GETTING A SQUARE MEAL.
I drifted along Salt Market Street and then came upon a street which,
for want of a better name, was called Sauchiehall Street, in the
neighborhood of which I saw a restaurant called the "Workingman's
Restaurant," on the side-wall of which was painted in large letters the
following bill of fare:
Tea, 2 cents.
Coffee, 2 cents.
Porridge and milk, 2 cents.
Sandwiches, 2 and 4 cents.
Eggs, 2 cents.
Ham and eggs, 16 cents.
Broth, 2 cents.
Pea soup, 2 cents.
Potato soup, 2 cents.
Beefsteak pudding, 4 cents.
Sausage, 2 cents.
Collops, 4 and 6 cents.
Dessert puddings, 2 cents.
Fish suppers, 8 and 12 cents.
Tripe suppers, 8 and 12 cents.
The bill of fare and the prices looked good to me and I concluded that
this would be my dining place.
In front of the restaurant were two large show windows in one of which
was displayed all kinds of bakery goods, such as large flapjacks, big as
elephant ears, labeled "scones." They looked like flapjacks to me, but
were bigger and thicker, and could be had for two cents each. One of
them was enough for a square meal. I wanted something better than that,
though, just then. There were big biscuits in the window, too, cakes of
various kinds, tarts, etc. In the other window were huge joints of beef
and mutton, meat pies, hog-meat in various shapes and styles, and other
dainties. My teeth began to water as I eyed the display and a drop
trickled down my chin.
"Lemme see, now; what'll I tackle?" says I to myself.
Some of the hog meat looked good to me and so did the beef and mutton. I
was willing to spend two bits or so for a good square meal. While I
stood gazing and deliberating a young girl with a shawl around her
shoulders came up to me and addressed me:
"Hoo air ye?" asked she.
I thought she had made a mistake and had taken me for someone she knew,
so I asked her if she wasn't mistaken in the person. Either she did not
understand pure English or else she did not want to, for she kept up the
conversation. It didn't take me long to catch on to the fact that she
was bent on making a mash. She didn't know me from Adam, nor I her. She
was light haired and pretty, and had a slight, graceful figure, which
was not well hidden by a shawl, which she kept opening and closing in
front of her. I concluded that I was in for joy the first thing. To tell
the real, honest truth, I wasn't hankering for fun just then, for I was
too hungry, but of course it wouldn't do to be discourteous to a
stranger, and a pretty one at that. To her inquiry how I was, I told her
"Tiptop," which she didn't seem to understand. She did catch on to it,
though, that I was a stranger.
"Where'd ye come from, the noo?"
"The noo, the noo," thinks I. "What does she mean by that?" I caught on
suddenly. "Oh, I just landed this morning from New York."
"Ho, yer a Yankee, then?" says she.
"No, I'm not," answered I. "I'm a Westerner."
"Ooh eye, ooh eye," repeated she twice, as if she didn't understand.
"What air ye going to do in Glesgie?" asked she in clear, bell-like
accents. She came up pretty close to me and now I could detect from her
breath that she had been indulging in Scotch bug-juice. This displeased
me. I gave her a hint that I had had no dinner and that I was pretty
hungry, but it was evident that something stronger than a hint would be
needed to cut me loose from her. She began to coax and then suddenly she
called me a bully. That got me off. I told her in pretty plain language
that she was a trifle fresh and that I hadn't said or done anything to
warrant her in calling me names. She didn't understand what I said, but
I guess she could tell from my manner that I was angry, so her soft eyes
gazed down to the ground sadly. I excused myself, left her and went
into the restaurant. The unexpected interview had agitated me somewhat,
but I soon got over it.
The front part of the restaurant was a sort of store, where edibles were
displayed on counters and which could be bought and carried away, or
eaten on the premises, as one chose. The rest of the apartment was
divided off into cabinets having sliding doors to them. In each cabinet
was a rough wooden table with backless, wooden benches, close up to it,
and on either side of it. The cabinet wasn't big enough to turn around
in, but it served the purpose for which it was built.
A young waitress came to the cabinet I had chosen as my retreat and
asked me what I would have. When she heard my foreign accent it was all
she could do to keep from sniggering. I asked for pea soup for the first
course. It was brought to me and it was nice. While eating it, the door
slid back quietly, and who do you think entered it? Guess! I'll bet you
never could guess. Why, it was no one else than the young girl who had
addressed me outside the restaurant. She had probably watched from the
outside and seen in which cabinet I had gone and there she was, large as
life. Tell _me_ Scotch girls aren't cute. For a moment I was so
flabbergasted you could have knocked me down with a feather, but I soon
recovered my equanimity.
The girl asked me if she might sit down beside me. What could I say? Of
course, I said yes. I kept on eating my soup and cogitated. If this was
the custom of the country I didn't like it. Where I came from strangers
were not in the habit of inviting themselves to dinner. The lassie
(that's what girls are called in Scotland) chinned away to me, but I
didn't understand her, nor did I care to very much just then. After the
pea soup had disappeared I asked the lassie if she was hungry and she
gave me to understand that she was not. Probably she had only come in
for a social chat.
The waitress soon came in again and sniffed scornfully when she saw my
companion there. She probably took me for a naughty man. All this goes
to show how a poor, innocent fellow can get into trouble when he isn't
looking for it.
I next ordered some roast mutton, potatoes and bread and butter. To the
waitress's inquiry what I would drink I said "Water." The lassie looked
at me reproachfully. I divined that _she_ wouldn't have ordered water.
While I ate the lassie chinned and seemed to stick to me as faithfully
as a Dutch uncle to a rich relative. I don't think that she was fully
aware of what she was doing or saying.
After I had finished the second course, the waitress made her appearance
again and wanted to know what further would be wanted. I told her,
nothing, whereupon she began to gather up the dishes and her manner
proclaimed that the cabinet might be wanted for the next customer. I
took the hint and withdrew and the lassie followed me out. Outside of
the restaurant the lassie gave me a gentle hint that she knew of a snug
place where we could have "a little smile" together, but I wasn't
drinking just then and told her so. I was leery of her, in fact. How did
I know who she was or what her little game was. I didn't know the
language of the country, the laws, the customs or anything, so I
proposed to proceed carefully. I shook the lassie firmly but politely as
soon as I could and went my way.