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Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
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This work is out of copyright in countries with a copyright
period of 70 years or less, after the year of the author's death.
If it is under copyright in your country of residence,
do not download or redistribute this file.
Original content added by RGL (e.g., introductions, notes,
RGL covers) is proprietary and protected by copyright.
RGL e-Book Cover
Based on an image created with Microsoft Bing software
IF, as a sage has told us, no man is a hero without his trousers, what must be his state when, at a critical moment of his life, not only those manly essentials, but all the rest of his wardrobe has gone off into space and left him to face an unsympathetic world in a suit of fancy pyjamas? Yet this happened to me a little while ago, and a remembrance of the incident still makes me shiver.
I was going to be married, the occasion when more than ever a man is particular about his get-up, when the sit of a tie or the polish of a shoe for the first time looms large in his fancy. Alice, the best and dearest girl that ever lived, was waiting for me in the Midlands; I had slept in town, and after a hurried scramble through some last-moment duties had just managed to catch the 10.30 northward bound express which was to take me to her father's mansion for the great event.
There would be a host of friends to see us mated, and strangers, too, for, as it happened, I was M.P. for the district, owing not a little for that distinction to Alice's bright eyes and clever canvassing. Consequently I had to look my best, and fate, knowing it, played me a cruel trick, out of sheer frolic maliciousness. Never in all my life had I given so much attention to my clothes as during those last few days. I was naturally of a sensitive nature, and Alice, if any fault was possible in such a being, was perhaps somewhat over-particular in matters of dress and deportment. She had coached me in the minutest details of what I was to do and what I was to wear. I had dreamt of shoe-strings and trouser-creases for a week past, and, now the moment had come, surely even that dear girl would be satisfied with me.
There had been scarcely time, even for breakfast, ere leaving town, but the great express was one of the most luxurious kind, and I knew I should have an opportunity to get into my wedding things before arriving, so secured a private berth, and it was not until we were well on our way into the country that I carefully packed my ordinary morning clothes into the vacant side of the portmanteau and, with a last affectionate glance at the things which were to be put on presently, fastened up the bag in the neat way Alice insisted on, and donning a brilliant suit of pyjamas, cake of soap in one hand, sponge in the other, set out in quest of the bath-room.
A grumpy car attendant told me it was at the extreme front end of the train, so thither I went through narrow passages and "slips" between different saloon carriages, eventually finding the bath all that could be desired in the way of luxury and convenience. I did not hurry, why should I? The express whose ultimate destination was the extreme bounds of the kingdom, thundered on, jolting over cross-lines and hurtling through unseen stations, but I was supremely happy, and sat and soaked and dreamed of my good fortune, till at last, dried, pink as a rose-bud in June, I got back into that gaudy sleeping suit and set out in quest of my cabin.
Still early in the morning a few people were breakfasting in the saloon, an empty first class near them suggesting a good place to retire to when the wedding clothes were on. Thus cheerfully I wended rearwards through numerous passages without adventure until I was brought up suddenly by a locked iron door. My berth must be on the other side, as it certainly had not been passed as yet. I tried the door, but it was immoveable. I fumbled and pushed, and I while thus engaged that surly attendant came up with some used breakfast plates in his hand.
He stared for a minute, then growled out, "You can't get through there; that's the end of the train."
"But I must! I want my clothes; my berth is No. 40."
"No. 40!" said the man, staring harder than ever. "Why, where have you been? No. 40 was slipped twenty minutes ago. It has gone on by the 11-3 fast, to the East Coast: Ipswich, Grimsby, 'Ull; due Aberdeen 8-15."
Ipswich, Grimsby, Hull, Aberdeen! I reeled against the rattling woodwork, and my knees knocked together. Grimsby, Hull—my precious things flitting from shire to shire, ownerless from town to town, and me! I looked at my pyjamas, at sponge, and soap. They were all I had in the world, at all events at the moment, and half a county and the most particular girl, heaven bless her! in the world waiting for me at the next stop.
I WILL draw a veil over the next few minutes, during which wild ideas of suicide, of pulling the communication cord, and giving frantic chase to my fugitive wardrobe rushed through my mind. The shock was tremendous, and always of a high strung and nervous temperament. I could have sat down on the corrugated iron floor and wept there and then. But that would not have helped matters; the case was desperate, I must borrow a garment or two, but of whom? Everyone in the train was a stranger to me at the moment; my shyness recoiled from the thought of going a-begging amongst them. My only friend was the man of used breakfast plates.
