The transformation1 of the West End of London has entailed2 the destruction of numbers of the old box-like Georgian houses, and when the demand for new clubs arose, the quaint3 little shops in Pall4 Mall and St. James’s Street—almost the last survival of which is Lock’s hat-shop—were gradually demolished5, in order to make way for huge edifices6 of palatial7 appearance. New political clubs, new professional clubs, new social clubs, sprang into existence, till what was a luxury for the few became a comparative necessity for the many.
In these days rich men often belong to a great number of clubs, and the present writer was told by a well-known cosmopolitan8 that his subscriptions10 of this kind amounted at one time to no less than ￡200 a year. This, however, included various racing11 and yachting clubs, as well as two or three on the Continent.
There are now clubs accessory to almost every kind of pursuit and sport, and the number increases every year. At the present time London alone possesses more than two hundred, whereas sixty or seventy years ago only about thirty existed. About one hundred have been founded during the 157past thirty years, dividing between them no fewer than some 120,000 members. At the beginning of the nineteenth century there were probably not more than 1,200 men who belonged to clubs; at the present day there are probably considerably12 more than 200,000!
The revolution as regards clubs in London only commenced about a quarter of a century ago, and has raged with unabated energy ever since till to-day. People in every rank of life have their club, and the social distinction which was formerly13 attached to membership of a number of these institutions has in consequence sustained a considerable decline, even fashionable West End clubs having lost much of their old prestige.
In consequence of this there would seem to be a somewhat gloomy future in store for some of these formerly exclusive institutions, not a few of which, like old families of ancient lineage, do their best to conceal14 the straitened condition of their finances, generally produced by paucity15 of members.
Clubs into which admission could only be gained, twenty or thirty years ago, by those whose names had been on the candidates’ book for nine, ten, or even twelve years, are now obliged to elect members put down only a year or two before. In some cases, indeed, it is to be feared that amalgamation16 with another club is the only policy which will prevent complete extinction17 and restore healthy vitality18. In certain instances, it must be confessed, an apathetic19 committee, not alive to the changed and changing conditions of club-life, is responsible for the decadence20 of the institution over which it presides.
158An absolute essential to the prosperity of a club is a good committee; the best of all is that which consists of three elements. In the first place, it should contain two or three well-known men to act as figureheads, their names being a guarantee for the social standing21 of the club. In the second, one or two members ought to be thoroughly22 conversant23 with business matters, and well fitted to deal with the details of club finance. And, lastly, a certain proportion of its members ought to be men well in touch with the life of the club, and therefore thoroughly acquainted with its needs. They should have a wide knowledge of men and social matters, in order to exercise due discrimination in dealing24 with candidates for election; and this is especially important in a club where the ordinary members do not take part in the ballot25. In these days there are many with axes to grind, and strange things have been done in some West End clubs of late years in order to secure the election of candidates. At times, indeed, certain individuals have become noted26 for their lack of discretion27 in proposing individuals whom, for some reason or other, they desired to conciliate. As a matter of fact, the hold which the City has obtained over West End life is largely responsible for the election of many a member to clubs where, thirty or forty years ago, his admission would have been quite out of the question.
In old days everyone in the West End, more or less, knew everyone else; for society was then a very limited circle compared with what it is to-day, when people come and go with such startling rapidity 159that it grows increasingly difficult to discover who and what a candidate may be.
Considerable ingenuity29 has occasionally been exercised in the direction of concealing31 the antecedents of an undesirable32 but wealthy candidate.
The election of rich men to a club merely because they are rich has, on occasion, been defended by the vague plea that it is not a bad thing for a club; as a matter of fact, it is a very bad thing indeed. Whilst a candidate of this sort is usually exceedingly anxious to be elected, it is not unusual, when his aim is achieved, for him to trouble himself no more, his desire having merely been to figure in the list of members. A man of this sort, who had taken infinite trouble to secure election to a certain club, and been successful in his efforts, had no sooner been notified of his membership than he calmly remarked: “Ah, well, I don’t suppose I shall use the place, except to wash my hands on my way to the Park!”
It is, indeed, men of moderate means rather than the very rich who use a club most, and who are therefore its principal support. Millionaires and financiers seldom spend much in their clubs, for, possessed33 of highly trained chefs and luxurious34 houses, they have naturally little temptation to spend their spare time elsewhere. The pleasures of social intercourse35 which can be enjoyed at the club are equally easy to obtain at home.
