A Varied Company.

Evening Post, Volume LXXII, Issue 66, 15 September 1906, Page 10

A Varied Company.

They came hurying up as the blue 'bus stopped before crossing Westminstor Bridge, and as she mounted the last step but one sho tumbled on the torn edge of her skirt. "Now, mother, be careful — jest you be careful !" cried iho man, as ho followed her. "Comes o' wearin' so much silks and satings," replied the old lady cheerily, as, lurching a little, sho sank into an ompty scat by my side. The old man took the seat in front of her, and, the 'bus starting forward with its usual jerk, away wo rumbled over Westminster Bridge. It was a soft and muggy afternoon and a light and yellow mist hung over the river. It had been raining a, little, and only five of us had the courage to mount to the top of the ominbus. The old lady broathed a sigh of satisfaction as sho leant back and looked round. It was followed by a frown of discontent. "You might jest as well 'aye set by mo, father," sho said in a loud voice to the man in front, ignoring the fact that I filled the only vacant seat beside her. On my other side was a superiorlooking working-man and beyond him a very young man dressed in an immaculate tweed suit, wearing an immaculato collar and tie, and with a grave and seriously thoughtful face. The old lady leant forward and leisurely survoyed the company, eyeing each of us in turn as though we were samples from Madame Tussaud's Waxwork Show. "H'm !" she said with an audible sniff, "a cheap ride, father, but cheaper still if we was able to choose our company." She leant further forward and looked pointedly at the immaculate young man as she said this, but neither he nor her husband took any notice of the remark. She was evidently out for the day, and had already been drinking — not heavily, bufc enough to make her inclined to be argumentative and exceedingly captious. As we passed one of - the large hospitals she touched her husband sharply on the arm. "Like to give fifty thou-, sand pounds to that, father, eh?" she" asked with an air of one who has money at her disposal. " 'Ow would fifty thousand pounds to the 'orspital suit you, father?" Tho man laughed gruffly and turned sideways to answer her. "On'y wish I 'ad it to give." "Givo"!" she, repeated irrelovantly, "w'y, ain't wo always giyin' ; ain't it us what keeps 'em all with the sweat of our brows — the highest and the lowest in the land?" "In course it isi" agreed tho man, surlily pleased. Tho old lady untied her bonnet-strings and allowed the cool breeze to play about her double chin. "Swo&t of our brows," she repeated defiantly; "that's ow wo kesp "era and 'ow we pays for tho very 'ighest in the land, with the sweat of our brows— don't we, father? Not that I ain't going >.to mention no names; but I could say somethink." Sho winked gravely at the workingman, who took a small volume of Herbert Spencer from his pocket and began to read it steadily. This act of study apparently greatly incensed the old lady. "Some of us roads books and some of us works with our 'ands," she said sneeringly;, "and some people knows every think and some on y think they does. Got a hevoning paper with you, father?" The man shook his head and she laughed ironically. "Well, I ain't got me magnifym* glasses, neither," she said, "which is just as well, as I don't get time for much readin'." The working-man took absolutely no notice of this attack, and tho old lady' went on with her monologue. Eyeing mo steadily, sho dismissed me as being unworthy of her notice, and turned her attention to tho immaculate young man. I saw him catch her eye and distinctly shiver. The shiver was as fatal as though he had. looked at her with insolence. "It's you workin'-men and we pore perspirin' workin' women wots the upkeep o' this country — ain't we, father V" The old man grunted an assent. "It's the classy ones wot wo keeps and pays everythink for. Why — 'oo is it what gives the fifty thousand pounds to the 'orspitals? It's us, in course; we'retho upkoep of this country," went on this fomalo orator, "ain't we father' And wo upkeeps tho 'ole bloomin' lpt of 'orspitals', too, by the sweat of our brows; but it ain't us wot fills the work' uses," sho added viciously ; "it ain't tho rospectable workin' men and women wot fills 'em." Leaning forward ,vith ostentatious carelessness, she survoyed tho immaculate young man leisurely and with much contempt. "It's tho dregs o' sassiety wot comes down from kerridees to busses, and from busses to work'uses — the dregs o' sassiety," sho repeated emphatically; "that's wot fills 'cm — ain't it, father?" Tho young man crimsoned slowly and became absorbed in a distant view of some large buildings. "Thought I'd got 'im," chuckled the elderly fiend in a hoarse undertone. "Eh ! fathor, look at 'im." "Shut yer jaw," replied her spouse angrily, "and don't git torkin' so much; shut yor bloomin' jaw," he added in a low warning voico of anger. "Can't 'ardly oblige yer, 'cos I'm that dry," replied his irrepressiblo lady. She leant over and looked enviously down on a public-house/ in front of which we had stopped for a moment. "Think if I was to try I could do with a. pint o' four 'arf, father," sho said suggestively; "nnd couldn't I push tho froth off it neither! You just try mo and see." The old man accepted tho suggestion with some reluctance. "Come on then," he said grumpily, "p'raps it'll stop yer jaw if nothink else won't." Sh© turned and looked at him, opened her mouth defiantly, and, catching his eye, shut it again and led the way down with comparative meekness. Suddenly she paused as she reachod tho step. "Wo ain't 'ad our full penn'orth," sho said doubtfully; but tho man, seeing the conductor's hand ready to pull the strap, gave her a rough shove forward down tho steps, and away wo rumbled, leaving her having a lively altercation with tho driver of a coming 'bus that had been perilously near running ovor her. "A pleasant old lady," I remarkod to the working-man with a glance at tho immaculato young man, who had not_ yet recovered his normal colour. "Nice manners, hadn't sho?" "You're bound to meet 'em^" said tho workman, slipping his book in his pocket' again. "Can't go through lifo'without meeting them sort o' people, and tho only way whon you do meet 'em is to treat 'em as though they wasn't there." "A very good plan," I agreed cheerfully. "You see," ho went on, "when a thing can't be avoided, it's got to bo put up with in this world." "The epitome of tho best Philosophy of Life," I said, and tho immaculate young man actually forgot his blushes and smiled across at me. "A trno philosopher," I remarked, as tho workman got down at tho next cornor. "Both a philosopher and a gentleman," answered the immaculate young man gravely ; "for ho was obviously annoyed and ashamed by that virago's rudeness to mo, yet ho had tho good tasto not to show it, and so ho pretended to. be ahsorhod in his. book,

■knowing his interference could only complicate matters." "Ah!" I replied,, "it's a great thing to be able to go through life without complicating matters, isn't is?" _ The immaculato young man smiled as he fixed a rimless eyeglass in his eye and prepared to descend from the omnibus. "A great thing," he said slowly, "and duo in this case entirely, I should say, to our dead philosopher;" and we both glanced involuntary after tho working-man, who was strolling slowly homewards after his hard day s work, and who was already absoroed again in tho little volume of Herbert Spencer I he had onco more taken from his pocket. — Mrs. Neish, in the Westminster Gazette.