THE SHIP (GREENWICH)
It was pleasant to see Miss Dainty's (of all the principal London
theatres) handwriting again. She had read all the "Dinners and
Diners," she told me, and did not think that any of them were as good
as the one when I had the inspiration or her presence. She had been
very ill--at the point of death, indeed--owing to a sprained ankle,
which prevented her going to Ascot, for which race-meeting she had
ordered three dresses, each of which was a dream. Why did I take out
to dinner nobody but Editors and Society ladies now? The parrot was
very well, but was pecking the feathers out of his tail. She had some
new pets--two goldfish, whose glass bowl had been broken and who now
lived in a big yellow vase. The cat had eaten one of the love-birds,
and was ill for two days afterwards. The pug had been exchanged for a
fox-terrier--Jack, the dearest dog in the world. Jack had gone up the
river on the electric launch and had fought two dogs, and had been
bitten over the eye, and had covered all his mistress's white piqué
skirt with blood; but for all that he was a duck and his mother's own
darling.
This, much summarised, was the pretty little lady's letter, and I wrote
back at once to say that the pleasure of entertaining a princess of
the blood-royal was as nothing to the honour of her company, and if
the foot was well enough, would she honour me with her presence at
dinner anywhere she liked? And, as the weather had turned tropical,
I suggested either Richmond or Greenwich or the restaurant at Earl's
Court.
Greenwich the fair lady gave her decision for, and then I made a
further suggestion: that, if she did not mind unaristocratic company,
the pleasantest way was to go by boat.
This suggestion was accepted, and Miss Dainty in the late afternoon
called for me at a dingy Fleet Street office. I was delighted to see
the little lady, looking very fresh and nice as she sat back in her
cab, and I trust that my face showed nothing except pleasure when I
perceived a small fox-terrier with a large muzzle and a long leash
sitting by her side. Miss Dainty explained that as she had allowed her
maid to go out for the afternoon she had to bring Jack, and of course I
said that I was delighted.
We embarked at the Temple pier on a boat, which was as most river boats
are. There were gentlemen who had neglected to shave smoking strong
pipes; there were affable ladies of a conversational tendency, and
there were a violin and harp; but there were as a compensation all the
beautiful sights of the river to be seen, the cathedral-like Tower
Bridge, the forest of shipping, the red-sailed boats fighting their
way up against the tide, the line of barges in picturesque zig-gag
following the puffing tugs; and all these things Miss Dainty saw and
appreciated. There was much to tell, too, that Miss Dainty had not
written in her letter, and Jack was a never-failing source of interest.
Jack wound his leash round the legs of the pipe-smoking gentlemen,
was not quite sure that the babies of the conversational ladies were
not somethings that he ought to eat, and at intervals wanted to go
overboard and fight imaginary dogs in the Thames.
Arrived at Greenwich, at the Ship (the tavern with a rather dingy
front, with two tiers of bow windows, with its little garden gay with
white and green lamps, and with its fountain and rockery which had bits
of paper and straws floating in the basin), I asked for the proprietor.
Mr. Bale, thickset, and with a little moustache, came out of his room,
and whether it was that Fleet Street and the Thames had given me a
tramp-like appearance, or whether it was that he did not at once take
a fancy to Jack, I could not say, but he did not seem overjoyed to see
us. Yet presently he thawed, told me that he had kept a table by the
window for us, and that our dinner would be ready at 6.30, as I had
telegraphed.
In the meantime I suggested that we should see the rest of the house.
"Would it not be better to leave the dog downstairs?" suggested Mr.
Bale, and Jack was tied up somewhere below, while we went round the
upper two stories of dining-rooms--for the Ship is a house of nothing
but dining-rooms. It is a tavern, not a hotel, and there are no
bedrooms for guests. We went into the pleasant bow-windowed rooms on
the first floor, in one of which a table was laid ready, with a very
beautiful decoration of pink and white flowers, and in the other of
which stand the busts of Fox and Pitt. We looked at the two curious
wooden images in the passage, at the chairs with the picture of a ship
let into their backs, and at the flags of all nations which hang in the
long banqueting-room; and all the time Jack, tied up below, lifted up
his voice and wept.