In old days it was exceedingly difficult for men engaged in business to obtain admission to a fashionable West End club.
The son of a famous financier was once up for 160election to a fashionable club, and all his friends in the club attended to support him. In those days the ballot took place at night, and as eleven o’clock approached the club became abnormally full; indeed, members came into the drawing-room, where the election was held, who had not been seen in the club for years. It was, however, soon evident to the proposer and seconder that the crowd of members present had not come to support their candidate. Realizing the situation, they took their stand by the ballot-box, and as each of the strangers stepped up to record his vote, one said to the other: “Here comes another assassin.”
At White’s, blackballing was carried to such an extreme about the year 1833 that the rules had to be altered, and one blackball was no longer allowed to exclude.
At that time the system of rejection36 had been carried to a ludicrous pitch. “We must pill that man,” a member would say; “it will do him good.” “We really cannot have that fellow,” said another; “I saw him wearing a black tie in the evening.” Sometimes there were personal grudges37 or family quarrels which kept out candidates for years.
In the early part of the last century, Charles Greville and Lord George Bentinck had some difference about a turf transaction. Greville was anxious for the election of Viscount Brackley, afterwards Earl of Ellesmere; Lord George was equally determined38 that Viscount Brackley, as Greville’s nominee39, should remain outside the club. He never failed to attend the ballot and drop in his black ball.
161Lord George was accustomed to take his dinner very late. He usually dined at the club at eleven o’clock, at which hour the ballots40 also took place. On one occasion, when Lord Brackley was up for election, Greville was delighted to find, as he thought, that Lord George was for once absent. “It’s all right this time,” said he, as the ballot-box was brought to him; “Bentinck’s downstairs at dinner, and I shall get Brackley in at last.” “Will you?” said a voice near him. He had not noticed Lord George sitting beside him on the sofa.
People who ought to know better sometimes exhibit the most lax conduct in lending their aid to the candidature of disagreeable individuals, whom for some reason or other it may suit them to please. On one occasion the members of a certain somewhat exclusive club were much disgusted at the conduct of a newly-elected member. It was eventually discovered that the objectionable individual had been proposed by a prominent political personage, whose candidate could not very well have been rejected. The matter created great irritation41, and it was eventually hinted to the proposer that the new member was anything but popular.
“He’s a disagreeable man, I know; but then, you see, it doesn’t matter, for I so seldom use the club,” was the grossly egotistical reply. No wonder the political party of which this individual is considered one of the shining lights has of late years had a hard struggle to hold its own!
One of the most original reasons for putting down a candidate was that given by a somewhat 162unpopular member of a certain club. An acquaintance, looking through the candidates’ book, observed that a name recently inscribed42 was that of an individual whom his proposer had always denounced as a regular club bore.
“Why ever did you put him down?” asked the astonished member. “I thought you particularly disliked him.”
“Certainly I do,” was the reply; “and as, above all things, I wish to prevent his getting in here, I thought the best way of insuring his being pilled would be to propose him myself, being well aware that anyone whom I may support will have but a very slight chance of escaping a good many black balls.”
Committee-men are not infrequently placed in a very uncomfortable position when asked by friends to give their support to doubtful candidates. A man of the world, well known for his ingenuity, used to get out of the difficulty by invariably replying: “My dear fellow, you may rely on me to do the proper thing.”
With the vast increase of London clubs, an altogether different state of affairs has arisen as regards the numbers of candidates waiting to come up for election, and which in the majority of instances is far less difficult than was formerly the case; few even of the old-established clubs have been able to maintain their ancient exclusiveness.
The Athen?um, Turf, and Travellers’ are still, however, not at all easy about electing members. The latter, founded about 1819, in its early days attracted a good deal of notice from the fact that 163a candidate for admission was required to have been 500 miles distant from London; and a considerable sensation was once caused by the discovery that several members, who had originally entered their names, had not travelled the prescribed distance. An investigation43 was made, and the newspapers of the day published lists of places a visit to which was a sufficient qualification for membership of the Travellers’.