The situation was frankly explained to him; had he anything of any kind he could lend me? He did not even smile, he was the grimmest individual I ever knew, but, scenting a tip, he presently said he did not carry a wardrobe about with him, as he was not given to fancy dress parties, but there was an old coat and a pair of Wellington boots behind the door of his wash-up place which I could borrow as far as the next station.
I was as grateful to him as though he had offered me the pick of Bond Street, but the articles in question produced another shock when they were displayed. A long, ragged brown overcoat with large brass buttons on it, the sort of thing they used to wear in far-off coaching days; a pair of ancient India-rubber Wellington boots coming up to the knees, and very much out at the toes, a peaked cap with the initials of the railway worked conspicuously on the front, which the man threw into the bargain, made up the dreadful outfit. There was no alternative; it was this or nothing. I got the wretched things and slunk away to that first-class compartment with my brain reeling. I must get something better by hook or by crook. My place in Parliament would not be worth a red herring if I did not, and Alice! I hid my face in my hands! Alice would disown me at the church door, and probably elope with the curate if I arrived in this guise.
THE train was not due to stop until we reached our destination, and here again, fate played me a shabby trick. Even as I was congratulating myself with that thought, we began to slow down. "What's the matter?" I cried out to an official passing down the corridor. "Special stop, sir, by request, to take up a party going to big wedding in the Midlands." And stop we did at a wayside halt in a minute or two. I crushed myself into my corner, breathing hard. There was an opening and shutting of doors: the guard was impatient; a score of people dressed in the height of fashion, boarded the train, and into my compartment, just as we were starting, scrambled three most delightful girls and a dignified middle-aged lady in charge of them.
The girls came in laughing and chattering, but when we started and they had time to notice the nondescript bundle in the corner their chatter quickly died away. Her ladyship also stopped in the middle of a sentence and taking up her eye-glasses scrutinized me with growing surprise.
"Why," she exclaimed, "you here, how delightful!"
Then, as she noticed my extraordinary costume, my demoralized appearance, a dreadful suspicion dawned in her face. She stared and took the most palpable sniff of the atmosphere her manner would allow.
We kept up a nervous conversation for a time, then relief came in the form of friends in the corridor, who carried off the lady and her covey of girls to theirs, and to my own, great satisfaction. I was hot in that absurd overcoat, buttoned to my chin since I dare not open it, thirsty and angry, I would go to the bar and have a drink, it might help me to think of something. The drink was certainly refreshing, so was the cigarette the man handed to me afterwards. I lit it and was walking away when the barman said politely. "One and sixpence, sir."
Of course, how forgetful of me. I plunged my hand into my pocket for the money, and there was no pocket there, only pyjamas. I told him nervously I had no money, whereat he looked solemn and suggested my card. But alas! when I put my hand under my overcoat for the wallet wherein the cards should have been, they were not there either, only pyjamas. So my name and address were written ignominiously on the back of a menu slip.
When the man saw the former he looked hard at me.
"Why, sir," he said, "you are the gent who is going to be married to-day; lot about it here in the morning paper, and a portrait of yourself." How dreadful, not in fancy costume like this, I hoped.
Without staying to inquire I bolted up the train for my carriage, stumbling over several portmanteaux on the way, and cannoning into various people, who turned to expostulate too late as I fled past them. Getting within sight of my refuge another dilemma loomed ahead; the officials were collecting tickets.
I had none. No good feeling in pockets which did not exist; better hide until the examination was over. So back again down the corridors, jumping over more packages, and noticing how all the passengers dodged into compartments when they saw me coming. Better get into my bunk and pretend to be asleep until the ticket collectors had gone. Impracticable! The sleeping saloon was on its way to Aberdeen—Aberdeen 8-15.
I was becoming light-headed, and the officials were close behind. I put my head out of an open window. Could I climb on to the foot-board or reach the roof of a carriage and drop off somewhere in the open country? While despairingly meditating this a voice said at my back.
"Mind that 'at, sir; I set a lot of value on it."
It was my friend, the dish-washer.
Before my mind was made up the train began to slacken speed and one or two well-remembered landmarks slipping by the windows showed me, to my horror, that we were approaching our destination. Better face it out in the guise of a dilapidated stage coachman, than as a man of clouts and dishes, so once again I fled up the train and dashed into my compartment like a hunted animal.
A STRAIN of music caught my ears, as the wheels ceased to revolve, and I heard cheering in many voices. They were playing "Hail the Conquering Hero Comes!" when we drew up at the platform, a glint of robes and flags showing the town bands and officials had gathered on the steps to await my train. In they poured at once as we came to a standstill, a perfect crowd of good-humoured voters eager to greet their member. I was dimly conscious of shaking a score of outstretched hands, then being forced to an open door, my railway cap over one eye, my highwayman's coat-caller up to my ears, one brilliant pyjama leg tucked inside my Wellingtons, one outside, a great cheer arising which turned almost instantly to a roar of laughter as the crowd noticed my monstrous appearance.
