THE indignation meeting occurred without any of the printed entreaties
usually found needful in order to induce the public to arouse. It seems
less strange that only ladies attended, for the sex is notoriously
beginning to take an interest in public questions.
Mr. Woods, driving one of his own wagonettes, was talking to the two
passengers secured at the railway station four miles off and giving them
a short autobiography—“Begun to work, I did, afore I were twelve, I
did!”—when he caught sight of the gathering and broke off to express
amazement; he gave at once an emphatic but scarcely original declaration
that if women secured the vote they would not know what to do with it.
The passengers differed from this view, and Mr. Woods, anxious to secure
their patronage for the return journey, hastened to admit that he had not
had the time to study the question thoroughly. A lady detached herself
from the group and, holding her tweed cap on her head, ran across.
“Whatever’s amiss, Jane?”
“It’s a missis,” she added, robbed of breath by indignation and hurry.
“That Mrs. Jarrett, as she calls herself. She’s been and opened some Tea
Gardens.”
“News to me,” he remarked alarmedly.
“News to all of us. She ain’t been here more than three months, and this
morning there’s playcards all over her place.”
“Thought she seemed a nicely spoken person.”
“You wait,” said Jane threateningly, “until we begin to talk to her.
She’ll get what I call some home truths if she don’t look out.”
The passengers suggested mildly that their time was limited, and Woods,
rendered silent by the extraordinary nature of the information, drove on
to the edge of the forest, contenting himself by indicating on the way
the cottage where his sister-in-law Jane resided. In the clouded diamond
panes it exhibited shyly, as did most of the other cottages, a small card
that whispered the word “Teas”; a few bottles of ginger-beer rested on
the sill to suggest that the establishment had further resources. After
the passengers alighted he drove around by the road that skirted the
wood, checking the horse slightly on approaching the house and lawn
occupied by the new-comer. Tables had been placed, with striped cloths
held by shining clips; a small marquee was being fixed in the corner.
The neatly-painted board at the gate gave the title, “Forest Tea
Gardens,” adding sentences to the effect that refreshments of the best
quality could be obtained at any hour—“Large Parties and Small Parties
catered for; proprietress, Clara Jarrett.” As Mr. Woods, unwilling to
display curiosity, allowed his horse to go on, an automatic pianoforte
started, with great vivacity, a waltz.
“Great thing is,” announced Mr. Woods, speaking from his conveyance to
the meeting as though he were a candidate for Parliament—“is not to lose
your heads. Keep perfectly calm and cool, and everything’ll come right
in the long run.”
“Question is, how long a run is it going to be?” demanded one.
“Provided,” he went on, “provided that we all stick together, she can’t
last half-way through the summer.”
“And meanwhile—”
“Meanwhile,” interrupted Woods irritably, “you’ve got to make the best of
it. Competition’s bound to exist in this world.”
“How would you like it, Mr. Woods, if somebody—”
“One matter at a time. Let’s keep to the question. What I want you to
recognise is that you’ve got a true friend in me. I’ve no partic’lar
objection to her; as I said just now to my sister-in-law, she always
seemed a nicely spoken person, and I don’t wish to do her any harm
whatsoever. But there’s no doubt at all in my mind that so far as we are
concerned she’s a interloper.”
The women appeared to find the description too lenient. One announced
vehemently that, before Mr. Woods came along, they had almost decided to
go in a body and pull down the signboard, demolish the marquee, and in
other ways convey the fact that they looked upon the new Tea Gardens with
disapproval. Goodness knew, there had never been much profit made out of
sixpenny teas; it seemed likely that in the future it would be scarcely
worth while to make cakes and keep the kettle boiling. Woods, again
begging for moderation, urged they should cease talking for the space of
two seconds and listen to him. He, with his cabs and wagonettes, had
full control over all the traffic from the station, excepting that small
part which took the (as he thought) mistaken course of deciding to walk.
Nearly all of these passengers put one inquiry to him or to his men.
“Now do keep quiet until I’ve finished,” prayed Woods. “Only got half a
dozen more words to say, and I’m done.”
He, on his side, was prepared to guarantee that the new Tea Gardens
should never, by speech or hint, be recommended. If any passenger,
having heard of them, mentioned the name, then Mr. Woods or his men could
be relied upon to cast discredit ingeniously without bringing themselves
within the domain of the laws of libel. On their side, they must be
prepared for some special efforts; must make a greater show; endeavour to
engage the passing visitor by welcome smiles; take care to keep windows
open. He feared they did not always realise the Londoner’s partiality
for fresh air.
“And,” asked his sister-in-law defiantly, “are we supposed to keep on
friendly terms with her whilst all this is going on?”
“Please yourselves,” replied Mr. Woods generously. “So far as I’m
concerned, I shall continue to pass the time of day.”
“And go on bringing her illustrated newspapers, I suppose, from the
station?”
“You’ll allow me, Jane, to be the best judge of my own affairs.”
