EARL'S COURT
In the morning, with my shaving water, was brought a note in a dashing
feminine handwriting. It was from the little American prima donna to
say she was sorry that she had forgotten, but she was engaged to dine
with some friends who were leaving England, and would I take her out
some other night instead; and she considerately suggested two evenings
on which she should have known that I would be out of town for Goodwood.
I felt inclined to reply, like Uncle Gregory, that I knew those
friends--"they cum fr' Sheffield"; but I did nothing worse than to
write that of course I would take her out with pleasure on the first
evening she had vacant when I came back to town.
I had arranged to drive her down to Earl's Court to give her dinner
at the Quadrant, to take her on to the lawn of the Welcome Club for
coffee and liqueurs, and then to go the round of the side shows. It
is not easy in August to find a lady to take out to dinner at twelve
hours' notice. Mrs. Charlie Sphinx was at Carlsbad, and Miss Dainty
was taking a holiday from the wear and tear of "resting" at some French
watering-place. I sent a note round by a cab to Sir George to ask if I
might take Miss Brighteyes out to dinner; but the man came back saying
that the house was all shut up, and that he could make no one hear.
At the worst, I thought, I could pick up a man at the club; but the
few men in the smoking-room had either to go back to their wives or
had some dinner engagement. So it came that I started alone for Earl's
Court.
I had written for a table to be kept for me at eight o'clock, and
a few minutes before the hour I disembarked at the entrance by the
lake. It was between the lights, and the great white globes aglow with
electricity looked garish against the delicate opal of the sky, and
cast strange reflections on the water. I paused for a moment to listen
to the blue-coated musicians on their island bandstand commencing the
march from "Aïda," and then went past the bronze Gordon on his camel,
past a buffet where a little crowd were dining frugally off sandwiches
and pale ale, over the long bridge, through the gardens, and at last
to the restaurant. In front of the broad awning which stretches before
the restaurant, standing by a red rope, which keeps the public from
coming too near, are two janitors, who, in their dark blue and peaked
caps, look rather like warders: a clerk at a desk, with a big open book
before him, sits opposite to the entrance.
Had I booked a table? the clerk asked me as I came up. Certainly I had.
I had written that I wanted a particularly good table at eight o'clock.
The clerk looked up at a tall gentleman with a reddish beard and
moustache who stood behind him, M. Gerard, Messrs. Spiers and Pond's
manager, and the gentleman with the beard looked at his watch. It was a
quarter-past eight. M. Gerard explained that no tables were kept after
eight, and drew a vivid picture of a well-dressed but famished crowd
standing outside at the red ropes and threatening to tear down the
place if they were not admitted to the vacant places. My table had been
given to an eminently respectable couple who did not look as if they
would tear down anything, and I was about to go over the way to the
Welcome, in wrath, when it was found that there was a table for four,
right up against the barrier, vacant; and I settled down in solitary
dignity at one of the best tables in the place. A smart young waiter,
in white apron and brown coat with pink facings, put the menu in front
of me. I ordered a pint of Deutz and Gelderman to be put in ice, and
then looked round me.
Immediately behind me a party were being entertained by two young
barristers. I could hear but not see them. They were telling legal
stories, and there was one as to Inderwick and the House of Lords
that set their table in a roar. Opposite to me was a little family
of father, mother, and son, and a pretty girl came bustling in to
complete the party, with, from her manner, a tale of misadventure and
delay to be told. A bald-headed, smart-looking soldier, a cavalryman
from his bearing, was giving dinner to a youngster who might be at a
crammer's--they were among the few men wearing evening dress; there
was an engaged couple who gazed into each other's eyes across the
table, and there was a fat gentleman, who I should think was a Jewish
financier, who was giving dinner to a girl with many rows of pearls
round her throat and a glint of diamonds on her dress. The financier
was drinking the girl's health, and as he held back his head to drain
his glass she made, lightning quick, a face at him, which said more
than pages of history.
I had eaten my _hors-d'œuvre_, and the waiter brought me the clear
soup I had chosen. It was not as hot as it should have been; but the
kitchen is some way off from the tables at the far edge of the awning,
and, with one of the most wonderful outlooks in the world, one is not
prepared to be over particular as to cookery.
The opal tints in the sky had died out and had left it a sheet of
steel. On the right the tall white building in which is the panorama
was already shining with electric light; the canvas buttresses and
towers, looking solid enough now, stood black against the grey. In
the bandstand in the centre of the promenade Dan Godfrey and his
crimson-coated musicians were playing a waltz air, and a crowd, dimly
seen, was moving round and round this centre of attraction. The Welcome
Club, with its lighted windows, was away to the left, and, above all,
the Great Wheel, starred with lights, moved its circle very gently and
silently. Men in the half light were running hither and thither with
long sticks with a flame at the end, and lights green, white, and rose
began to twinkle on all sides.
The choice had been given me between _saumon, sauce Rubens_ and _filet
de merlan frit, sauce Ravigote_. I chose the whiting, and had the cook
only been more careful in boning his fish I should have called it
excellent.
The engaged couple had left their table, and a merry party, two
nice-looking girls, a young, clean-shaven man, and a grey-haired _bon
vivant_, had taken their places. The girls, who had evidently come out
to enjoy themselves thoroughly, were laughing already.
The financier had ordered another bottle of champagne; the girl with
the pearls opposite to him, her chin on her fist, was gazing out
at the sky from which the light had faded. A big party, the men in
evening dress, passed through under the awning to the big room of the
restaurant, a room decorated with paintings of Indian gods and heroes
and rajahs, and the red shades of the candles on their table made a
pleasant note of warm colour.
My waiter brought the _pigeon braisé Démidoff_. I looked at it and it
appeared nice; but I sent it away, for I was not hungry, and there were
other dishes still to come.
The sky now was all light indigo, with the clouds deeper patches of the
same colour. All the little lamps in the garden were alight, twinkling
in great curves against the black of the battlements. The bandstand was
outlined with rose: the Welcome Club was ablaze with green: the trees
under all this light had a strange metallic shine. The rays from the
searchlight came sweeping overhead: the Wheel with its circle of stars
still turned solemnly. Amidst all the lights one inscription in green
and white lamps, "Infant Incubator," fixed itself on my attention, and
I found myself wondering what an infant incubator could be like.
The crowd outside had increased in number. There seemed to be many
ladies in white with white hats amongst it; there was occasionally
a gleam of white shirt fronts; little boys in straw hats and Eton
collars dived into the thick, and then reappeared; the programme boys,
in grey Early Victorian dress, came and went. The band was hammering
away at the "Mikado." Two pretty girls in black dresses with wide
white collars, one with a white sailor hat, one with a black one,
paused outside to watch us dining. I should have liked to ask them
in to dine, for I was feeling very lonely, but I remembered British
conventionality, and forbore. The _côtelette d'agneau à la Bellevue_
which the waiter brought me was hot and well cooked, but I do not think
that the chicken, a wing of which succeeded the cutlet, could have
lived a very happy life. I think it must have been consumptive.
The restaurant was beginning to empty now, the guests filing out in
twos and threes, and vanishing into the parti-coloured crowd; and
still the Wheel, with its silent power, turned, and still the "Infant
Incubator" danced before my eyes.
The beans, the ice, and the peach with which I finished my dinner were
all good--I refused the _pouding Victoria_ which was on the menu; and
after sipping my coffee and paying my bill--one dinner, 7s. 6d.; one
pint 239, 6s. 6d.; liqueur, 2s.; total, 16s.--I obeyed an irresistible
impulse and went over to see what an infant incubator was like.
3_rd August_.