“And what I say is,” said Carter the First, “-same again, Joe-what I say is, when a dawg that’s fancied like that dawg is, stops dead ’arf way round the course like as if ’e’d a-bin shot, wot I say is, I likes to know wot’s at the back of it.”
“Ar,” said Carter the Second.
“Mind you,” went on Carter the First, “I ain’t sayin’ as animals is always to be relied on. They ’as their off-days, same as you an’ me, but wot I says is-”
“That’s a fact,” put in a smaller man, from the other side of Carter the Second, “that’s a fact, that is. An’ wot’s more, they ’as their fancies. I ’ad a dawg once as couldn’t abide the sight of a goat. Or maybe it was the smell. I dunno. But show ’im a goat any time, and ’e got a fit of the trembles. Couldn’t run all day. I remember one time when I was bringin’ ’im up to run at the White City, there was a bloke in the street leadin’ two goats on a string-”
“Wot did a bloke want with two goats?” demanded Carter the Second, suspiciously.
“’Ow should I know wot ’e wanted with goats?” retorted the little man, indignantly. “They wasn’t my goats, was they? Well, that there dawg-”
“That’s different,” said Carter the First. “Nerves is nerves, and a thing like a goat might ’appen to anybody, but wot I says is-”
“What’s yours, sir?” inquired the landlord.
“Oh, I think I’ll have a Guinness,” said Hector. “Guinness is good for you-particularly on a chilly morning. Perhaps,” he added, feeling pleased with himself and the world, “these gentlemen will join me.”
The two carters and the little man expressed their gratification, and ordered beer.
“It’s a queer thing, this business of nerves,” said the little man. “Talking of Guinness, now, my old aunt had a parrot. Some bird it was, too. Learnt to speak from a sailor. Fortunately the old lady couldn’t ’ear ’alf of wot it said, and didn’t understand the other ’alf. Now, that there bird-”
“You seem to have had a wide experience with livestock,” observed Hector Puncheon.
“I ’ave that,” said the little man. “That there bird, as I was going to say, got fits of nerves as would surprise you. ’Unched ’isself up on ’is perch like, and shivered fit to shake ’isself to pieces. And wot was the reason of that, do you think?”
“Beggared if I know,” said Carter the Second. “Your ’ealth, sir.”
“Mice,” said the little man, triumphantly. “Couldn’t stand the sight of a mouse. And wot do you think we ’ad to give it to pull it round, like?”
“Brandy,” suggested Carter the First. “Nothing like brandy for parrots. We got one at ’ome-one o’ them green sort. My wife’s brother brought it ’ome with ’im-”
“They ain’t such good talkers as the grey ones,” said Carter the Second. “There was a parrot at the old Rose & Crown dahn Seven Dials way-”
“Brandy?” scoffed the little man, “not ’im. ’E wouldn’t look at brandy.”
“Wouldn’t ’e now?” said Carter the First. “Now, you show our old bird brandy, an’ ’el’ll ’op right out of ’is cage for it same as a Christian. Not too much, mind you, but give it ’im neat in a teaspoon-”
“Well, it wasn’t brandy,” persisted the little man, “Aunt’s was a teetotal bird, ’e was. Now, I’ll give you three guesses, an’ if you gets it right, I’ll stand drinks all round, and I can’t say fairer ’an that.”
“Aspirin?” suggested the landlord, anxious that the round of drinks should be stood by somebody.
The little man shook his head.
“Ginger,” said Carter the Second. “Birds is sometimes wonderful fond o’ ginger. Stimulates the innards. Though, mind you, some says it’s too ’eatin’, an’ brings their fevvers aht.”
“Nutrax for Nerves,” suggested Hector Puncheon, a little wildly, his eye having been caught by that morning’s half-double, which carried the intriguing headline: “WHY BLAME THE WOMAN?”
“Nutrax nothing,” snorted the little man, “Nor none o’ yer patent slops. No. Strong coffee wiv’ cayenne pepper in it-that’s wot that bird liked. Put ’im right in a jiff, it did. Well, seein’ as the drinks ain’t on me this time-”
He looked wistful, and Hector obliged again with the same all round. Carter the Second, jerking his beer off at one gulp and offering a general salute to the company, shouldered his way out, and the little man moved up closer to Hector Puncheon to make way for a florid person in evening dress, who had just shot his way in through the door and now stood swaying a little uncertainly against the bar.
“Scotch-and-soda,” said this person, without preface, “double Scotch and not too bloody much soda.”
The landlord looked at him keenly.
“Thass all right,” said the newcomer, “I know what you’re thinking, my boy, but I’m not drunk. Norra bittovit. Nerves a liddleoutavorder, ’tsall.” He paused, evidently conscious that his speech was getting a little ahead of itself. “Been sittin’ up with a sick friend,” he explained, carefully. “Very trying to the system, sittin’ up all night. Very hard on the conshi-conshishushion-excuse me-slight acshident to my dental plate, mush gettitsheento.”
He leaned one elbow on the bar, pawed vaguely with his foot for the brass rail, pushed his silk hat well to the back of his head and beamed pleasantly upon the company.
The landlord of the Swan looked at him again with a practised eye, calculated that his customer could probably carry one more Scotch-and-soda without actual disaster, and fulfilled his order.
“Thanks verrimush, old feller,” said the stranger. “Well, goo’ luck, all. What are these gentlemen taking?”
Hector Puncheon excused himself politely, explaining that he had really had all he wanted and must now be going home.
“No, no,” said the other, hurt. “Mustn’t say that. Not time to gome yet. Night yet young.” He flung an affectionate arm round Hector’s neck. “I like your face. You’re the sortafeller I like. You must come along one day ’n see my little place. Roses roun’ the porch an’ all that. Give you my card.” He hunted in his pockets and produced a note-case, which he flapped open on the bar-counter. A quantity of small pieces of paper flew out right and left.
“Dashitall,” said the gentleman in dress clothes, “what I mean, dashit.” Hector stooped to pick up some of the scattered oddments, but the little man was before him.
“Thanks, thanks,” said the gentleman. “Wheresh card? Thatsh not card, thatsh my wife’s shopping-list-you gorra-wife?”
“Not yet,” admitted Hector.
“Lucky devil,” replied the stranger with emphasis. “No wife, no damned shopping-list.” His vagrant attention was caught and held by the shopping-list, which he held up in one hand and tried, unsuccessfully, to focus with a slightly squinting gaze. “Alwaysh bringing home parcels like a blurry errand-boy. Where’d I put that parcel now?”
“You ’adn’t no parcel when you come in ’ere, guv’nor,” said Carter the First. The question of drinks seemed to have been shelved, and the worthy man no doubt felt it was time to remind the gentleman that there were others in the bar, besides the abstemious Mr. Puncheon. “Dry work,” he added, “cartin’ parcels round.”
“Damn dry,” said the married gentleman. “Mine’s a Scotch-and-soda. Whaddid you say you’d have, ol’ boy?” He again embraced Hector Puncheon, who gently disentangled himself.
“I really don’t want-” he began; but, seeing that this reiterated refusal might give offence, he gave way and asked for a half-tankard of bitter.
“Talking about parrots,” said a thin voice behind them. Hector started and, looking round, observed a dried-up old man seated at a small table in the corner of the bar, absorbing a gin-and-potash. He must have been there all the time, thought Hector.
The gentleman in dress clothes swung round upon him so sharply that he lost his balance and had to cling to the little man to save himself.