“Lud bless my soul!” exclaimed Sally, with a good-humoured laugh, “what be they all wanting now, I wonder!”
“Beer, of course,” grumbled11 Jemima, “you don't 'xpect Jimmy Pitkin to 'ave done with one tankard, do ye?”
“Mr. 'Arry, 'e looked uncommon12 thirsty too,” simpered Martha, one of the little kitchen-maids; and her beady black eyes twinkled as they met those of her companion, whereupon both started on a round of short and suppressed giggles13.
Sally looked cross for a moment, and thoughtfully rubbed her hands against her shapely hips14; her palms were itching16, evidently, to come in contact with Martha's rosy18 cheeks—but inherent good-humour prevailed, and with a pout19 and a shrug20 of the shoulders, she turned her attention to the fried potatoes.
“What ho, Sally! hey, Sally!”
And a chorus of pewter mugs, tapped with impatient hands against the oak tables of the coffee-room, accompanied the shouts for mine host's buxom21 daughter.
“Sally!” shouted a more persistent22 voice, “are ye goin' to be all night with that there beer?”
“I do think father might get the beer for them,” muttered Sally, as Jemima, stolidly23 and without further comment, took a couple of foam-crowned jugs24 from the shelf, and began filling a number of pewter tankards with some of that home-brewed ale for which “The Fisherman's Rest” had been famous since the days of King Charles. “'E knows 'ow busy we are in 'ere.”
“Your father is too busy discussing politics with Mr. 'Empseed to worry 'isself about you and the kitchen,” grumbled Jemima under her breath.
Sally had gone to the small mirror which hung in a corner of the kitchen, and was hastily smoothing her hair and setting her frilled cap at its most becoming angle over her dark curls; then she took up the tankards by their handles, three in each strong, brown hand, and laughing, grumbling25, blushing, carried them through into the coffee-[EOL] room.
There, there was certainly no sign of that bustle5 and activity which kept four women busy and hot in the glowing kitchen beyond.
The coffee-room of “The Fisherman's Rest” is a show place now at the beginning of the twentieth century. At the end of the eighteenth, in the year of grace 1792, it had not yet gained that notoriety and importance which a hundred additional years and the craze of the age have since bestowed26 upon it. Yet it was an old place, even then, for the oak rafters and beams were already black with age—as were the panelled seats, with their tall backs, and the long polished tables between, on which innumerable pewter tankards had left fantastic patterns of many-sized rings. In the leaded window, high up, a row of pots of scarlet27 geraniums and blue larkspur gave the bright note of colour against the dull background of the oak.
That Mr. Jellyband, landlord of “The Fisherman's Rest” at Dover, was a prosperous man, was of course clear to the most casual observer. The pewter on the fine old dressers, the brass28 above the gigantic hearth, shone like silver and gold—the red-tiled floor was as brilliant as the scarlet geranium on the window sill—this meant that his servants were good and plentiful29, that the custom was constant, and of that order which necessitated30 the keeping up of the coffee-room to a high standard of elegance31 and order.
As Sally came in, laughing through her frowns, and displaying a row of dazzling white teeth, she was greeted with shouts and chorus of applause.
“I thought you'd grown deaf in that kitchen of yours,” muttered Jimmy Pitkin, as he passed the back of his hand across his very dry lips.
“All ri'! all ri'!” laughed Sally, as she deposited the freshly-filled tankards upon the tables, “why, what a 'urry, to be sure! And is your gran'mother a-dyin' an' you wantin' to see the pore soul afore she'm gone! I never see'd such a mighty33 rushin'!”
A chorus of good-humoured laughter greeted this witticism34, which gave the company there present food for many jokes, for some considerable time. Sally now seemed in less of a hurry to get back to her pots and pans. A young man with fair curly hair, and eager, bright blue eyes, was engaging most of her attention and the whole of her time, whilst broad witticisms35 anent Jimmy Pitkin's fictitious36 grandmother flew from mouth to mouth, mixed with heavy puffs37 of pungent38 tobacco smoke.
Facing the hearth, his legs wide apart, a long clay pipe in his mouth, stood mine host himself, worthy39 Mr. Jellyband, landlord of “The Fisherman's Rest,” as his father had been before him, aye, and his grandfather and great-grandfather too, for that matter. Portly in build, jovial40 in countenance41 and somewhat bald of pate42, Mr. Jellyband was indeed a typical rural John Bull of those days—the days when our prejudiced insularity43 was at its height, when to an Englishman, be he lord, yeoman, or peasant, the whole of the continent of Europe was a den17 of immorality45, and the rest of the world an unexploited land of savages46 and cannibals.
