Mrs. Railing accepted Canon Spratte’s invitation to bring her daughter
to tea. On the day appointed he sat like a Hebrew patriarch surrounded
by his family and waited for her to come. He addressed Lionel, his son.
“You’ll remember that there are two funerals to-morrow morning, won’t
you?” he said.
“Good gracious, I had completely forgotten all about them.”
“I daresay they were persons of no consequence,” remarked Lord Spratte.
“As a matter of fact, I believe one of them, poor fellow! was our own
fish-monger,” said the Canon, smiling.
“I thought the fish had been very inferior these last few days,”
murmured Lady Sophia.
Ponsonby opened the door stealthily and announced the guests in his most
impressive tones.
“Mrs. and Miss Railing.”
Mrs. Railing, a woman of simple tastes, was unaccustomed to give time or
thought to the adornment of her person. She was an excellent creature
who had arrived at the sensible conclusion that comfort was more
important than appearance; and when she had grown used to a garment,
only the repeated persuasion of her children could induce her to give it
up. Widowhood with her was a question of pride and a passport to
respectability. She wore, somewhat on one side, a shabby crape bonnet, a
black old-fashioned cloak, and loose cotton gloves. She carried with
affectionate care, as though it were a jewel of vast price, a gloomy and
masculine umbrella. It had a bow on the handle.
Canon Spratte advanced very cordially and shook hands with her.
“How d’you do. How d’you do, Mrs. Railing.”
“Nicely, thank you.” She turned and gave a little wave of the hand
toward her offspring. “This is my daughter, Miss Railing.”
Miss Railing wore a strenuous look and _pince-nez_, a sailor hat, a
white blouse, and a leather belt.
“How d’you do,” said Canon Spratte.
“Quite well, thank you.”
Winnie, having passed the time of day with Mrs. Railing, looked shyly at
Bertram’s sister.
“You weren’t in the other day when I came to Peckham with your brother.”
“I didn’t get home till late.”
Miss Railing, suffering from no false shame, looked at Winnie with a
somewhat disparaging curiosity. She was highly educated and took care to
speak the King’s English correctly. She dropped her aitches but seldom.
Sometimes she hesitated whether or no to insert the troublesome letter,
but when she used it her emphasis fully made up for an occasional lapse.
She was, perhaps, a little self-assertive; and came to St. Gregory’s
Vicarage as to an enemy’s camp, bristling to take offence. She was
determined to show that she was a person of culture.
“Let me introduce you to my sister, Lady Sophia Spratte,” said the Canon
to Mrs. Railing. “Miss Railing, my sister.”
“I’m really Miss Louise Railing, you know,” said that young lady, in a
slightly injured tone.
“I ’ave two daughters, my lord,” explained Mrs. Railing, who felt that
some ceremony was needed to address the member of a noble family, “but
the elder one, Florrie, ain’t quite right in ’er ’ead. And we ’ad to
shut ’er up in an asylum.”
The Canon observed her for one moment and shot a rapid glance at Winnie.
“It’s so fortunate that you were able to come,” he said. “In the Season
one has so many engagements.”
But at the harmless remark Miss Railing bridled.
“I thought you people in the West End never did anything?”
Canon Spratte laughed heartily.
“The West End has a bad reputation--in Peckham Rye.”
“Well, I don’t know that I can say extra much for the people of Peckham
Rye either. There’s no public spirit among them. And yet we do all we
can; the Radical Association tries to stir them up. We give meetings
every week--but they won’t come to them.”
“I wonder at that,” replied the Canon, blandly. “And do you share your
brother’s talent for oratory?”
“Oh, I say a few words now and then,” said Miss Railing, modestly.
“You should hear ’er talk,” interposed Mrs. Railing, with a significant
nod.
“Well, I hold with women taking part in everything. I’m a Radical from
top to toe.” Miss Railing stared hard at Lady Sophia, who was watching
her with polite attention. “I can’t stand the sort of woman who sits at
home and does nothing but read novels and go to balls. There’s an
immense field for women’s activities. And who thinks now that women are
inferior to men?”
“Ain’t she wonderful!” ejaculated Mrs. Railing, with unconcealed
admiration.
“Ma!” protested her daughter.
