“We’ve brought good ’dvice,” said Old Jim, seating himself on the sill. “How is it we didn’t see you at any of the places?”
“The wife locked up me boots,” replied Spanswick surlily. “That’s why. But surely one of you’s got a bottle about him somewheres. Search!”
“We want you, old chap,” said Payne, steadying himself with a hand on either side of the doorway, “to give up the drink. ‘Oh that man should put an en’my into his mouth to steal out his brains.’ Chuck it, my friend, chuck it, before it is too late. Shun the flowing bowl, and save your money to buy harmonium with.”
“I’ll harmonium you,” said Spanswick threateningly, “if you don’t all three of you make yourselves precious scarce. How dare you come round here in this disgraceful condition to annoy a sober, honest man? Go to your ’omes and take an example by me. I never saw such a painful exhibition in all me life.”
“How was we to know you’d be sober?” asked Kirby, swaying.
Spanswick emphasised the situation by remaining comparatively sober for a week; a busy week in other ways, for he lost no opportunity of reciting the incident of his own pure and heroic action, establishing thus a concrete foundation for the building up of a character that had never entirely disappeared.
(This is the story of carman Spanswick.)
One or two men standing at the zinc bar called on Erb to have a drink, but Erb replied, “Afterwards,” and went up the wooden staircase to the club room. There, on the landing, men were consulting in undertones, which they changed for much louder speech on seeing Erb, commencing to talk noisily of contests with superiors whom they had, it appeared, worsted in argument; of fresh young horses that required a somewhat similar treatment; of trouble in regard to Shuts-up, to water allowances, to Brought-backs, and other technical matters. A late colleague of Erb’s introduced him to those who were strangers, and Erb made quite a considerable effort to exhibit friendly manners, until a South Western man, mistaking him for Spanswick, told him some of the things that were being said about young Barnes, whereupon Erb left and went into the club room. In the club room tables had been arranged in something of the shape of a capital U, and at the base a wooden hammer had been placed and a decanter and tumbler; sheets of blue foolscap and scarlet blotting paper gave the room an official, business-like appearance. Payne was there in mufti as to coat, in uniform as to waistcoat and corduroy trousers; he was to be proposed as Chairman, and he stood now with his face to a Scotch whisky advertisement, his lips moving silently; he nodded to Erb, and went on with his rehearsal. Spanswick coming up with his entourage, took one of the sheets of paper and, with the stump of a pencil, began to make calculations which were audited, as he went on, by his friends. A few of the men marked the special nature of the proceedings by smoking cigars. The alert clock on the mantelpiece struck the half-hour in a sharp, energetic way and hurried on.
“I beg to move that Jack Payne do take the chair.”
“I beg to second.”