“Do you mean us to understand,” said Moulder, “that after forcing your way into this room, and sitting down along with gentlemen at this table, you refuse to abide by the rules of the room?” And Mr. Moulder spoke and looked as though he thought that such treachery must certainly lead to most disastrous results. The disastrous result which a stranger might have expected at the moment would be a fit of apoplexy on the part of the worthy president.
“I neither ordered that wine nor did I drink it,” said Mr. Dockwrath, compressing his lips, leaning back in his chair, and looking up into one corner of the ceiling.
“The gentleman certainly did not drink the wine,” said Kantwise, “I must acknowledge that; and as for ordering it, why that was done by the president, in course.”
“Gammon!” said Mr. Moulder, and he fixed his eyes steadfastly upon his Vice. “Kantwise, that’s gammon. The most of what you says is gammon.”
“Mr. Moulder, I don’t exactly know what you mean by that word gammon, but it’s objectionable. To my feelings it’s very objectionable. I say that the gentleman did not drink the wine, and I appeal to the gentleman who sits at the gentleman’s right, whether what I say is not correct. If what I say is correct, it can’t be—gammon. Mr. Busby, did that gentleman drink the wine, or did he not?”
“Not as I see,” said Mr. Busby, somewhat nervous at being thus brought into the controversy. He was a young man just commencing his travels, and stood in awe of the great Moulder.
“Gammon!” shouted Moulder, with a very red face. “Everybody at the table knows he didn’t drink the wine. Everybody saw that he declined the honour when proposed, which I don’t know that I ever saw a gentleman do at a commercial table till this day, barring that he was a teetotaller, which is gammon too. But it’s P.P. here, as every commercial gentleman knows, Kantwise as well as the best of us.”
“P.P., that’s the rule,” growled Snengkeld, almost from under the table.
“In commercial rooms, as the gentleman must be aware, the rule is as stated by my friend on my right,” said Mr. Gape. “The wine is ordered by the president or chairman, and is paid for in equal proportions by the company or guests,” and in his oratory Mr. Gape laid great stress on the word “or.” “The gentleman will easily perceive that such a rule as this is necessary in such a society; and unless—”
But Mr. Gape was apt to make long speeches, and therefore Mr. Moulder interrupted him. “You had better pay your five shillings, sir, and have no jaw about it. The man is standing idle there.”
“It’s not the value of the money,” said Dockwrath, “but I must decline to acknowledge that I am amenable to the jurisdiction.”
“There has clearly been a mistake,” said Johnson from Sheffield, “and we had better settle it among us; anything is better than a row.” Johnson from Sheffield was a man somewhat inclined to dispute the supremacy of Moulder from Houndsditch.
“No, Johnson,” said the president. “Anything is not better than a row. A premeditated infraction of our rules is not better than a row.”
“Did you say premeditated?” said Kantwise. “I think not premeditated.”
“I did say premeditated, and I say it again.”
“It looks uncommon like it,” said Snengkeld.
“When a gentleman,” said Gape, “who does not belong to a society—”
“It’s no good having more talk,” said Moulder, “and we’ll soon bring this to an end. Mr.—; I haven’t the honour of knowing the gentleman’s name.”
“My name is Dockwrath, and I am a solicitor.”
“Oh, a solicitor; are you? and you said last night you was commercial! Will you be good enough to tell us, Mr. Solicitor—for I didn’t just catch your name, except that it begins with a dock—and that’s where most of your clients are to be found, I suppose—”
“Order, order, order!” said Kantwise, holding up both his hands.
“It’s the chair as is speaking,” said Mr. Gape, who had a true Englishman’s notion that the chair itself could not be called to order.
“You shouldn’t insult the gentleman because he has his own ideas,” said Johnson.
“I don’t want to insult no one,” continued Moulder; “and those who know me best, among whom I can’t as yet count Mr. Johnson, though hopes I shall some day, won’t say it of me.” “Hear—hear—hear!” from both Snengkeld and Gape; to which Kantwise added a little “hear—hear!” of his own, of which Mr. Moulder did not quite approve. “Mr. Snengkeld and Mr. Gape, they’re my old friends, and they knows me. And they knows the way of a commercial room—which some gentlemen don’t seem as though they do. I don’t want to insult no one; but as chairman here at this conwivial meeting, I asks that gentleman who says he is a solicitor whether he means to pay his dinner bill according to the rules of the room, or whether he don’t?”
“I’ve paid for what I’ve had already,” said Dockwrath, “and I don’t mean to pay for what I’ve not had.”
“James,” exclaimed Moulder—and all the chairman was in his voice as he spoke—“my compliments to Mr. Crump, and I will request his attendance for five minutes;” and then James left the room, and there was silence for a while, during which the bottles made their round of the table.
“Hadn’t we better send back the pint of wine which Mr. Dockwrath hasn’t used?” suggested Kantwise.
“I’m d⸺ if we do!” replied Moulder, with much energy; and the general silence was not again broken till Mr. Crump made his appearance; but the chairman whispered a private word or two to his friend Snengkeld. “I never sent back ordered liquor to the bar yet, unless it was bad; and I’m not going to begin now.”
And then Mr. Crump came in. Mr. Crump was a very clean-looking person,