There he stood, mine worthy host, firm and well set up on his limbs, smoking his long churchwarden and caring nothing for nobody at home, and despising everybody abroad. He wore the typical scarlet waistcoat, with shiny brass buttons, the corduroy breeches, the grey worsted stockings and smart buckled47 shoes, that characterised every self-respecting innkeeper in Great Britain in these days—and while pretty, motherless Sally had need of four pairs of brown hands to do all the work that fell on her shapely shoulders, worthy Jellyband discussed the affairs of nations with his most privileged guests.
The coffee-room indeed, lighted by two well-polished lamps, which hung from the raftered ceiling, looked cheerful and cosy48 in the extreme. Through the dense49 clouds of tobacco smoke that hung about in every corner, the faces of Mr. Jellyband's customers appeared red and pleasant to look at, and on good terms with themselves, their host and all the world; from every side of the room loud guffaws50 accompanied pleasant, if not highly intellectual, conversation—while Sally's repeated giggles testified to the good use Mr. Harry51 Waite was making of the short time she seemed inclined to spare him.
They were mostly fisher-folk who patronised Mr. Jellyband's coffee-room, but fishermen are known to be very thirsty people; the salt which they breathe in, when they are on the sea, accounts for their parched52 throats when on shore. But “The Fisherman's Rest” was something more than a rendezvous53 for these humble54 folk. The London and Dover coach started from the hostel55 daily, and passengers who had come across the Channel, and those who started for the “grand tour,” all became acquainted with Mr. Jellyband, his French wines and his home-brewed ales.
It was towards the close of September, 1792, and the weather which had been brilliant and hot throughout the month had suddenly broken up; for two days torrents56 of rain had deluged57 the south of England, doing its level best to ruin what chances the apples and pears and late plums had of becoming really fine, self-respecting fruit. Even now it was beating against the leaded windows, and tumbling down the chimney, making the cheerful wood fire sizzle in the hearth.
“Lud! did you ever see such a wet September, Mr. Jellyband?” asked Mr. Hempseed.
He sat in one of the seats inside the hearth, did Mr. Hempseed, for he was an authority and an important personage not only at “The Fisherman's Rest,” where Mr. Jellyband always made a special selection of him as a foil for political arguments, but throughout the neighbourhood, where his learning and notably58 his knowledge of the Scriptures59 was held in the most profound awe60 and respect. With one hand buried in the capacious pockets of his corduroys underneath61 his elaborately-worked, well-worn smock, the other holding his long clay pipe, Mr. Hempseed sat there looking dejectedly across the room at the rivulets62 of moisture which trickled63 down the window panes64.
“No,” replied Mr. Jellyband, sententiously, “I dunno, Mr. 'Empseed, as I ever did. An' I've been in these parts nigh on sixty years.”
“Aye! you wouldn't rec'llect the first three years of them sixty, Mr. Jellyband,” quietly interposed Mr. Hempseed. “I dunno as I ever see'd an infant take much note of the weather, leastways not in these parts, an' I've lived 'ere nigh on seventy-five years, Mr. Jellyband.”
The superiority of this wisdom was so incontestable that for the moment Mr. Jellyband was not ready with his usual flow of argument.
“It do seem more like April than September, don't it?” continued Mr. Hempseed, dolefully, as a shower of raindrops fell with a sizzle upon the fire.
“Aye! that it do,” assented65 the worthy host, “but then what can you 'xpect, Mr. 'Empseed, I says, with sich a government as we've got?”
Mr. Hempseed shook his head with an infinity66 of wisdom, tempered by deeply-rooted mistrust of the British climate and the British Government.
