“Never better,” said Erb. “How’s yourself?”
“Bit of a cold,” said Spanswick with important reserve; “but otherwise—”
If there is time, one would like to explain here Spanswick’s position amongst the men. It was of that assured kind that newcomers do not dare to question, and contemporaries have agreed to respect. If this ever exhibited signs of waning, Spanswick would gather an audience together and beat the bounds of the incident that had made him a man to be treated with consideration, and the story had been re-told so many times, and so many improvements and additions had been made to it, that for the sake of true history the real facts may as well be set down.
Spanswick had given way to drink. To say this meant much, for at the time the limits set upon the consumption of beer by many of the carmen was only that fixed by their own capabilities. Spanswick’s case must have been exceptional, and, indeed, he was so inclined, not so much to the bottle, perhaps, as to the quart, that his appearance on the morning following these carousals was truly deplorable: his strong-minded wife taking these opportunities to damage his face, with the eventual result that his van boy and his horse sneered at him openly. Wherefore Payne and a man named Kirby and another called Old Jim, decided, in the best interests of mankind at large, and of Spanswick in particular, that some steps should be taken, that it was for them to take these steps, and that the following Friday evening (being pay day) was the time to be selected. Payne’s idea was this. They would run Spanswick to earth in one of his resorts, they would form a ring (or as much of a ring as three could make) around him, and by wise counsel and urgent illustration force upon him a recognition of the downward career that was his, and its inevitable end. It took some time to arrive at this decision, because Old Jim, who was not abreast of the times and of modern methods, had a remedy that included the dropping of the patient in the canal; whilst Kirby had another proposal. “Let us set the teetotal chaps on him,” urged Kirby. Payne’s scheme was adopted, and, the Friday night arriving, the three, after they had finished work, had a shave and a wash, and put on their best clothes (Payne himself wore a silk hat of adequate age, but of insufficient size), and they set out solemnly to take up their self-appointed duties.
“Now,” said Old Jim, “the likeliest place is ‘The World Turned Upside Down.’”
“Pardon me,” said Kirby, with the politeness that comes with the wearing of Sunday clothes, “pardon me, but ‘The Chequers’ is his ’ouse.”
“I thought,” remarked Payne, “the ‘Dun Cow’ was.”
“I’m prutty sure I’m right,” said Old Jim.
“I’m jolly well certain you’re both wrong,” declared Kirby with emphasis.
“Standing here all night arguin’,” decided Payne, “won’t settle the matter. Let’s make a start at one of them.”