In former days, candidates sometimes had to wait for many years before coming up for election. Owing, however, to various causes—of which the chief was, perhaps, the great increase in the number of West End clubs—this period now rarely exceeds two, or at most three, years. The Bath Club is, I believe, an exception, because the facilities for swimming and other exercises which this institution affords to its members (drawn from both sexes) has caused a very large number of names to be inscribed upon its books. In consequence of this, a candidate must now expect a delay of several years before his name comes up for ballot.
At not a few old-established clubs a paucity of candidates has been produced by past injudicious and indiscriminating pilling. Men thinking of joining the club became aware of the fate which might befall them, and so in time the reputation of more than one club for extreme exclusiveness has led from dire30 necessity to the other extreme of letting in almost anyone willing to join.
Club committees occasionally contain a member who has an innate44 tendency to blackball everybody; in such cases a “pill” is always found in the box, 164even when the candidate is perfectly45 eligible46. An individual of this sort was once considerably rebuffed. During an election it was found that the minimum quorum47 of committee-men was not present, for they were one short. To rectify48 matters, a notorious blackballer was hunted up at his rooms, and told that an election was in progress. He rushed back to the club, and at once voted, in most cases putting in a black ball, according to his wont49; but as his was the only adverse50 vote, the rules having been observed, all candidates were elected. At the Athen?um as many as ninety-three black balls were once allotted51 to an unpopular candidate. But the greatest instance of blackballing probably ever known took place some years ago at a ladies’ club, where one candidate received three more black balls than the number of members present—a case of excessive zeal52 indeed!
At one West End club, where the election of members was conducted in a somewhat peculiar53 manner, a curious incident once happened.
Here the election was by the members in general, and not by a committee, and the ballot was held in a room on the left of the entrance hall. At one time it used to be a regular custom for the friends of a candidate to hang about the door of this room canvassing54 in his favour, whilst, if possible, detaining anyone likely to insert a black ball, by all possible means. During a certain election, a visitor, coming to call upon a friend at his club, found himself, on passing its portals, almost forcibly bustled55 into this room, and eventually, thoroughly confused, made 165to vote for an individual who would otherwise not have gained admission to the club.
While, as a rule, the resignation of a member or several members on account of their candidates being rejected, or for some other reason, does not affect the prosperity of a club, there have been instances of serious injury being inflicted56 upon a club’s prestige by the defection of some very influential57 member. Many years ago the prosperity of White’s was seriously affected58 by the displeasure shown by the late King at the continuance of some old-fashioned and absurd regulations as to smoking; and Boodle’s, now in such a flourishing condition, was terribly damaged at one time when the late Duke of Beaufort withdrew his name. The blackballing of candidates submitted for election by prominent members occasionally leads to much acrimonious59 comment, and sometimes causes a number of resignations.
Election or non-election to a club depends in some cases upon many different causes, and a young man about whom nothing is known at all often stands a better chance than a distinguished60 individual who during his life has made enemies. Occasionally rejection is a compliment.
The resignation of members disappointed at the failure of their candidate is unreasonable61, for a club is in reality a republic, where everyone is equal, and no one has any right to level a pistol at the heads of his fellow-members, or of his committee, whilst saying: “Vote for my candidate, or I will leave the club.” Such an act is but a revolutionary protest against the equality of club-life. If an influential 166or popular member supports some candidate, the latter has the advantage of the influence of his support, but there the preference should end. The question really is not whether a particular candidate deserves or does not deserve to be admitted, but whether the club chooses to elect him, and anything beyond this is a breach62 of those principles which conduce to the prosperity of clubland.
The best method of filling up vacancies63 in the membership of a club would really be selection rather than election, and there is no valid64 reason why such a method of recruiting the membership of clubs should not generally prevail. Were such a reasonable system in vogue65, no one would be submitted to the barbarous mortification66 of being rejected. As things are now, anyone who has obtained a reputation is bound to make enemies, and the more widely he is known, the more enemies he is certain to have. Indeed, a prominent individual has often a very bad chance of being elected under the system generally observed, an absurdity67 emphasized by the fact that the late Mr. Gladstone was once rejected for the club at Biarritz.