I asked if Jack might be allowed to come into the dining-room and sit
beside his mistress while we had dinner, giving the dog a character
for peacefulness and quiet for which I might have been prosecuted
for perjury; but it was against the rules of the house, and Mr. Bale
suggested that if Jack was tied up to a pole of the awning just outside
the window he would be able to gaze through the glass at his mistress
and be happy.
A fine old Britannic waiter, who looked like a very much reduced copy
of Sir William Vernon-Harcourt, put down two round silver dishes,
lifted up the covers, and there were two souchés, one of salmon and one
of flounder. I helped Miss Dainty to some of the salmon and filled her
glass with the '84 Pommery, which, after much thought, I had selected
from the wine list. But she touched neither; her eyes were on Jack
outside, for that accomplished dog, after doing a maypole dance round
the pole, had now arrived at the end of his leash--and incipient
strangulation. Miss Dainty went outside to rescue her pet from instant
death, and I, having eaten my souché, followed. Jack wanted water, and
a sympathetic hall porter who appeared on the scene volunteered to get
him a soup-plateful, and tie him somewhere where he could not strangle
himself.
The souchés had been removed, and some lobster rissoles and fried slips
had taken their place. Miss Dainty took a rissole and ate it while she
watched the hall porter put Jack's plate of water down, and I made
short work of a slip and was going to try the rissoles when Jack, in
a plaintive tone of voice, informed the world that something was the
matter. His mistress understood him at once. The poor dear would not
drink his water unless she stood by; and this having been proved by
actual fact, Miss Dainty, with myself in attendance, came back to find
that whiting puddings and stewed eels had taken the place of the former
dishes.
Miss Dainty took a small helping of the eels, looked at it, and then
turned her eyes again to Jack, who was going through a series of
gymnastics. I ate my whiting pudding, which I love, in fevered haste,
and had got halfway through my helping of eels, when Miss Dainty
discovered what was the matter with Jack. The boys on the steps below
were annoying him, and the only way to keep him quiet would be to give
him some bones. The sympathetic hall porter again came to the rescue,
and Jack, under his mistress's eye, made fine trencher play with two
bones.
There was a look of reproach in the veteran waiter's eye when we came
back and found the crab omelette and salmon cutlets _à l'Indienne_ were
cooling. I tried to draw Miss Dainty's attention away from Jack. I told
her how Mr. _Punch_ had called her Faustine, and had written a page
about her; but when she found there was nothing to quote in her book of
press notices she lost all interest in the hump-backed gentleman.
With the advent of the plain whitebait a new danger to Jack arose.
A turtle was brought by three men on to the lawn and turned loose,
and Miss Dainty had to go out and assure herself that Jack was not
frightened, and that the turtle was not meditating an attack upon him.
The turtle was found to be a harmless and interesting insect, and
having been shown, with practical illustrations, how the beast was
captured by savages, Miss Dainty took great pity on it, collected water
in the soup-plate from the fountain, poured it over its head, and tried
to induce it to drink, which the turtle steadfastly refused to do.
The veteran waiter was stern when we returned and found the devilled
whitebait on the table. I told him to bring the coffee and liqueurs and
bill out into the garden, because Miss Dainty, having been separated
from her dog so long, wanted to nurse and pet him.
This was the bill:--Two dinners, 14s.; one Pommery '84, 18s.; two
liqueurs, 1s. 6d.; coffee, 1s.; attendance, 1s.; total, £1: 15: 6.
We sat and watched St. Paul's stand clear against the sunset, and Miss
Dainty, her dog happy in her lap, suddenly said, "If you give this
place a good notice, I'll never speak to you again."
"Why?" I replied. "The whitebait was delicious, the whiting pudding
capital, the omelette good. I liked the fried slips and the rissoles."
"Yes, perhaps," said Miss Dainty, with a pout. "But they wouldn't let
me have my dog in the dining-room!"
19_th July_.