“She says I always praise ’er in front of people,” Mrs. Railing laughed
good-humouredly. “But I can’t ’elp it. You should see all the prizes and
certificates she’s got. Oh, I am proud of ’er, I can tell you.”
“Ma, don’t go on like that always. It makes people think I’m a child.”
“Well, Louie, I can’t ’elp it. You’re a marvel and there’s no denying
it. Tell ’em about the gold medal you won.”
“I wish you would,” said Lord Spratte. “I always respect people with
gold medals.”
“Go on with you,” cried Miss Railing.
“Well, Louie, you are obstinate,” said her mother; and turning to Lady
Sophia she added confidentially: “She ’as been--ever since she was a
child.”
But the appearance of the stately Ponsonby with tea-things changed the
conversation. Mrs. Railing looked round the room, and the Canon saw that
her eyes rested on the magnificent portrait of the first Lord Spratte.
“That is my father, the late Lord Chancellor of England. It is a most
admirable likeness.”
“It’s a very ’andsome frame,” said Mrs. Railing, anxious to be polite.
Lord Spratte burst out laughing.
“He is plain, isn’t he?”
“Oh, I didn’t mean it like that,” answered Mrs. Railing, with confusion,
“I would never take such a liberty.”
“Now, you can’t honestly say he was a beauty, Mrs. Railing.”
“Thomas, remember he was my father,” inserted the Canon.
But Mrs. Railing feared she had wounded her host’s feelings.
“Now I come to look at ’im, I don’t think ’e’s so bad looking after
all,” she said.
His elder son cast a rapid glance at the Lord Chancellor’s sardonic
smile.
“In the family we think he’s the very image of my brother Theodore.”
“Well, now you mention it, I do see a likeness,” replied Mrs. Railing,
innocently looking from the portrait to Canon Spratte.
The Canon shook his head at his brother with smiling menace, and handed
the good lady a cup of tea. While she stirred it, she addressed herself
amiably to Lady Sophia.
“Nice neighbourhood this!” she said.
“South Kensington?” answered Lady Sophia. “It’s the least unpleasant of
all the suburbs.”
“My dear, I cannot allow South Kensington to be called a suburb,” cried
the Canon. “It’s the very centre of London.”
Lady Sophia smiled coldly.
“It always reminds me of the Hamlet who was funny without being vulgar:
South Kensington is Bayswater without being funny.”
“Peckham’s a nice neighbourhood,” said Mrs. Railing, trying to balance a
piece of cake in her saucer. “You get such a nice class of people
there.”
“So I should think,” replied Lady Sophia.
“We’ve got such a pretty little ’ouse near the Gladstone Road. Of
course, we ’aven’t got electric light, but we’ve got a lovely bath-room.
And Bertie takes a bath every morning.”
“Does he, indeed!” exclaimed the Canon.
“Yes, and ’e says he can’t do without it: if ’e doesn’t ’ave it, ’e’s
uncomfortable all day. Things ’ave changed since I was a girl. Why,
nobody thought of ’aving all these baths then. Now, only the other day I
was talking to Mr. Smithers, the builder, an’ he said to me: ‘Lor, Mrs.
Railing,’ says he, ‘people are getting that fussy, if you build ’em a
house without a bath-room they won’t look at it.’ Why, even Louie takes
a bath every Saturday night regular.”
“They say that cleanliness is next to godliness,” returned Canon
Spratte, sententiously.
“There’s no denying that, but one ’as to be careful,” said Mrs. Railing.
“I’ve known a lot of people who’ve took their death of cold all through
’aving a bath when they wasn’t feeling very well.”
Lord Spratte, giving Miss Railing a cup of tea, offered her the sugar.
“Thanks,” she said. “No sugar; I think it’s weak.”
“What, the tea?” cried the Canon. “I’m so sorry.”
“No, to take sugar. I don’t approve of hydrocarbons.”
“Rough on the hydrocarbons, ain’t it?” murmured Lord Spratte.
The Canon with a smile addressed himself again to Mrs. Railing.
“And how do you take your tea, dear lady?”
“Oh, I don’t pay no attention to all this stuff of Louie’s and
Bertie’s,” that good creature replied, a broad fat smile sending her red
face into a pucker of little wrinkles. “Sometimes they just about give
me the ’ump, I can tell you.”