Anyone whose life has been passed amidst publicity68 must have offended many. Some hate him merely because they happen never to have met him, and others because they have done so. Others hate him because their friends do, and others, again, disapprove69 of him merely on political grounds. It is, indeed, impossible to enumerate70 the variety of motives71 which cause people to hate each other with reason, and even without reason. This being so, one may well doubt the expediency72 of compelling 167men to undergo the disgrace of being rejected for a club, according to the system which at present prevails. As matters stand now, a candidate’s rejection implies that he is unfit to be a member; but in reality, in a large number of cases, it simply means that he is of sufficient importance to have attracted the ill-will, envy, or dislike of a number of people, many of whom know him only by repute.
Another desirable reform, though one which is unlikely ever to be carried out, would consist in investing committees or members with the power of ejection as well as election. There would be little hardship in a rule conferring the right of exclusion73 in cases of general unpopularity, and this probably would seldom have to be exercised, as the very fact of its existence would act as a check.
Within recent years a good many club committees have shown a tendency in the direction of the multiplication74 of rules.
The old aristocratic clubs of the past troubled themselves little with regulations and restrictions75. In fact, they were excessively lenient76. With the gradual incursion of the commercial class into West End life, however, a very different state of affairs has been brought about.
All over Europe, and especially in England, the bourgeoisie adore regulating somebody or something, and the tendency remains78 long after members of this class have entered what are known as fashionable circles, and managed to obtain a hold upon the committees of exclusive clubs. In such a position, not a few of them have added largely to the number 168of rules, some of which in certain clubs are multiplied to the point of absolute absurdity.
Occasionally edicts of this kind possess a certain unconscious humour, as is well exemplified in a by-law, still amongst the rules of a certain club, which sets forth79 that “Members smoking pipes may not sit or stand in the windows.”
Whether legally such an edict can be enforced would seem to be very doubtful. It is certainly within the right of a committee to prohibit pipe-smoking altogether, and such a regulation prevails in several clubs; in many more it is an unwritten law. In rooms, however, in which pipe-smoking is allowed, it is certainly not within the powers of a committee to define exactly where members shall station themselves whilst “blowing their cloud.” As a matter of fact, committee-men not infrequently fall into the error of thinking that a club committee can issue any decrees it likes. Such, however, is very far from being the case, and the reports of various lawsuits80 between individual members and certain committees will show that in the majority of instances the latter have not proved victorious81.
If, for instance, the subscription9 of a club be raised, members who joined before the alteration82 cannot be compelled to pay more than their original subscription. The great increase in club rules and regulations has sometimes produced confusion as to what members may or may not do—a state of affairs which was non-existent when the older West End clubs were founded.
The nature of the regulations then in vogue may be realized from an inspection83 of a number of interesting 169volumes, dating back to 1737, still preserved at White’s, in which are inscribed the names of members of the old and new clubs, together with the few rules in force in the eighteenth century.
The books of rules issued in the middle of the last century contain very much the same provisions. The earlier books are entirely84 in manuscript, some of them elaborately bound; whilst those issued about 1840, though smaller, are beautifully printed, and they still retain a certain air of old-world luxury. The register of members kept by the proprietor85 of White’s about seventy years ago much resembles one of those huge gilt-edged tomes which were in use for registering various matters connected with the Court of Versailles before the French Revolution. The calligraphy86 in this volume and in some of the earlier club lists is remarkable87 for its graceful88 and ornate character. Looking at them, one realizes what an exclusive coterie89 frequented the old club-house in the days when the aristocracy of England ruled supreme90.
West End club committees of old days were extremely conciliatory regarding any minor91 breach of club law, in many cases straining a point to overlook delinquencies which were not directly injurious to the best interests of the members generally. Considerable laxity existed as to debts incurred92 in a club, coffee-room accounts extending into three figures being common; some of these were liquidated93 only at long intervals94. Expelling, or even threatening to expel, a member was considered a step of extreme gravity, and one to be avoided by all possible means.
170During the last twenty-five years, however, club-life, like everything else, has become “more strenuous,” and anyone who habitually95 breaks the rules is soon made to realize that he must either alter his ways or go.
Committee-men, it should be added, whether good, bad, or indifferent, generally have a rather difficult task, for they are certain to arouse the opposition96 of some professional grumbler97 or other who is ever ready to blame. As a matter of fact, very often the best-meant schemes are the most unpopular, and there is a peculiar type of committee-man who often incurs77 the hostility98 of members on account of his merits. This is the individual who, possessed of an especial gift for management, takes the direction of a club into his own hands, and, becoming practically an autocrat99, resents interference with his policy, which, it may be added, is not infrequently a sound one, for this type of man has generally made club management his hobby. Nevertheless, let him do as well as possible, sooner or later his rule will become unpopular, members disliking the idea of a one-man domination.
