William Blake walked quietly into the bar of the Tantani Hotel. It was
obvious to all that he had not been out from England long, because his
clothes were so new and clean. Besides, he bore the self-conscious air
which is an unmistakeable sign.
All the men who crowded the bar wore reach-me-downs; or, if their
clothes had been made in England, it was very, very long ago.
William knew the barman, who had been at Eton with his elder brother.
Men find strange jobs in Africa in the process of reaching their proper
level. I must add that in course of time that same barman bought the
bar--and many other things besides--and ultimately represented his
district on the Legislative Council.
At the moment of William's entry the barman was busy, so the youngster
edged his way in between the wall and the brawny back of a corduroyed
transport-rider, intending to wait quietly until he could catch the
barman's eye.
The place was thick with the fumes of strong drink and tobacco
smoke--Boer tobacco smoke. Of all the unlovely habits which men acquire,
that of smoking Boer tobacco is the most trying to other people. I
know, because I used to smoke it once, and I have seen it empty an
Underground railway carriage at every station.
But William did not smoke, neither did he drink strong drink; he merely
wanted to have a talk to the man his brother fagged for. But, on
reaching the bar, he unintentionally jogged the transport-rider's arm
and spilt some of his liquor.
"Who the hell are you shovin'?"
"Sorry."
"Sorry, are you? Yer bloomin' tailor's model."
The barman's chief asset was a quick ear and a keen sense of rising
trouble. He was at the end of the counter in a moment.
"Hullo, Bill. Upset Rogers' drink, have you? Well, both have a drink at
my expense. This boy is a friend of mine, Rogers."
"Well, Jimmy, as he's a friend of yours I'll overlook the accident--and
I will. Mine's a gin and tonic; what's the boy goin' to drink?"
Before William could explain that he didn't drink, the barman said: "I
know his poison, don't I, Bill?" following this up with a heavy wink.
"Mr. John Rogers--Mr. William Blake."
"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Blake. Put it here."
The pair shook hands.
The barman pushed two glasses forward--one, containing gin, towards
Rogers, and the other, lime-juice, for Blake. He took something out a
bottle under the counter for himself, gave Rogers a small tonic, and
split a small soda with William.
"Here's fun," said Rogers.
"Chin, chin," said Jimmy the barman.
The boy nodded gravely at each. They drank.
"Come on, let's have another," said Rogers. "Same as before for me, but
not quite so much of your bloomin' tonic, Jimmy. Spoils the gin."
No sooner were the drinks poured out than the barman hurried away to
attend to the calls at the other end of the counter, so the two were
left to themselves.
"What are you drinkin', might I ask?"
"Lime-juice and soda," said William.
"Just what I thought. Now, my young friend, it won't do. Didn't you see
the train come in to-day?"
"Yes."
"Well?"
"I don't understand."
"Don't you? Well, isn't this the very first train to get here from the
South?"
"Yes."
"Well, ain't you goin' to get drunk on it?"
"Certainly not."