From twelve o'clock until four, the eating houses of the City are crammed
with hungry clerks.
Bills of fare have not yet been introduced,--the more's the pity; but, in
lieu thereof, you are no sooner seated in one of the snug inviting little
settles, with a table laid for four or six, spread with a snowy cloth,
still bearing the fresh quadrangular marks impressed by the mangle, and
rather damp, than the dapper, ubiquitous waiter, napkin in hand, stands
before you, and rapidly runs over a detailed account of the tempting
viands all smoking hot, and ready to be served up.
"Beef, boiled and roast; veal and ham; line of pork, roast; leg boiled,
with pease pudding; cutlets, chops and steaks, greens, taters, and
pease," etc. etc.
Some are fastidious, and hesitate; the waiter, whose eyes are 'all about
him,' leaves you to meditate and decide, while he hastens to inform a new
arrival, and mechanically repeats his catalogue of dainties; and, bawling
out at the top of his voice, "One roast beaf and one taters," you echo
his words, and he straightway reports your wishes in the same voice and
manner to the invisible purveyors below, and ten to one but you get a
piece of boiled fat to eke out your roast meat.
In some houses, new and stale bread, at discretion, are provided; and
many a stripling, lean and hungry as a greyhound, with a large appetite
and a small purse, calls for a small plate, without vegetables, and fills
up the craving crannies with an immoderate proportion of the staff of
life, while the reckoning simply stands, "one small plate 6d., one bread
1d., one waiter 1d.;" and at this economical price satisfies the demands
of his young appetite.
But still, cheap as this appears, he pays it the aggregate, for there are
frequently 500 or 600 diners daily at these Establishments; and the
waiter, who generally purchases his place, and provides glass, cloths,
etc. not only makes a 'good thing of it,' but frequently accumulates
sufficient to set up on his own account, in which case, he is almost sure
of being followed by the regular customers.
For he is universally so obliging, and possesses such a memory, and an
aptness in discovering the various tastes of his visitors, that he seldom
fails in making most of the every-day feeders his fast friends.
"Tom, bring me a small plate of boiled beef and potatoes," cries one of
his regulars. Placing his hand upon the table-cloth; and knocking off
the crumbs with his napkin, he bends to the gentleman, and in a small.
confidential voice informs him,
"The beef won't do for you, Sir,--it's too low, it's bin in cut a hour.
Fine ribs o' lamb, jist up."
"That will do, Tom," says the gratified customer.
"Grass or spinach, Sir? fine 'grass,'--first this season."
"Bring it, and quick, Tom," replies the gentleman, pleased with the
assiduous care he takes in not permitting him to have an indifferent cut
of a half cold joint.
The most extraordinary part of the business is, the ready manner in which
he 'casts up' all you have eaten, takes the reckoning, and then is off
again in a twinkling.
A stranger, and one unaccustomed to feed in public, is recognised in a
moment by his uneasy movements. He generally slinks into the nearest
vacant seat, and is evidently taken aback by the apparently abrupt and
rapid annunciation of the voluble and active waiter, and, in the hurry
and confusion, very frequently decides upon the dish least pleasant to
his palate.
A respectable gentleman of the old school, of a mild and reverend
appearance, and a lean and hungry figure, once dropped into a settle
where we were discussing a rump steak and a shallot, tender as an infant,
and fragrant as a flower garden! Tom pounced upon him in a moment, and
uttered the mystic roll. The worthy senior was evidently confused and
startled, but necessity so far overcame his diffidence that he softly
said,
"A small portion of veal and ham, well done."
Tom, whirled round, continuing the application of his eternal napkin to a
tumbler which he was polishing, bawled out in a stentorian voice,
"Plate o' weal, an' dam well done!"
We shall never sponge from the slate of our memory the utter astonishment
expressed in the bland countenance of the startled old gentleman at this
peculiar echo of his wishes.