“I don't 'xpect nothing, Mr. Jellyband,” he said. “Pore folks like us is of no account up there in Lunnon, I knows that, and it's not often as I do complain. But when it comes to sich wet weather in September, and all me fruit a-rottin' and a-dyin' like the 'Guptian mother's first-born, and doin' no more good than they did, pore dears, save to a lot of Jews, pedlars and sich, with their oranges and sich like foreign ungodly fruit, which nobody'd buy if English apples and pears was nicely swelled67. As the Scriptures say—”
“That's quite right, Mr. 'Empseed,” retorted Jellyband, “and as I says, what can you 'xpect? There's all them Frenchy devils over the Channel yonder a-murderin' their king and nobility, and Mr. Pitt and Mr. Fox and Mr. Burke a-fightin' and a-wranglin' between them, if we Englishmen should 'low them to go on in their ungodly way. 'Let 'em murder!' says Mr. Pitt. 'Stop 'em!' says Mr. Burke.”
“And let 'em murder, says I, and be demmed to 'em,” said Mr. Hempseed, emphatically, for he had but little liking68 for his friend Jellyband's political arguments, wherein he always got out of his depth, and had but little chance for displaying those pearls of wisdom which had earned for him so high a reputation in the neighbourhood and so many free tankards of ale at “The Fisherman's Rest.”
“Let 'em murder,” he repeated again, “but don't let's 'ave sich rain in September, for that is agin the law and the Scriptures which says—”
“Lud! Mr. 'Arry, 'ow you made me jump!”
It was unfortunate for Sally and her flirtation69 that this remark of hers should have occurred at the precise moment when Mr. Hempseed was collecting his breath, in order to deliver himself of one of those Scriptural utterances70 which had made him famous, for it brought down upon her pretty head the full flood of her father's wrath71.
“Now then, Sally, me girl, now then!” he said, trying to force a frown upon his good-humoured face, “stop that fooling with them young jackanapes and get on with the work.”
“The work's gettin' on all ri', father.”
But Mr. Jellyband was peremptory72. He had other views for his buxom daughter, his only child, who would in God's good time become the owner of “The Fisherman's Rest,” than to see her married to one of these young fellows who earned but a precarious73 livelihood74 with their net.
“Did ye hear me speak, me girl?” he said in that quiet tone, which no one inside the inn dared to disobey. “Get on with my Lord Tony's supper, for, if it ain't the best we can do, and 'e not satisfied, see what you'll get, that's all.”
Reluctantly Sally obeyed.
“Is you 'xpecting special guests then to-night, Mr. Jellyband?” asked Jimmy Pitkin, in a loyal attempt to divert his host's attention from the circumstances connected with Sally's exit from the room.
“Aye! that I be,” replied Jellyband, “friends of my Lord Tony hisself. Dukes and duchesses from over the water yonder, whom the young lord and his friend, Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, and other young noblemen have helped out of the clutches of them murderin' devils.”
But this was too much for Mr. Hempseed's querulous philosophy.
“Lud!” he said, “what they do that for, I wonder? I don't 'old not with interferin' in other folks' ways. As the Scriptures say—”
“Maybe, Mr. 'Empseed,” interrupted Jellyband, with biting sarcasm75, “as you're a personal friend of Mr. Pitt, and as you says along with Mr. Fox: 'Let 'em murder!' says you.”
“Pardon me, Mr. Jellyband,” feebly protested Mr. Hempseed, “I dunno as I ever did.”
But Mr. Jellyband had at last succeeded in getting upon his favourite hobby-horse, and had no intention of dismounting in any hurry.
“Or maybe you've made friends with some of them French chaps 'oo they do say have come over here o' purpose to make us Englishmen agree with their murderin' ways.”
“I dunno what you mean, Mr. Jellyband,” suggested Mr. Hempseed, “all I know is—”
“All I know is,” loudly asserted mine host, “that there was my friend Peppercorn, 'oo owns the 'Blue-Faced Boar,' an' as true and loyal an Englishman as you'd see in the land. And now look at 'im!—'E made friends with some o' them frog-eaters, 'obnobbed with them just as if they was Englishmen, and not just a lot of immoral44, God-forsaking furrin' spies. Well! and what happened? Peppercorn 'e now ups and talks of revolutions, and liberty, and down with the aristocrats76, just like Mr. 'Empseed over 'ere!”
“Pardon me, Mr. Jellyband,” again interposed Mr. Hempseed, feebly, “I dunno as I ever did—”
Mr. Jellyband had appealed to the company in general, who were listening awe-struck and open-mouthed at the recital77 of Mr. Peppercorn's defalcations. At one table two customers—gentlemen apparently78 by their clothes—had pushed aside their half-finished game of dominoes, and had been listening for some time, and evidently with much amusement at Mr. Jellyband's international opinions. One of them now, with a quiet, sarcastic79 smile still lurking80 round the corners of his mobile mouth, turned towards the centre of the room where Mr. Jellyband was standing.