“But you’re setting out to be the best judge of ours as well!”
“I’ve given you good advice,” said Mr. Woods, gathering the reins, “but
it’s beyond human power to compel you to take it.”
Confidence in himself was shaken by information conveyed by the two
passengers on the return journey. Having forgotten the exact whereabouts
of his sister-in-law’s house they had gone into the new Tea Gardens, and
their content and satisfaction with the treatment received made subject
of conversation throughout the journey. The excellence of the
watercress, the surprising freshness of the eggs, the admirable quality
of the home-made jam—all these impressed them favourably, and they talked
of arranging with friends a picnic on a large scale and without the
inconvenience of heavy baskets. Mr. Woods, not being asked for an
opinion, gave several; one was in favour of splitting the party up
amongst the cottages. He declared this plan would encourage sociability
and give an insight into country life. For almost the first time in his
professional career Woods found himself told to mind his own business.
He invented some compensation by speaking sharply to one of his men whom
he charged with the offence of keeping hands in pockets.
The members of the home syndicate received such a quick succession of
blows from the new Tea Gardens that they began to experience a kind of
dazed resignation, and it became the duty of Mr. Woods to order them to
awake. The automatic pianoforte was followed by engagement from town of
two young nieces, who were not content with demure costume and long blue
pinafore, but must needs, if you please, wear a rather attractive lace
cap. After this came a large rocking-horse for the pleasure of children,
or, failing children, the content of grown-ups who fancied equestrian
exercise and wished to promote digestion. After this, a giant’s stride.
After this, a skittle-alley which drew away of an evening many of the
best and most regular customers from “The Running Stag.” After this, a
lawn-tennis court, with rackets and balls provided without charge to
those who had taken the shilling tea. It was in regard to the shilling
tea that Woods’s sister-in-law, ignoring him, went direct to the vicar,
from whom she received the disappointing information that the words “ad
lib.” were not, in themselves, offensive, or calculated to undermine the
morality of the village; he added some trenchant remarks concerning the
duties of parents, which Jane assumed to refer to other ladies. Jane
assured the vicar that she did all that was possible in the distribution
of good counsel, and he remarked that it would make a useful change for
her to vary the method by accepting it. So far as Mrs. Jarrett and
Sundays were concerned, she and her nieces came to church in the
mornings; they worked hard in the afternoon, and they rested in the
evening. The vicar, admitting that he might be considered either very
old-fashioned or very new-fashioned, declared this a good manner of
spending the day, and gave a short account of Sundays in the early part
of the seventeenth century. Woods, to whom this was reported, said,
guardedly, that the events referred to occurred before he came to town.
The fly-master had, at this period, troubles of his own which decreased
his interest in regard to the rivalry in the tea trade. The first news
came from one of the nieces back from a visit to town on an occasion when
Woods, at the foot of the hill, stepped down to walk and encourage his
horse. The detached position which he had assumed since the beginning of
the dispute had been modified because Jane’s daughter told one of his
young men (and the young man told Mr. Woods) that Jane had announced an
opinion to the effect that her brother-in-law found the money to finance
the Tea Gardens, a suggestion so unfair and so preposterous that he
declared his intention of allowing them to fight their battles without
further assistance from him; henceforth, he proposed to take up a
strictly impartial attitude. Consequently, he had recommenced the
bringing of illustrated newspapers, and more than once he and Mrs.
Jarrett discussed impending marriages in high life, conduct of the German
Emperor, accidents caused by motor-cars, and other topical subjects. The
niece, taking charge of the roll of journals, had distributed amongst the
passengers some of Mrs. Jarrett’s neatly printed cards, had pointed out
to them a notable church and conspicuous dwellings. Leaning over the
side of the conveyance, she gave the information already referred to.
“You Londoners will have your lark,” he commented. “Your aunt’s just the
same.”
“But I’m serious.”
“You don’t take me in. When you say you’re serious is jest when you’re
trying to chaff.”
“They told me so up at Paddington, at any, rate,” she declared. “Friend
of mine is in one of the head offices, and he assured me it was a
positive fact.”
The two held further conversation as the horse, arrived on the level,
jogged on again; she held the reins whilst he noted in his pocket-book
some names and addresses which remained in her memory. Woods, greatly
disturbed, had to be reminded by her, when the destination was reached,
of the formality of collecting fares.
Within the space of a fortnight confirmation came. Down at the railway
station small posters were exhibited, and quite a crowd assembled to read
them and to chaff Woods on the disaster awaiting him, it being a
notorious fact that nothing so much cheers A, B, C, and D as to discover
that E is on the edge of calamity. On blank walls along the route the
bills appeared. At Mrs. Jarrett’s Tea Gardens—this proved the most
stinging smack—a new board was erected bearing the words:
“TERMINUS FOR MOTOR OMNIBUSES.”