“Ma, do mind what you’re saying,” cried Miss Railing, much shocked at
this manner of speaking.
“Well, you do, Louie--that is Louise. She don’t like me to call her
Louie. She says it’s so common. You know, my lord, my children was
christened Bertram and Louise. But we’ve always called ’em Bertie and
Louie, and I can’t get out of the ’abit of it now. But, lor’, when your
children grow up and get on in the world they want to turn everything
upside down. Now what do you think Bertie wants me to do?”
“I can’t imagine,” said the Canon.
“Well, would you believe it, he wants me to take the pledge.”
“Ma!” cried Miss Railing, with whole volumes of reproach in her tone.
“Well, look ’ere, my lord,” continued her mother, confidentially. “What
I say is, I’m an ’ard-working woman, and what with the work I do, I want
my little drop of beer now and then. The Captain--my ’usband, that
is--’ad a little bit put by, but I ’ad to work to make both ends meet
when I was left a widow, I can tell you. And I’ve given my children a
thorough good education.”
“You have reason to be proud of them,” replied the Canon, with
conviction. “I don’t suppose my little girl has half the knowledge of
Miss Louise.”
“That’s your fault; that’s because you’ve not educated her properly,”
cried Miss Railing, attacking him at once. “I hold with the higher
education of women. But there’s no education in the West End. Now, if I
had charge of your daughter for six months I could make a different
woman of her.”
“Ain’t she wonderful!” said Mrs. Railing. “I can listen to ’er talking
for hours at a time.”
“Except on the subject of teetotalism?” cried the Canon, rubbing his
hands jovially.
Mrs. Railing threw back her head and shook with laughter.
“You’re right there, my lord. What I say is, I’m an ’ard-working woman.”
“And you want your little drop of beer, I know, I know,” hastily
interrupted the Canon. “I was discussing the matter the other day with
the lady who does me the honour to clean out my church, and she
expressed herself in the same manner; but she rather favoured spirits, I
understand.”
“Oh, I never take spirits,” said Mrs. Railing, shaking her head.
“What, never?” cried the Canon, with immense gusto.
“Well, ’ardly ever,” she answered, beaming.
“Capital! Capital!”
“Now don’t you laugh at me. The fact is, I sometimes ’ave a little drop
in my tea.”
“Bless me, why didn’t you say so? Winnie, you really ought to have told
me. Ring the bell.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean it like that, my lord,” said Mrs. Railing, who feared
she had expressed too decided a hint.
“My dear lady!” cried the Canon, as though he had only just escaped a
serious breach of hospitality. “What is it you take? Rum?”
“Oh, I can’t bear it!” cried Mrs. Railing, throwing up both her hands
and making a face.
“Whiskey?”
“Oh, no, my lord. I wouldn’t touch it if I was paid.”
“Gin?”
She smiled broadly and in a voice that was almost caressing, answered:
“Call it white satin, my lord.”
“White satin?”
“It’s a funny thing now, but rum never ’as agreed with me; an’ it’s
wholesome stuff, you know.”
“I have no doubt,” said Theodore, politely.
“The last time I ’ad a little drop--oh, I was queer. Now, my friend,
Mrs. Cooper, can’t touch anything else.”
“Come, come, that’s very strange.”
“You don’t know Mrs. Cooper, do you? Oh, she’s such a nice woman. And
she’s got such a dear little ’ouse in Shepherd’s Bush.”
“A salubrious neighbourhood, I believe,” said Canon Spratte, with a
courteous bow.
“Oh, yes, the tube ’as made a great difference to it. You ought to know
Mrs. Cooper. Oh, she’s a nice woman and a thorough lady. No one can say
a word against ’er, I don’t care who it is!”
“Ma!” said Louise.
“Well, they do say she takes a little drop too much now and then,”
returned the good lady, qualifying her statement. “But I’ve never seen
’er with more than she could carry.”
“Really!” said Canon Spratte.
“Oh, I don’t approve of taking more than you can ’old. My motto is
strict moderation. But as Mrs. Cooper was saying to me only the other
day: ‘Mrs. Railing,’ she said, ‘with all the trouble I’ve gone through,
I tell you, speaking as one lady to another, I don’t know what I should
do without a little drop of rum.’ And she ’as ’ad a rare lot of trouble.