It cannot be said that the majority of house committees are in any way zealous100 about carrying out their functions. Where club cooking and its material are above all criticism, the credit generally lies with the efficient secretary, who in reality runs most clubs.
Some clubs have numberless sub-committees to deal with different details of management—wine committee, cigar committee, and goodness knows what else. It is, however, doubtful whether the 171united efforts of all the committee-men and sub-committee-men in the world are as successful as those of one dominating individual, who knows exactly what the needs of a club really are, and gets them satisfied. On the whole, the cooking and food in West End clubs is very fair, and in many cases, if some further degree of attention were devoted101 to minor details, would be above criticism.
A deplorable tendency, however, is the neglect of that old-fashioned English cookery which in perfection is the delight of true gastronomists.
What is wanted in clubs is the very best material properly served and cooked. Alas102! it is to be feared that, with the exception of a very few clubs, the best of everything now goes to the palatial restaurants, who absolutely will not purchase the indifferent meat, game, and vegetables which are foisted103 upon more easy-going customers.
The craze for elaborate cooking in clubs would appear to have been originated by George IV when Prince Regent. During dinner one evening at Carlton House, the conversation chancing to turn upon club dinners, Sir Thomas Stepney described them as being intensely dull, owing to their eternal joints104, beefsteaks, or boiled fowl105 with oyster106 sauce, followed by an apple tart28. Upon this the Prince, who was much interested, sent for Watier, his own chef, and invited him then and there to take a house and organize a dinner club. Accordingly a club was started at 81 Piccadilly, by Watier; Madison, the Prince’s page, being manager; and Labourier, one of the cooks from the royal kitchen, chef. It was soon joined by the principal dandies, 172including Beau Brummell, and became the scene of much high play, chiefly at macao.
Brummell one day, when he had lost a large sum, called to the waiter: “Bring me a flat candlestick and a pistol”; upon which another member, Mr. Hythe, reputed as mad as a hatter, produced a couple of loaded pistols from his pocket, which he placed on the table, coolly saying: “Mr. Brummell, if you wish to put an end to your existence, I am extremely happy to offer you the means without troubling the waiter.” During another evening’s play, Raikes began to rally Jack107 Bouverie, brother of Lord Heytesbury, on his bad luck, and the latter took it in such bad part that he threw his play-bowl full of counters at Raikes’s head. A great row ensued. Watier’s closed about 1819, many of its leading members being then utterly108 ruined. After this the club-house was run by a set of blacklegs as a common gaming-house, which eventually was taken over by Crockford, who, in partnership109 with a man named Taylor, set up a very successful hazard bank.
Though Watier’s had but a short existence, it lasted long enough to give men about town a taste for elaborate cooking, and no doubt contributed to send many good old English dishes out of fashion.
Owing to the large staff of servants maintained in most clubs, life is rendered very easy for the members, though a certain number are ever complaining of inattention on the part of the servants. These, as a matter of fact, are kept more or less in perpetual motion. On the whole, they are a most civil class of men, and for this reason thoroughly deserve the 173Christmas subscription which serves as a sort of gigantic, but quite justifiable110, tip. This is a comparatively new institution. It must be realized that club servants are not overpaid, and when upon duty their work is particularly severe. The electric bells never cease ringing until the club closes; every member expects his wants to command immediate111 attention, and not a few are capricious and exacting112. In some of the big clubs the total of the contributions is considerable—considerably over ￡500. This seems large, but, as there are over 1,000 members in several clubs, such a sum is only what might be expected.
Club servants are an especial class apart, and some waiters change constantly from club to club. This, of course, is not the case at certain of these institutions, such as the Junior Carlton, which, having a servants’ pension fund, attracts the very best class. In all clubs, however, there are generally two or three old and popular servants who are looked upon as regular features of the place.
