picture of the refreshment…table at that terminus。 The
conventional shabby evening…party supper … accepted as the model
for all termini and all refreshment stations； because it is the
last repast known to this state of existence of which any human
creature would partake； but in the direst extremity … sickens your
contemplation； and your words are these： 'I cannot dine on stale
sponge…cakes that turn to sand in the mouth。 I cannot dine on
shining brown patties； composed of unknown animals within； and
offering to my view the device of an indigestible star…fish in
leaden pie…crust without。 I cannot dine on a sandwich that has
long been pining under an exhausted receiver。 I cannot dine on
barley…sugar。 I cannot dine on Toffee。' You repair to the nearest
hotel； and arrive； agitated； in the coffee…room。
It is a most astonishing fact that the waiter is very cold to you。
Account for it how you may； smooth it over how you will； you cannot
deny that he is cold to you。 He is not glad to see you； he does
not want you； he would much rather you hadn't come。 He opposes to
your flushed condition； an immovable composure。 As if this were
not enough； another waiter； born； as it would seem； expressly to
look at you in this passage of your life； stands at a little
distance； with his napkin under his arm and his hands folded；
looking at you with all his might。 You impress on your waiter that
you have ten minutes for dinner； and he proposes that you shall
begin with a bit of fish which will be ready in twenty。 That
proposal declined； he suggests … as a neat originality … 'a weal or
mutton cutlet。' You close with either cutlet； any cutlet；
anything。 He goes； leisurely； behind a door and calls down some
unseen shaft。 A ventriloquial dialogue ensues； tending finally to
the effect that weal only； is available on the spur of the moment。
You anxiously call out； 'Veal； then！' Your waiter having settled
that point； returns to array your tablecloth； with a table napkin
folded cocked…hat…wise （slowly； for something out of window engages
his eye）； a white wine…glass； a green wine…glass； a blue finger…
glass； a tumbler； and a powerful field battery of fourteen casters
with nothing in them； or at all events … which is enough for your
purpose … with nothing in them that will come out。 All this time；
the other waiter looks at you … with an air of mental comparison
and curiosity； now； as if it had occurred to him that you are
rather like his brother。 Half your time gone； and nothing come but
the jug of ale and the bread； you implore your waiter to 'see after
that cutlet； waiter； pray do！' He cannot go at once； for he is
carrying in seventeen pounds of American cheese for you to finish
with； and a small Landed Estate of celery and water…cresses。 The
other waiter changes his leg； and takes a new view of you；
doubtfully； now； as if he had rejected the resemblance to his
brother； and had begun to think you more like his aunt or his
grandmother。 Again you beseech your waiter with pathetic
indignation； to 'see after that cutlet！' He steps out to see after
it； and by…and…by； when you are going away without it； comes back
with it。 Even then； he will not take the sham silver cover off；
without a pause for a flourish； and a look at the musty cutlet as
if he were surprised to see it … which cannot possibly be the case；
he must have seen it so often before。 A sort of fur has been
produced upon its surface by the cook's art； and in a sham silver
vessel staggering on two feet instead of three； is a cutaneous kind
of sauce of brown pimples and pickled cucumber。 You order the
bill； but your waiter cannot bring your bill yet； because he is
bringing； instead； three flinty…hearted potatoes and two grim head
of broccoli； like the occasional ornaments on area railings； badly
boiled。 You know that you will never come to this pass； any more
than to the cheese and celery； and you imperatively demand your
bill； but； it takes time to get； even when gone for； because your
waiter has to communicate with a lady who lives behind a sash…
window in a corner； and who appears to have to refer to several
Ledgers before she can make it out … as if you had been staying
there a year。 You become distracted to get away； and the other
waiter； once more changing his leg； still looks at you … but
suspiciously； now； as if you had begun to remind him of the party
who took the great…coats last winter。 Your bill at last brought
and paid； at the rate of sixpence a mouthful； your waiter
reproachfully reminds you that 'attendance is not charged for a
single meal；' and you have to search in all your pockets for
sixpence more。 He has a worse opinion of you than ever； when you
have given it to him； and lets you out into the street with the air
of one saying to himself； as you cannot again doubt he is； 'I hope
we shall never see YOU here again！'
Or； take any other of the numerous travelling instances in which；
with more time at your disposal； you are； have been； or may be；
equally ill served。 Take the old…established Bull's Head with its
old…established knife…boxes on its old…established sideboards； its
old…established flue under its old…established four…post bedsteads
in its old…established airless rooms； its old…established
frouziness up…stairs and down…stairs； its old…established cookery；
and its old…established principles of plunder。 Count up your
injuries； in its side…dishes of ailing sweetbreads in white
poultices； of apothecaries' powders in rice for curry； of pale
stewed bits of calf ineffectually relying for an adventitious
interest on forcemeat balls。 You have had experience of the old…
established Bull's Head stringy fowls； with lower extremities like
wooden legs； sticking up out of the dish； of its cannibalic boiled
mutton； gushing horribly among its capers； when carved； of its
little dishes of pastry … roofs of spermaceti ointment； erected
over half an apple or four gooseberries。 Well for you if you have
yet forgotten the old…established Bull's Head fruity port： whose
reputation was gained solely by the old…established price the
Bull's Head put upon it； and by the old…established air with which
the Bull's Head set the glasses and D'Oyleys on； and held that
Liquid Gout to the three…and…sixpenny wax…candle； as if its old…
established colour hadn't come from the dyer's。
Or lastly； take to finish with； two cases that we all know； every
day。
We all know the new hotel near the station； where it is always
gusty； going up the lane which is always muddy； where we are sure
to arrive at night； and where we make the gas start awfully when we
open the front door。 We all know the flooring of the passages and
staircases that is too new； and the walls that are too new； and the
house that is haunted by the ghost of mortar。 We all know the
doors that have cracked； and the cracked shutters through which we
get a glimpse of the disconsolate moon。 We all know the new
people； who have come to keep the new hotel； and who wish they had
never come； and who （inevitable result） wish WE had never come。 We
all know how much too scant and smooth and bright the new furniture
is； and how it has never settled down； and cannot fit itself into
right places； and will get into wrong places。 We all know how the
gas； being lighted； shows maps of Damp upon the walls。 We all know
how the ghost of mortar passes into our sandwich； stirs our negus；
goes up to bed with us； ascends the pale bedroom chimney； and
prevents the smoke from following。 We all know how a leg of our
chair comes off at breakfast in the morning； and how the dejected
waiter attributes the accident to a general greenness pervading the
establishment； and informs us； in reply to a local inquiry； that he
is thankful to say he is an entire stranger in that part of the
country and is going back to his own connexion on Saturday。
We all know； on the other hand； the great station hotel belonging
to the company of proprietors； which has suddenly sprung up in the
back outskirts of any place we like to name； and where we look out
of our palatial windows at little back yards and gardens； old
summer…houses； fowl…houses； pigeon…traps； and pigsties。 We all
know this hotel in which we can get anything we want； after its
kind； for money； but where nobody is glad to see us； or sorry to
see us； or minds （our bill paid） whether we come or go； or how； or
when； or why； or cares about us。 We all know this hotel； where we
have no individuality； but put ourselves into the general post； as
it were； and are sorted and disposed of according to our division。
We all know that we can get on very well indeed at such a place；
but still not perfectly well； and this may be； because the place is
largely wholesale； and there is a lingering personal retail
interest within us that asks to be satisfied。
To sum up。 My uncommercial travelling has not yet broug