There’s no denying it.”
“Poor soul, poor soul!” said the Canon.
“Oh, a rare lot of trouble. Now, you know, it’s funny ’ow people differ.
Mrs. Cooper said to me, ‘Mrs. Railing,’ she said, ‘I give you my word of
honour, I can’t touch white satin. It ’as such an effect on me that I
don’t know what I’m talking about.’ So I said to ’er: ‘Mrs. Cooper,’ I
said, ‘you’re quite right not to touch it.’ Now wasn’t I right, my
lord?”
“Oh, perfectly! I think you gave her the soundest possible advice.”
At this moment Ponsonby entered the room in answer to the bell. There
was in his face such an impressive solemnity that you felt it would be
almost sacrilege to address him flippantly. Canon Spratte rose and
stepped forward, taking, according to his habit on important occasions,
as it were the centre of the stage.
“Ponsonby, have we any--white satin in the house?”
“I ’ave ’eard it called satinette,” murmured Mrs. Railing,
good-humouredly.
Ponsonby’s fish-like eyes travelled slowly from the Canon to the stout
lady, and he positively blinked when he saw the rakish cock of her crape
bonnet. Otherwise his massive face expressed no emotion.
“White satin, sir?” he repeated, slowly. “I’ll inquire.”
“Or satinette,” added Canon Spratte, unmoved.
Ponsonby did not immediately leave the room, but looked at the Canon
with a mystified expression. His master smiled quietly.
“Perhaps Ponsonby does not quite understand. I mean, have we any gin in
the house, Ponsonby?”
The emotions of horror and surprise made their way deliberately from
feature to feature of Ponsonby’s fleshy, immobile face.
“Gin, sir? No, sir.”
“Is there none in the servants’ hall?”
“Oh no, sir!” answered Ponsonby, scandalized into some energy of
expression.
“How careless of me!” cried the Canon, with every appearance of
vexation. “You ought to have reminded me that there was no gin in the
house, Sophia. Well, Ponsonby, will you go and get sixpennyworth at the
nearest public-house.”
“Oh no, don’t send out for it,” said Mrs. Railing, in tones of entreaty,
“I could never forgive myself.”
“But I assure you it’s no trouble at all. And I should very much like to
taste it.”
“Well, then, threepennyworth is ample,” answered Mrs. Railing, with a
nervous glance at her daughter.
“You’re much better without it, ma,” said she.
“Come, come, you mustn’t grudge your mother a little treat now and
then,” cried their host.
“And it’s a real treat for me, I can tell you,” Mrs. Railing assured
him.
Canon Spratte stretched out his arm, and with a dramatic gesture pointed
to the door.
“Threepennyworth of gin, Ponsonby.”
“Yes, sir.”
With noiseless feet Ponsonby vanished from the room. Mrs. Railing turned
amiably to Lady Sophia.
“That’s what I like about London, there always is a public-house round
the corner.”
“Ma, do mind what you’re saying.”
Mrs. Railing did not like these frequent interruptions, and was about to
make a somewhat heated rejoinder, when Lord Spratte joined in the
conversation.
“I quite agree with Mrs. Railing, I think it’s most convenient.”
“Oh, do you?” said Louise, aggressively. “And may I ask if you have ever
studied the teetotal question?”
“Not I!”
“And you’re a hereditary legislator,” she answered, looking him up and
down with disdain. She fixed the peer with an argumentative eye. “I
should just like to have a few words with you about the House of Lords.
I’m a Radical and a Home Ruler. The House of Lords must go.”
“Bless you, I’ll part from it without a tear.”
“Now, what I want to know is what moral right have you to rule over me?”
“My dear lady, if I rule over you it is entirely unawares,” replied Lord
Spratte, in the most deprecating way.
Miss Railing tossed her head with an impatient gesture.
“I’m not concerned with you personally. To you as an individual I am
absolutely indifferent.”
“Don’t say that. Why should you ruthlessly crush my self-esteem?”
“I wish to discuss the matter with you as a member of a privileged
class,” rejoined Miss Railing, with flashing eye, digging the ferule of
her umbrella emphatically into the carpet. “Now, so far as I can see you
are utterly ignorant of all the great social questions of the day.”