In the past, certain old retainers often became privileged characters, and presumed upon their position. A waiter named Samuel Spring, having on one occasion to write to George IV, when the latter was Prince of Wales, commenced his letter as follows: “Sam, the waiter at the Cocoa-tree, presents his compliments to the Prince of Wales,” etc. His Royal Highness next day saw Sam, and, after noticing the receiving of his note and the freedom of the style, said: “Sam, this may be very well between you and me, but it will not do with the Norfolks and Arundels.”
174The most important servant in a club is, of course, the hall-porter. To fill this post to perfection, very exceptional qualities are required.
A hall-porter, in his capacity as a trusted and confidential113 club servant, is acquainted with many delicate matters, and for this reason should be a man of tact114; he must, besides, discriminate115 between those visitors a member may wish to see and those to whom the answer “Out of town” must be given, in tones which admit of no further inquiry116. He must ever be on guard, carefully scanning every stranger who passes the club portals, and, like royalty117, should possess an unerring and inexhaustible memory for faces. He must, of course, know every member by sight, and never be obliged to ask his name, even when long absence abroad may have altered his appearance, and rendered him almost unrecognizable to acquaintances of other days. A good hall-porter, in short, should know everything and everybody.
A Scotch118 hall-porter—Shand, of the Turf Club—was a great character in his way. Somewhat blunt and bluff119 by nature, he was very outspoken120 about anything which did not meet with his approval, and at times would hazard caustic121 remarks as to various phases of the club-life. Shand was possessed of considerable shrewdness and common-sense, and it was sometimes said that in certain matters his advice was better than that of any two first-class lawyers together. Shand had his likes and dislikes amongst members. This he made little attempt to conceal, his manner varying in a marked degree. He was no respecter of persons, but on 175account of his shrewdness and many sterling122 qualities was allowed much latitude123.
On one occasion a member, before leaving for the country, instructed Shand to forward a packet of photographs when it should arrive. The gentleman was away two months, but no photographs were sent to him. On his return to town he went to the Turf, where, much to his astonishment124, he was handed a proof photograph which had, he found, arrived six weeks before. Shand was interrogated125 as to his reasons for not obeying instructions. “You said photographs,” replied he. “Seeing there was only one, and knowing you were away with your wife, I was not going to be such a fool as to send it.”
Many of the old school of club porters rather despised confirmed bachelors who yielded to the allurements126 of matrimony. “No, sir,” said one of these to an inquirer, “Mr. —— don’t come here now as he used; since his marriage his habits ain’t reg’lar.”
Club porters are very cognizant of the peculiar ways of members, and quick to notice anything out of harmony with the general tenor127 of club-life. The porter at a club where most of the members were so old and infirm that quantities of crutches128 were left in the hall was genuinely shocked to see a new member going quickly upstairs.
Failure to recognize faces—which, in justice to club porters it should be said, is in their case comparatively rare—has on occasion led to serious consequences.
The hall-porter of a certain great club, quartered upon another during the autumnal period of renovation129, 176was one day asked by a member who strode hurriedly into the club, “Are there any letters for Mr. X.?” giving a name in the club list. The porter looked hard at the gentleman, for he could not positively130 convince himself for the moment that he knew his face as one of the 1,500 members of the club. His gaze, however, was met unflinchingly, and the new arrival’s air and appearance generally giving no cause for suspicion, the porter, having eventually concluded that this must be a member who had been out of England for some time, handed over the letters, with which the gentleman retired131 into the inner recesses132 of the club.
Half an hour or so later a jeweller arrived and asked for Mr. X., to whom he handed over a valuable piece of jewellery worth several hundreds of pounds, which, he told the hall-porter on leaving, this gentleman (as to whose social position and solvency133 there could be no question) had ordered two days ago by letter.
In due course Mr. X., after giving instructions that no letters were to be forwarded, departed, taking the piece of jewellery with him.
What was the hall-porter’s horror the next morning to find himself confronted by another, and this time a real, Mr. X., who, on being told the story of his double, at once dashed off to Scotland Yard. The first Mr. X., it appeared, was an adroit134 swindler, who having by some means discovered that the real Mr. X., an exceedingly wealthy man, had ordered a jeweller to meet him at the club with a recent purchase, sent a telegram from the latter saying that the setting would not be completed till the next day, 177and had then gone to the club and personated this member, who he knew only used it upon rare occasions.
