CHAPTER XXII.
LONDON LADS.—RAILWAY RIDE.—OBSERVATIONS IN NATURAL HISTORY.
At half-past five, having overtaken my friends and dined at Godalming, I took seat with them in the third-class carriages of a train bound to London, intending, however, only to take a lift so that we might walk in before dark.
The carriages were nearly empty, till, stopping at a way-station, they were suddenly and with boisterous merry haste taken possession of, filled full and over-filled with a class of people differing in their countenances, manners, language, and tone of voice from any we had before seen in England. They were more like New York b’hoys, a little less rowdy and a shade more vulgar. “London lads,” one of them very civilly told me they were, employed in a factory out here in the country, and having just received their week’s wages were going in to spend them. They were pale, and many effeminate, in features, rather oily and grimy, probably from their employment; talked loudly and rapidly, using many cant words, and often addressing those at a distance by familiar, abbreviated names; lively, keen, quick-eyed, with a peculiarly fearless, straightforward, uneducated way of making original remarks, that showed considerable wit and powers of observation; rough, turbulent, and profane, yet using a good many polite forms, and courteous enough in action.
Two or three men, as soon as the train was in motion, held up each a brace or two of rabbits, at which there was cheering and laughter from the rest. All, indeed, were in the greatest possible good humour, joking and bantering and making engagements, or telling of their plans for dining together, or meeting for some degrading excitement on Sunday. Of us and others in the car, when they entered, they took little notice, though treating us with respect in not jostling or crowding us; but as soon as they were well settled in their places they began to make game of one another; to tell stories, evidently improvising comical anecdotes of their employers and other common acquaintances, both absent and present. A dignified “old chap,” who stood near upon the platform, was made very uncomfortable, and reduced considerably in height and stiffness, by urgent invitations to join them. The “guard,” too, was made an especial butt, and several illustrations were given of the ignorant character of railway-people in general. “There vas von them Mefodis wisitin-coves, you know, wot ’awks tracs and suchlike, in here a Vensdy wen we come up; and ven the guard come along he arks him did he know the Lord’s prayer? ‘Lorspraer?’ says he, ‘vot is he?’ says he; ‘is he a stoker or a driver?’ says he, ha! ha! ha! I’m blowed ’f ’e didn’t.”
“I saw one of them same fellows other night,” continued another, “wot ’ad ’old of another on ’em. He treats ’im to a go o’ gin first, you see, to make him sharp like, and then he axes him did he know any think about the eternal world. ‘’Turnulwool?’ says he—‘’Turnulwool?—no such place in the Farnham branch, sir—hadn’t you best enkvire of the station-master, sir?’ says he.”
“’Ternal world’s the place where they hadn’t got the rails down to yet—last adwices; aren’t it?—and they carries the nobs on there with lays o’ busses wot runs erry day in the year oney Sunneys and her Majestee’s birth-day.”
“No, no; I’ll tell you where ’tis—tarnal world—it’s the kentry what the coves in Astraly cuts to wen the Kangarwoos gets short and the gin-trees gives out and they’s ’ard up.”
“Kangurerhoos—what’s them?”
“Kind of fish as is covered with feathers ’stead o’ scales.”
“I know it—fact I tell you, ’pon my honour—needn’t laugh—I see a sailor as ’ad a vestcoat made on’t, short vethers like spangled welwet, black and goold, regular ’ristocratic—stunnenest thing you ever see.”
“Well, what’s a gin-tree?—that bangs me.”
“I know—there is—a big tree wot runs gin wen yer tap her—and there’s a bread-tree, too——”
“What bears fresh kortern loavs erry morning.”
“Hurray for Polytechny! Ain’t they all sliced and buttered?”
“In course they is, and ven you shakes ’em off, the skins cracks open, and they all valls buttered side up—coz vy? Vy the trees is werry ’igh and the buttered side’s the lightest to be sure.”
“Hi! that’s the place for this chile—I’m bound to—‘over the seas for to go’—only waitin’ for an act of Parliament, and wen I get there—hi! Buffalo gals!”——
“When he gets there you know what he’ll do? When he comes to the gin trees he’ll treat the company. First time in his life. Ha! ha!”
And with such constantly combining streams a flood of original information and entertainment was poured out to us until we reached the little station about nine miles out of London, to which we had taken tickets.