“You seem to think, mine honest friend,” he said quietly, “that these Frenchmen—spies I think you called them—are mighty clever fellows to have made mincemeat so to speak of your friend Mr. Peppercorn's opinions. How did they accomplish that now, think you?”
“Lud! sir, I suppose they talked 'im over. Those Frenchies, I've 'eard it said, 'ave got the gift of gab—and Mr. 'Empseed 'ere will tell you 'ow it is that they just twist some people round their little finger like.”
“Indeed, and is that so, Mr. Hempseed?” inquired the stranger politely.
“Nay, sir!” replied Mr. Hempseed, much irritated, “I dunno as I can give you the information you require.”
“Faith, then,” said the stranger, “let us hope, my worthy host, that these clever spies will not succeed in upsetting your extremely loyal opinions.”
But this was too much for Mr. Jellyband's pleasant equanimity81. He burst into an uproarious fit of laughter, which was soon echoed by those who happened to be in his debt.
“Hahaha! hohoho! hehehe!” He laughed in every key, did my worthy host, and laughed until his sides ached, and his eyes streamed. “At me! hark at that! Did ye 'ear 'im say that they'd be upsettin' my opinions?—Eh?—Lud love you, sir, but you do say some queer things.”
“Well, Mr. Jellyband,” said Mr. Hempseed, sententiously, “you know what the Scriptures say: 'Let 'im 'oo stands take 'eed lest 'e fall.'”
“But then hark'ee, Mr. 'Empseed,” retorted Jellyband, still holding his sides with laughter, “the Scriptures didn't know me. Why, I wouldn't so much as drink a glass of ale with one o' them murderin' Frenchmen, and nothin' 'd make me change my opinions. Why! I've 'eard it said that them frog-eaters can't even speak the King's English, so, of course, if any of 'em tried to speak their God-forsaken lingo82 to me, why, I should spot them directly, see!—and forewarned is forearmed, as the saying goes.”
“Aye! my honest friend,” assented the stranger cheerfully, “I see that you are much too sharp, and a match for any twenty Frenchmen, and here's to your very good health, my worthy host, if you'll do me the honour to finish this bottle of mine with me.”
“I am sure you're very polite, sir,” said Mr. Jellyband, wiping his eyes which were still streaming with the abundance of his laughter, “and I don't mind if I do.”
The stranger poured out a couple of tankards full of wine, and having offered one to mine host, he took the other himself.
“Loyal Englishmen as we all are,” he said, whilst the same humorous smile played round the corners of his thin lips—“loyal as we are, we must admit that this at least is one good thing which comes to us from France.”
“Aye! we'll none of us deny that, sir,” assented mine host.
“And here's to the best landlord in England, our worthy host, Mr. Jellyband,” said the stranger in a loud tone of voice.
“Hip15, hip, hurrah!” retorted the whole company present. Then there was loud clapping of hands, and mugs and tankards made a rattling83 music upon the tables to the accompaniment of loud laughter at nothing in particular, and of Mr. Jellyband's muttered exclamations84:
“Just fancy me bein' talked over by any God-forsaken furriner!—What?—Lud love you, sir, but you do say some queer things.”
To which obvious fact the stranger heartily85 assented. It was certainly a preposterous86 suggestion that anyone could ever upset Mr. Jellyband's firmly-rooted opinions anent the utter worthlessness of the inhabitants of the whole continent of Europe.