Woods, with a set face, ordered the full strength of his stables to
assemble at the station on the first morning to meet the train due just
before eleven. The flies and wagonettes took up position; the large new
omnibus, on rushing up with uniformed driver and boy conductor, found
itself obliged to be satisfied with a place near the cloakroom entrance.
As passengers came out Woods and his men attacked them much in the way
that highwaymen would have behaved a hundred years before.
“Sixpence all the way!” they shouted. “Here you are, lady! Cheaper than
the motor! Here you are, lady, sixpence all the way!”
Perhaps the fierce onslaught was an error in tactics. Perhaps it would
have been wiser not to draw attention to the presence of a swifter mode
of conveyance. Perhaps the natural independence of Londoners induced
them to consider before coming to a decision. A messenger sent to the
new omnibus returned with the news that the fare was eightpence—fourpence
cheaper than the old fare, but obviously twopence dearer than Mr. Woods’s
new tariff.
“Oh, it’s worth it!” cried young ladies. “Do let’s go by motor. We
shall get there ever so much quicker.”
Woods likened them, rather bitterly, to sheep. On the two first
passengers clambering up to the outside seats the others made a quick
rush to secure the remaining places; the inside was filled by those who
did not wish to separate from friends, and the new omnibus, after half a
minute of irresolution that almost induced Woods to believe in the
efficacy of prayer, flew away through the station gates and up the main
street of the village, and away out of sight. His men gathered around
Mr. Woods and prophesied a breakdown; made recommendations. He ordered
them to do nothing but obey orders, and went off to sulk in the
smoke-room of the Railway Hotel.
From which tent he was summoned an hour and a half later by a constable
of the town, who said definitely:
“Mr. Woods, sir, this won’t do.”
“Go away!” commanded the fly proprietor irritably; “I don’t want your
sympathy.”
“It isn’t sympathy I’m giving, it’s a warning. If you don’t call your
men off, we shall end in a riot.”
Woods delivered an address after the second motor-omnibus had been
allowed to leave the yard with its passengers. The early part of the
speech was of an intimate nature and described the treatment to be served
out in the case of the staff again disregarding instructions; the
punishments ranged from skinning alive to instant dismissal. In the
second part, he ordered one to run up to the signwriter in the village.
Later, the procession of flies and wagonettes left the station bearing
notices, “Ruined by Unfair Competition,” and Woods had the satisfaction
of noting that shopkeepers on the line of route came out to inspect; this
would have proved more comforting if they had given any additional signs
of interest. The procession went at a gallop on noting that away in the
distance the second omnibus had stopped, with driver and conductor busy
at the front, passengers looking over anxiously. Mr. Woods counted it as
part of his luck that as the first wagonette arrived the new conveyance
re-started. When, farther on, a man walking shouted an inquiry regarding
cats’ meat, he found it difficult not to make use of the whip.
The Tea Gardens had flags waving at the entrance and along by the hedge
in honour of the occasion; a photographer was giving considerable
attention to the task of securing a good picture of the motor-omnibus
with Mrs. Jarrett and her nieces at the side. The artist said, “Now,
please!” and at that moment the horse driven by Mr. Woods became
unmanageable, causing the ladies to cry, “O—ah!”
When the animal regained self-control, Woods mentioned that it was no
doubt wise to obtain the photograph ere anything amiss happened to the
new conveyances. The motor-man demanded to know what was meant by this.
Woods replied that he always meant what he said. Motor-man, temper
already acutely tried, declared it would be a keen pleasure to punch Mr.
Woods’s nose. Woods retorted that this job required the complete
abilities of a man, and was not therefore within the power of the
omnibus-driver. The other took off his reefer jacket, ordering the
conductor, to take charge of the garment; Woods, forgetting his recent
disapproval of militant tactics, laid his hat on the grass at the side of
the road. At the first blow, Mrs. Jarrett ran forward crying:
“Oh, you mustn’t hurt him! You please mustn’t hurt him!”
“I’m not going to hurt him, ma’am,” said the flushed and excited Mr.
Woods; “I’m only going to kill him.”
“It isn’t him I’m nervous about,” she wailed; “it’s you!”
Woods put on his hat, looked around in a dazed, sheepish way, and, with a
jerk of his head, ordered his men to follow him back to the stables.
“No,” she said appealingly; “I don’t want you to do that.”
“Well, but,” he argued, “what else is there to do? I’m prepared to
listen to anything reasonable. Especially,” he added, “coming from you.”
They consulted apart, the nieces and the men and a few villagers looking
on eagerly, and evidently wishing that their powers of hearing were
finer. Woods, pinching his under-lip, said he doubted whether there was
anything in the idea, but he felt willing to give it a trial. And did
she—lowering his voice—did she really mean what she said just now? Mrs.
Jarrett, pleating her apron, urged it was unfair to make any one
responsible for a remark made on the spur of the moment, and re-stated
her suggestion. One of the nieces fetched an inkstand, and, the cards
being reversed, with a sharpened piece of wood she wrote upon them:
“AN HOUR’S EXCURSION THROUGH THE