FISHING—A RISE.
“You were going, Sir,” addressing the gentleman opposite, “to ask me about the Pop business,—but I ought first to tell you how I came to be carrying ginger-beer in my pocket.”
The gentleman thus appealed to, a straightforward old drysalter, who had never seen W. in his life before, naturally stared at such a bold anticipation of his thoughts; but before he could find words to reply, W. had helped himself to a dozen almonds, which he began mincing, while he set off at a steady pace in his story.
“The way I came to have ginger-beer in my pocket, was this. I don’t know whether you are acquainted with Hopkins, Sir, of the Queen’s Arms in the Poultry,” the drysalter shook his head; “it’s the house I frequent, and a very civil obliging sort of fellow he is—that is to say, was, two summers ago. The season was very sultry, and says I, Hopkins, I wonder you don’t keep ginger pop—it’s a pleasant refreshing beverage at this season, and particularly wholesome. Well, Hopkins was very thankful for the hint, for he likes to have everything that can be called for, and he was for sending off an order at once to the ginger-beer manufactory, but I persuaded him better. None of their wholesale trash, said I, but make your own. I’ll give you a recipe for it—the best ever bottled. But I couldn’t gain my point. Hopkins hum’d and haw’d, and thought nobody could make it but the makers. There was no setting him right, so at last I determined to put him to the proof. I’ll tell you what, Hopkins, said I, you don’t like the trouble, or I’d soon convince you that a man who isn’t a maker can make it as well as anyone—perhaps better. You shall have a sample of mine—I’ve got a few bottles at my counting-house, and it’s only a step. Of course, Hopkins was very much obliged, and off I went. In confidence between you and me, Sir,—though I never had the pleasure of seeing you before—I wanted to introduce ginger-beer at the Queen’s Arms as a public benefit.”
“I am sure, Sir—I’m very much obliged,” stammered the drysalter, at a loss what to say. “Ginger-beer, I’ve no doubt, is very efficacious, and particularly after fruit or lobsters, for I observe you always see them at the same shops.”
“The best drink in the dog-days all to nothing,” returned W., “but ought to be amazingly well corked and wired down—and I’ll tell you why—it will get vapid and maybe worse. Well, I’d got it in my coat pocket, and was walking back, just by Bow Church, no more thinking of green silk pelisses than you are, Sir, at this moment—upon my honour I wasn’t—when something gave a pop and a splash, and I heard a female scream. I was afraid to look round and when I did, you might have knocked me down with a straw. You know, Tom (addressing me,) I’m not made of brass,—for the minute I felt more like melted lead—heavy and hot. Two full kettles seemed poured over me—one warm within, and the other cold without. You never saw such an object! There she stood, winking and gasping, and all over froth and foam, like a lady just emerged out of the sea only they don’t bathe in green silk pelisses and satin bonnets. You might have knocked me down with a hair. What I did or said at first I don’t know; I only remember that I attempted to wipe her face with my handkerchief, but she preferred her own. To make things worse, the passengers made a ring round us, as if we had been going to fight about it, and a good many of ’em set up a laugh. I would rather have been surrounded by banditti. I don’t tell a lie if I say I would gladly have been tossed out of the circle by a mad bull. How I longed to jump like a Harlequin into a twopenny post-box, or to slip down a plug like an eel!”
“Very distressing, indeed,” said the drysalter.