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- 6247
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:47:56.339Z
- extracted_by
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- start_line
- 6186
- text
- stands your hat awry and bunged on your head, but your coat is fouled
and torn. Nay," he cried to the red-gown, "this is an unfortunate
friend: a simple spectator, I assure you."
"Ah! is that you, old lad?" responded the red-gown, in familiar
recognition of my guide--a personal friend as it seemed; "well, convey
your friend out forthwith. Mind the grand crash; it will soon be
coming; hark! now! away with him!"
Too late. The last dish had been seized. The yet unglutted mob raised
a fierce yell, which wafted the banners like a strong gust, and filled
the air with a reek as from sewers. They surged against the tables,
broke through all barriers, and billowed over the hall--their bare
tossed arms like the dashed ribs of a wreck. It seemed to me as if a
sudden impotent fury of fell envy possessed them. That one half-hour's
peep at the mere remnants of the glories of the Banquets of Kings; the
unsatisfying mouthfuls of disemboweled pasties, plundered pheasants,
and half-sucked jellies, served to remind them of the intrinsic
contempt of the alms. In this sudden mood, or whatever mysterious thing
it was that now seized them, these Lazaruses seemed ready to spew up in
repentant scorn the contumelious crumbs of Dives.
"This way, this way! stick like a bee to my back," intensely whispered
my guide. "My friend there has answered my beck, and thrown open yon
private door for us two. Wedge--wedge in--quick, there goes your
bunged hat--never stop for your coat-tail--hit that man--strike him
down! hold! jam! now! wrench along for your life! ha! here we breathe
freely; thank God! You faint. Ho!"
"Never mind. This fresh air revives me."
I inhaled a few more breaths of it, and felt ready to proceed.
"And now conduct me, my good friend, by some front passage into
Cheapside, forthwith. I must home."
"Not by the sidewalk though. Look at your dress. I must get a hack for
you."
"Yes, I suppose so," said I, ruefully eyeing my tatters, and then
glancing in envy at the close-buttoned coat and flat cap of my guide,
which defied all tumblings and tearings.
"There, now, sir," said the honest fellow, as he put me into the hack,
and tucked in me and my rags, "when you get back to your own country,
you can say you have witnessed the greatest of all England's noble
charities. Of course, you will make reasonable allowances for the
unavoidable jam. Good-by. Mind, Jehu"--addressing the driver on the
box--"this is a _gentleman_ you carry. He is just from the Guildhall
Charity, which accounts for his appearance. Go on now. London Tavern,
Fleet Street, remember, is the place."
* * * * *
"Now, Heaven in its kind mercy save me from the noble charities of
London," sighed I, as that night I lay bruised and battered on my bed;
"and Heaven save me equally from the 'Poor Man's Pudding' and the 'Rich
Man's Crumbs.'"
- title
- Chunk 4