps you wanted 'bus fare to Hampstead.