[Illustration]
The ready rough may always regard a third-class carriage, or indeed, any
carriage he can make his way into with or without a ticket, on the
Underground Railway as a sort of travelling Alsatia, where brutal
blackguardism finds "sanctuary."
The one duty of a guard--as of a watch--is to "keep time." He is not
expected to keep anything else, except tips. For instance he is not
bound to keep his temper, or to keep on the look out for roughs.
No one has a legal right to get into a carriage which is full, but then
a third-class carriage never is full so long as one more brawny brute
can violently force his way into it.
When bent upon enjoying the exceptional privileges and immunities
reserved for blackguardism by the Underground Gallios, it is only
necessary for a few hulking ruffians, big of course, and half drunk by
preference, to thrust themselves violently in some compartment
containing no less than twice its legal complement. In doing this they
will, of course, rudely trample the toes of weak women, and insolently
dislodge the hats of inoffensive men; thus paving the way pleasantly for
future operations.
Having squeezed themselves in somehow, they can then further indulge in
the lesser amenities of travel by puffing rank tobacco smoke in the
faces of their fellow-passengers, expectorating at large with not too
nice a reference to direction, and indulging in howling, chaff, and
horse-play of the most offensive character.
The addition of blasphemy, especially if there should be women and
children present, may probably provoke a mild remonstrance from some
one, and then the rough's opportunity has arrived at last.
To particularise the rough's rules for dealing with such an objector and
his sympathisers--if any--would be as tedious as superfluous; but the
combined arts of the low pugilist, the intoxicated wife-beater, and the
Lancashire "purler," may be called into play, with much enjoyment and
perfect safety, until the object of his wrath is beaten into
unconsciousness or kicked into convulsions. On reaching a station, the
frightened passengers may perhaps dare to appeal to the guard! That
autocratic official will of course, with much angry hustling and
holloaing, declare that _he_ can't stop to interfere, _his_ business
being, not to stay actual violence or prevent possible homicide, but to
"keep time," and the ruffianly scoundrels go off shouting and singing
"_Rule Britannia_" and telling their pals "what a bloomin' lark they've
had in the Hunderground."
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Ticket Clerk._ "Where for, ma'am?"
_Old Lady._ "There! Lawk a mercy if I haven't forgot. Oh! mister, please
run over a few of the willages on this railway, will yer?"
[_Bell rings--Old Lady is swept away._]
* * * * *
[Illustration: YE RAILWAY STATION DURING YE HOLIDAY TIME IN YE ROMAN
PERIOD
(From a rare old frieze (not) in ye British Museum)]
* * * * *
[Illustration: "WAR'S ALARMS"
_Timorous Old Lady (in a twitter)._ "Are those cannon balls,
station-master?"
_Station-Master (compassionately)._ "Oh no, mu'm, they're only Dutch
cheeses, 'm', come by the Rotterdam boat last night--that's all, mu'm!"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE MAIDEN'S PRAYER