Another more impudent135 fraud was the case of a discharged club waiter, who, disguising himself in a pair of blue spectacles, actually walked into the club-house from which he had been dismissed two days before, and, giving a well-known member’s name, cashed a cheque. He victimized two other clubs in the same manner, and was eventually detected at a fourth.
One of the smaller West End clubs was formerly renowned136 for its mechanical hall-porter, an individual who had but an arm and a leg, and moved, it was said, entirely by machinery137, the creaking of which, people declared, could be heard when he handed out letters.
A word here as to the porters’ boxes which now exist in every club. In former days very few, if any, of these institutions contained such a convenience. The porter used to sit in a chair in the hall, with a rack containing the members’ letters behind him. He played much the same part as the head-footman who opens the door at a private house. As late as the eighties of the last century there was no porter’s box at White’s, and the same state of affairs prevailed at Boodle’s up to quite recent years. In former days, when life was more simple, there was little necessity for the complicated arrangements of bells, telephones, and speaking-tubes, which are essential to the life of a modern club. Members then did not dash in and out, and clubland was distinguished by its air of grave solemnity and calm.
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| n.变化；改造；转变 | |
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entailed
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pall
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demolished
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palatial
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cosmopolitan
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subscription
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| n.（报刊等的）订阅费( subscription的名词复数 )；捐款；（俱乐部的）会员费；捐助 | |
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11
racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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13
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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14
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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15
paucity
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| n.小量，缺乏 | |
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amalgamation
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| n.合并，重组；；汞齐化 | |
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17
extinction
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| n.熄灭，消亡，消灭，灭绝，绝种 | |
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18
vitality
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| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
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19
apathetic
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| adj.冷漠的，无动于衷的 | |
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20
decadence
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| n.衰落，颓废 | |
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21
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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22
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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23
conversant
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| adj.亲近的，有交情的，熟悉的 | |
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24
dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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25
ballot
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| n.（不记名）投票，投票总数，投票权；vi.投票 | |
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26
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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27
discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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28
tart
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| adj.酸的；尖酸的，刻薄的；n.果馅饼；淫妇 | |
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29
ingenuity
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| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
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30
dire
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| adj.可怕的，悲惨的，阴惨的，极端的 | |
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31
concealing
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，遮住( conceal的现在分词 ) | |
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32
undesirable
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| adj.不受欢迎的，不良的，不合意的，讨厌的；n.不受欢迎的人，不良分子 | |
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33
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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34
luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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35
intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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36
rejection
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| n.拒绝，被拒，抛弃，被弃 | |
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37
grudges
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| 不满，怨恨，妒忌( grudge的名词复数 ) | |
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38
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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39
nominee
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| n.被提名者；被任命者；被推荐者 | |
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40
ballots
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| n.投票表决( ballot的名词复数 )；选举；选票；投票总数v.（使）投票表决( ballot的第三人称单数 ) | |
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41
irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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42
inscribed
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| v.写，刻( inscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；内接 | |
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43
investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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44
innate
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| adj.天生的，固有的，天赋的 | |
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45
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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46
eligible
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| adj.有条件被选中的；(尤指婚姻等)合适(意)的 | |
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47
quorum
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| n.法定人数 | |
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48
rectify
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| v.订正，矫正，改正 | |
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49
wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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50
adverse
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| adj.不利的；有害的；敌对的，不友好的 | |
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51
allotted
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| 分配，拨给，摊派( allot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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52
zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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53
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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54
canvassing
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| v.（在政治方面）游说( canvass的现在分词 )；调查（如选举前选民的）意见；为讨论而提出（意见等）；详细检查 | |
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55
bustled
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| 闹哄哄地忙乱，奔忙( bustle的过去式和过去分词 )； 催促 | |
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56
inflicted
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| 把…强加给，使承受，遭受( inflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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57
influential
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| adj.有影响的，有权势的 | |
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58
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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59
acrimonious
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| adj.严厉的，辛辣的，刻毒的 | |
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60
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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61
unreasonable
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| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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62
breach
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| n.违反，不履行；破裂；vt.冲破，攻破 | |
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63
vacancies
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| n.空房间( vacancy的名词复数 )；空虚；空白；空缺 | |
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64
valid
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| adj.有确实根据的；有效的；正当的，合法的 | |
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65
Vogue
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| n.时髦，时尚；adj.流行的 | |
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66
mortification
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| n.耻辱，屈辱 | |
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67
absurdity
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| n.荒谬，愚蠢；谬论 | |