"Say something to them, sir; they want a speech," whispered a town councillor in my ear.
"What shall I say?"
"Oh, anything will do—something about the price of corn—or prohibition—or flappers."
We happened to have pulled up opposite a group composed exclusively of mature females ranged under a blue banner—in reality, that of a local temperance league, but which, in my agitation, I mistook for another resembling it, belonging to an Equality for Women Association, so, getting my nose above my coat collar with difficulty, I broke out:
"Ladies and Gentlemen—It is very kind of so many of you flappers to come to meet me this morning. (Loud cheers and laughter.) I don't mean you are flappers, but I know your sympathies are all for equality and—"
"—free drinks!" shouted a ribald citizen in the crowd, whereon the spectators, possibly thinking I had been indulging overmuch in the latter, shouted wildly and attempted to storm the carriage. In the scuffle my hat was knocked off, and while I was struggling to regain it, a strong hand fell upon my shoulder, a voice sounded in my ear above the uproar—"I want my coat and boots, the train's going on."
"You can't have them! I will buy them!"
"Thirty bob or my coat!" shouted the ruffian of the dish-clouts. I would give him neither—one I could not spare and the other I had not got. Instead, I struggled to free myself, and we staggered out on to the platform, the delighted voters surging round their member hardly knowing what it was all about, while wedding guests stood in groups in the distance, wondering whether it was actually myself, amazed and mystified. Was ever bridegroom in such case? It was most disreputable.
I glared round with dishevelled hair, clutching my borrowed garments tightly, the engine gave another whistle, the train was starting. Should I leap back and pursue my truant wardrobe to Aberdeen, to the ends of the earth if need be, or stay and go to Alice in this odious masquerade; Alice the dainty, the particular, all in white satin and orange blossom? To think of her standing at the altar with such a clown as myself, it was tragic!
"My coat—or thirty bob!" said the fellow at my elbow, while the crowd laughed unfeelingly.
"Now, then!—now, then!" cried another voice above the hubbub. "What's all this about? We can't stop here all night!" and the big guard of the train, green flag in hand, pushed through the throng. He was a delivering angel—an angel in mufti and brass buttons, though I did not know it for a moment.
"This man wants his coat and boots," I explained feebly.
"Well, give them to him, sir."
"I cannot. I have nothing else to wear. I have lost my luggage. It has gone on to Aberdeen."
"Your luggage. Berth No. 40; oh! that's all right," said that blessed man of the flag, recognizing me. "It isn't lost; I read the label just before we slipped, and took it forward into my van; there it is by the bookstall, sir."
One glance showed me it was so. My lost, my beloved trousseau; I was saved. To rush forward and snatch it up was the work of a moment, and then to change; but where? I dashed into an open door way, it was the ladies' room, and, confronted by a stern matron, I came out even more quickly. I ran to the booking office, the crowd in full cry after me; it was too public. Lost luggage office: too painfully suggestive. Station-master's den, crowded with old ladies of the Temperance League who had taken temporary refuge there. Ah! the general waiting-room, and luckily unoccupied. I rushed in, barred the door behind me, and with trembling fingers undid my luggage. Everything was in good order. Never a bride gloated over her treasures with more joy than I glanced at those raiments of civilization.
"My things or thirty bob," said a voice at the half-open window. The answer was an empty Wellington boot which, missing its intended mark, flew across the platform and knocked the Sheriff's cocked hat over his nose. It was followed by another boot a moment afterwards.
"My coat, or—" and the hideous old coat followed the boots, descending on that brigand like a brown cloud. There was a whistle and a scramble, a roar of escaping steam, a farewell cheer from the crowd, which had somehow conceived the idea I had got back unobserved into my compartment. and the train was off. Never in my life had I seen one go with greater pleasure.
"HOW spruce and nice you looked," whispered Alice, my Alice, all in shimmering white, as we drove away from the church. "Nice and spruce." Ah! if she had only known; but she did not, and I was not going to tell her. "I cannot imagine you anything but spruce," she whispered, putting her cheek against mine; happy girl!
Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
Go to Home Page
This work is out of copyright in countries with a copyright
period of 70 years or less, after the year of the author's death.
If it is under copyright in your country of residence,
do not download or redistribute this file.
Original content added by RGL (e.g., introductions, notes,
RGL covers) is proprietary and protected by copyright.