“Utterly!” he agreed.
“What do you know about the Housing of the Working Classes?”
“Nothing!”
“What do you know about Secondary Education?”
“Nothing!”
“What do you know about the Taxation of Ground Rents?”
“Nothing!” answered Lord Spratte for the third time. “And what’s more,
I’m hanged if I want to.”
Miss Railing sprang to her feet, waving her umbrella as though herself
about to lead an attack on the Houses of Parliament.
“And yet you are a member of the Upper Chamber. Just because you’re a
lord, you have power to legislate over millions of people with ten times
more knowledge, more ability, and more education than yourself.”
“Capital! Capital!” cried Canon Spratte, vastly amused. “You rub it in.
A good straight talking-to is just what he wants!”
“And how do you spend your time, I should like to know. Do you study the
questions of the hour? Do you attempt to fit yourself for the task
entrusted to you by the anachronism of a past age?”
“I wish you’d put that umbrella down,” answered Lord Spratte. “It makes
me quite nervous.”
Miss Railing angrily threw that instrument of menace on a chair.
“I’ll be bound you spend your days in every form of degrading pursuit.
At race-meetings, and billiards, and gambling.”
“Capital! Capital!” cried the Canon.
Then Ponsonby returned bearing on a silver tray, engraved magnificently
with the arms and supporters of the Sprattes, a liqueur bottle.
“Ah, here is the gin!”
But Mrs. Railing had an affection for synonyms and a passion for
respectability. A spasm of outraged sensibility passed over her honest
face.
“Oh, my lord, don’t call it gin. It sounds so vulgar. When my poor
’usband was alive I used to say to ’im: ‘Captain, I won’t have it called
gin in my ’ouse.’ I always used to call my ’usband the captain, although
he was only first mate. I wish you could ’ave seen him. If any one ’ad
said to me: ‘Mrs. Railing, put your ’and on a fine, ’andsome, ’ealthy
man,’ I should ’ave put my ’and on James Samuel Railing. And would you
believe it, before he was thirty-five he was no more.”
“Very sad!” said the Canon.
“Oh, and ’e was a dreadful sight before ’e died. You should have seen
his legs.”
“Ma!”
“Leave me alone, Louie,” answered Mrs. Railing, somewhat incensed. “Do
you think I’ve never been in a gentleman’s house before? You’re always
naggin’.”
“No, I’m not, ma.”
“Don’t contradict, Louie. I won’t ’ave it.”
But Canon Spratte interposed with soft words.
“Won’t you have a little more--white satin?”
“No, thank you, my lord, I don’t think I could stand it,” said Mrs.
Railing, quickly regaining her composure. “You made the first dose
rather strong, and we’ve got to get ’ome, you know.”
“I think we ought to be trotting, ma,” said her daughter.
“P’raps we ought. We’ve got a long way to go.”
“We’d better take the train, ma.”
“Oh, let’s go in a ’bus, my dear,” answered Mrs. Railing. “I like riding
in ’buses, the conductors are so good-looking, and such gentlemen. Why,
the other day I got into conversation with the conductor, and would you
believe it, he made me drink a drop of beer with ’im at the end of the
journey. Oh, he was a nice young man!”
“Ma!”
“Well, my dear, so ’e was. And ’e’s none the worse for being a ’bus
conductor. They earn very good money, and ’e told me ’e was a married
man, so I don’t see no ’arm in it.”
“Come on, ma, or we shall never get off,” said Miss Railing.
“Well, good-bye, my lord. And thank you.”
Canon Spratte shook hands with them both very warmly.
“So kind of you to come all this way. We’ve thoroughly enjoyed your
visit.”
But when the door was closed behind the visitors utter silence fell upon
every one in the room. Winnie looked silently in front of her, and
silently Lord Spratte and Lady Sophia watched her. The Canon went to a
window and glanced at the retreating figure of Mrs. Railing. He drummed
on the panes and softly hummed to himself:
“_For I’m no sailor bold,_
_And I’ve never been upon the sea;_
_And if I fell therein, it’s a fact I couldn’t swim,_
_And quickly at the bottom I should be._”
Winnie got up suddenly, and without a word left the room. The Canon
smiled quietly. He sat down and wrote a note to Wroxham asking him to
tea on the following afternoon.