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68
publicity
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| n.众所周知，闻名；宣传，广告 | |
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69
disapprove
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| v.不赞成，不同意，不批准 | |
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70
enumerate
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| v.列举，计算，枚举，数 | |
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71
motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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72
expediency
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| n.适宜；方便；合算；利己 | |
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73
exclusion
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| n.拒绝，排除，排斥，远足，远途旅行 | |
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74
multiplication
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| n.增加，增多，倍增；增殖，繁殖；乘法 | |
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75
restrictions
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| 约束( restriction的名词复数 )； 管制； 制约因素； 带限制性的条件（或规则） | |
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76
lenient
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| adj.宽大的，仁慈的 | |
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77
incurs
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| 遭受，招致，引起( incur的第三人称单数 ) | |
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78
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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79
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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80
lawsuits
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| n.诉讼( lawsuit的名词复数 ) | |
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81
victorious
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| adj.胜利的，得胜的 | |
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82
alteration
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| n.变更，改变；蚀变 | |
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83
inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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84
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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85
proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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86
calligraphy
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| n.书法 | |
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87
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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88
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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89
coterie
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| n.(有共同兴趣的)小团体，小圈子 | |
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90
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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91
minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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92
incurred
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| [医]招致的，遭受的； incur的过去式 | |
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93
liquidated
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| v.清算( liquidate的过去式和过去分词 )；清除（某人）；清偿；变卖 | |
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94
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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95
habitually
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| ad.习惯地，通常地 | |
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96
opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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97
grumbler
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| 爱抱怨的人，发牢骚的人 | |
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98
hostility
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| n.敌对，敌意；抵制［pl.］交战，战争 | |
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99
autocrat
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| n.独裁者；专横的人 | |
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100
zealous
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| adj.狂热的，热心的 | |
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101
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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102
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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103
foisted
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| 强迫接受，把…强加于( foist的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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104
joints
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| 接头( joint的名词复数 )； 关节； 公共场所（尤指价格低廉的饮食和娱乐场所） （非正式）； 一块烤肉 （英式英语） | |
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105
fowl
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| n.家禽，鸡，禽肉 | |
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106
oyster
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| n.牡蛎；沉默寡言的人 | |
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107
jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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108
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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109
partnership
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| n.合作关系，伙伴关系 | |
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110
justifiable
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| adj.有理由的，无可非议的 | |
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111
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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112
exacting
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| adj.苛求的，要求严格的 | |
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113
confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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114
tact
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| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
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115
discriminate
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| v.区别，辨别，区分；有区别地对待 | |
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116
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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117
royalty
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| n.皇家，皇族 | |
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118
scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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119
bluff
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| v.虚张声势，用假象骗人；n.虚张声势，欺骗 | |
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120
outspoken
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| adj.直言无讳的，坦率的，坦白无隐的 | |
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121
caustic
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| adj.刻薄的，腐蚀性的 | |
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122
sterling
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| adj.英币的(纯粹的，货真价实的)；n.英国货币(英镑) | |
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123
latitude
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| n.纬度，行动或言论的自由(范围)，(pl.)地区 | |
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124
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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125
interrogated
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| v.询问( interrogate的过去式和过去分词 )；审问；（在计算机或其他机器上）查询 | |
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126
allurements
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| n.诱惑( allurement的名词复数 )；吸引；诱惑物；有诱惑力的事物 | |
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127
tenor
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| n.男高音（歌手），次中音（乐器），要旨，大意 | |
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128
crutches
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| n.拐杖, 支柱 v.支撑 | |
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129
renovation
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| n.革新，整修 | |
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130
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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131
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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132
recesses
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| n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 )；（工作或业务活动的）中止或暂停期间；学校的课间休息；某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 )；将（墙）做成凹形，在（墙）上做壁龛；休息，休会，休庭 | |
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133
solvency
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| n.偿付能力，溶解力 | |
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134
adroit
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| adj.熟练的，灵巧的 | |
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135
impudent
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| adj.鲁莽的，卑鄙的，厚颜无耻的 | |
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136
renowned
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| adj.著名的，有名望的，声誉鹊起的 | |
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137
machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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