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1
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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hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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3
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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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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bustle
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| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
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giggling
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| v.咯咯地笑( giggle的现在分词 ) | |
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stolid
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| adj.无动于衷的，感情麻木的 | |
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subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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9
grumble
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| vi.抱怨；咕哝；n.抱怨，牢骚；咕哝，隆隆声 | |
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melodious
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| adj.旋律美妙的，调子优美的，音乐性的 | |
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grumbled
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| 抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
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uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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giggles
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| n.咯咯的笑( giggle的名词复数 )；傻笑；玩笑；the giggles 止不住的格格笑v.咯咯地笑( giggle的第三人称单数 ) | |
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14
hips
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| abbr.high impact polystyrene 高冲击强度聚苯乙烯，耐冲性聚苯乙烯n.臀部( hip的名词复数 )；[建筑学]屋脊；臀围（尺寸）；臀部…的 | |
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hip
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| n.臀部，髋；屋脊 | |
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itching
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| adj.贪得的，痒的，渴望的v.发痒( itch的现在分词 ) | |
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den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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pout
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| v.撅嘴；绷脸；n.撅嘴；生气，不高兴 | |
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shrug
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| v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
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buxom
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| adj.（妇女）丰满的，有健康美的 | |
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persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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stolidly
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| adv.迟钝地，神经麻木地 | |
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jugs
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| （有柄及小口的）水壶( jug的名词复数 ) | |
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grumbling
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| adj. 喃喃鸣不平的, 出怨言的 | |
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bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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plentiful
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| adj.富裕的，丰富的 | |
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necessitated
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| 使…成为必要，需要( necessitate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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hurrah
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| int.好哇，万岁，乌拉 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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witticism
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| n.谐语，妙语 | |
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witticisms
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| n.妙语，俏皮话( witticism的名词复数 ) | |
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fictitious
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| adj.虚构的，假设的；空头的 | |
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puffs
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| n.吸( puff的名词复数 )；（烟斗或香烟的）一吸；一缕（烟、蒸汽等）；（呼吸或风的）呼v.使喷出( puff的第三人称单数 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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pungent
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| adj.（气味、味道）刺激性的，辛辣的；尖锐的 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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jovial
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| adj.快乐的，好交际的 | |
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41
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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pate
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| n.头顶；光顶 | |
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insularity
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| n.心胸狭窄；孤立；偏狭；岛国根性 | |
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immoral
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| adj.不道德的，淫荡的，荒淫的，有伤风化的 | |
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45
immorality
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| n. 不道德, 无道义 | |
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46
savages
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| 未开化的人，野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
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47
buckled
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| a. 有带扣的 | |
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48
cosy
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| adj.温暖而舒适的，安逸的 | |
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49
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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50
guffaws
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| n.大笑，狂笑( guffaw的名词复数 )v.大笑，狂笑( guffaw的第三人称单数 ) | |
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51
harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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52
parched
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| adj.焦干的；极渴的；v.（使）焦干 | |
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53
rendezvous
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| n.约会，约会地点，汇合点；vi.汇合，集合；vt.使汇合，使在汇合地点相遇 | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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hostel
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| n.（学生）宿舍，招待所 | |
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56
torrents
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| n.倾注；奔流( torrent的名词复数 )；急流；爆发；连续不断 | |
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57
deluged
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| v.使淹没( deluge的过去式和过去分词 )；淹没；被洪水般涌来的事物所淹没；穷于应付 | |
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notably
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| adv.值得注意地，显著地，尤其地，特别地 | |
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scriptures
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| 经文，圣典( scripture的名词复数 )； 经典 | |
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60
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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rivulets
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| n.小河，小溪( rivulet的名词复数 ) | |
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63
trickled
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| v.滴( trickle的过去式和过去分词 )；淌；使)慢慢走；缓慢移动 | |
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panes
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| 窗玻璃( pane的名词复数 ) | |
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assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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infinity
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| n.无限，无穷，大量 | |
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67
swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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flirtation
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| n.调情，调戏，挑逗 | |
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70
utterances
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| n.发声( utterance的名词复数 )；说话方式；语调；言论 | |
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71
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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72
peremptory
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| adj.紧急的，专横的，断然的 | |
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73
precarious
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| adj.不安定的，靠不住的；根据不足的 | |
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livelihood
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| n.生计，谋生之道 | |
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75
sarcasm
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| n.讥讽，讽刺，嘲弄，反话 （adj.sarcastic） | |
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aristocrats
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| n.贵族( aristocrat的名词复数 ) | |
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recital
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| n.朗诵，独奏会，独唱会 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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sarcastic
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| adj.讥讽的，讽刺的，嘲弄的 | |
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80
lurking
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| 潜在 | |
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81
equanimity
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| n.沉着，镇定 | |
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82
lingo
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| n.语言不知所云，外国话，隐语 | |
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83
rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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84
exclamations
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| n.呼喊( exclamation的名词复数 )；感叹；感叹语；感叹词 | |
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85
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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86
preposterous
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| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
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