II
The while mine host, Master Jellyband—perhaps a shade more portly of figure, a thought more bald of pate, these last two years—stood with stubby legs firmly planted upon his own hearth, wherein, despite the warmth of a glorious afternoon, a log fire blazed away merrily. He was giving forth his views upon the political situation of Europe generally with the self-satisfied assurance born of complete ignorance and true British insular prejudice.
Believe me, Mr. Jellyband was in no two minds about “them murderin’ furriners over yonder” who had done away with their King and Queen and all their nobility and quality, and whom England had at last decided to lick into shape.
“And not a moment too soon, hark’ee, Mr. ’Empseed,” he went on sententiously. “And if I ’ad my way, we should ’ave punished ’em proper long before this—blown their bloomin’ Paris into smithereens and carried off the pore Queen afore those murderous villains ’ad ’er pretty ’ead off ’er shoulders!”
Mr. Hempseed, from his own privileged corner in the inglenook, was not altogether prepared to admit that.
“I am not for interfering with other folks’ ways,” he said, raising his quaking treble so as to stem effectually the torrent of Master Jellyband’s eloquence. “As the Scriptures say—”
“Keep your dirty fingers from off my waist!” came in decisive tones from Mistress Sally Waite, whilst the shrill sound made by the violent contact of a feminine hand against a manly cheek froze the Scriptural quotation on Mr. Hempseed’s lips.
“Now then, now then, Sally!” Mr. Jellyband thought fit to say in stern tones, not liking his customers to be thus summarily dealt with.
“Now then, father,” Sally retorted, with a toss of her brown curls, “you just attend to your politics, and Mr. ’Empseed to ’is Scriptures, and leave me to deal with them impudent jackanapes. You wait!” she added, turning once more with a parting shot directed against the discomfited offender. “If my ’Arry catches you at them tricks, you’ll see what you get—that’s all!”
“Sally!” Mr. Jellyband admonished, more sternly this time. “You’ll ’ave my lord Hastings ’ere before ’is dinner is ready.”
Which suggestion so overawed Mistress Sally that she promptly forgot the misdoings of the forward swain and failed to hear the sarcastic chuckle which greeted the mention of her husband’s name. With an excited little cry, she ran quickly out of the room.
Mr. Hempseed, loftily unaware of interruption, concluded his sententious remark:
“As the Scriptures say, Mr. Jellyband: ‘ ’Ave no fellowship with the unfruitful work of darkness.’ I don’t ’old not with interfering. Remember what the Scriptures say: ‘ ’E that committeth sin is of the devil, and the devil sinneth from the beginning,’ ” he concluded with sublime irrelevance, sagely nodding his head.
But Mr. Jellyband was not thus lightly to be confounded in his argument—no, not by any quotation, relevant or otherwise!
“All very fine, Mr. ’Empseed,” he said, “and good enough for them ’oo, like yourself, are willin’ to side with them murderin’ reprobates …”
“Like myself, Mr. Jellyband?” protested Mr. Hempseed, with as much vigour as his shrill treble would allow. “Nay, but I’m not for them children of darkness—”
“You may be or you may not,” Mr. Jellyband went on, nothing daunted. “There be many as are, and ’oo’d say ‘Let ’em murder,’ even now, but I say that them as ’oo talk that way are not true Englishmen; for ’tis we Englishmen ’oo can teach the furriner just what ’e may do and what ’e may not. And as we’ve got the ships and the men and the money, we can just fight ’em as are not of our way o’ thinkin’. And let me tell you, Mr. ’Empseed, that I’m prepared to back my opinions ’gainst any man as don’t agree with me!”
For the nonce Mr. Hempseed was silent. True, a Scriptural text did hover on his thin, quivering lips; but as no one paid any heed to him for the moment its appositeness will forever remain doubtful. The honours of victory rested with Mr. Jellyband. Such lofty patriotism, coupled with so much sound knowledge of political affairs, could not fail to leave its impress upon the more ignorant and the less fervent amongst the frequenters of The Fisherman’s Rest.
Indeed, who was more qualified to pass an opinion on current events than the host of that much-frequented resort, seeing that the ladies and gentlemen of quality who came to England from over the water, so as to escape all them murtherin’ reprobates in their own country, did most times halt at The Fisherman’s Rest on their way to London or to Bath? And though Mr. Jellyband did not know a word of French—no furrin lingo for him, thank ’ee!—he nevertheless had mixed with all that nobility and gentry for over two years now, and had learned all that there was to know about the life over there, and about Mr. Pitt’s intentions to put a stop to all those abominations.