Hodge and His Masters | Page 3

which 'tap' he shall spend it. He fills up the entire
pavement, and stolidly plods on, turning ladies and all into the roadway;
not from intentional rudeness, but from sheer inability to perceive that
he is causing inconvenience.
Unless you know the exact spot it is difficult in all this crowd and
pushing, with a nervous dread of being gored from behind by a bull, or
thrown off your feet by a sudden charge of sheep, to discover the door
of the Jason Inn. That door has been open every legitimate and lawful
hour this hundred years; but you will very likely be carried past it and
have to struggle back. Then it is not easy to enter, for half a dozen
stalwart farmers and farmers' sons are coming out; while two young
fellows stand just inside, close to the sliding bar-window, blocking up
the passage, to exchange occasional nods and smiles with the barmaid.
However, by degrees you shuffle along the sanded passage, and past
the door of the bar, which is full of farmers as thick as they can stand,
or sit. The rattle of glasses, the chink of spoons, the hum of voices, the
stamping of feet, the calls and orders, and sounds of laughter, mingle in
confusion. Cigar-smoke and the steam from the glasses fill the
room--all too small--with a thick white mist, through which rubicund
faces dimly shine like the red sun through a fog.
Some at the tables are struggling to write cheques, with continual jogs
at the elbow, with ink that will not flow, pens that scratch and splutter,
blotting-paper that smudges and blots. Some are examining cards of an

auction, and discussing the prices which they have marked in the
margin in pencil. The good-humoured uproar is beyond description,
and is increased by more farmers forcing their way in from the rear,
where are their horses or traps--by farmers eagerly inquiring for dealers
or friends, and by messengers from the shops loaded with parcels to
place in the customer's vehicle.
At last you get beyond the bar-room door and reach the end of the
passage, where is a wide staircase, and at the foot a tall eight-day clock.
A maid-servant comes tripping down, and in answer to inquiry replies
that that is the way up, and the room is ready, but she adds with a smile
that there is no one there yet. It is three-quarters of an hour after the
time fixed for the reading of a most important paper before a meeting
specially convened, before the assembled Parliament of Hodge's
masters, and you thought you would be too late. A glance at the
staircase proves the truth of the maid's story. It has no carpet, but it is
white as well-scrubbed wood could well be. There is no stain, no dust,
no foot-mark on it; no heavy shoe that has been tramping about in the
mud has been up there. But it is necessary to go on or go back, and of
the two the first is the lesser evil.
The staircase is guarded by carved banisters, and after going up two
flights you enter a large and vacant apartment prepared for the meeting
of the farmers' club. At the farther end is a small mahogany table, with
an armchair for the president, paper, pens, ink, blotting-paper, and a
wax candle and matches, in case he should want a light. Two less
dignified chairs are for the secretary (whose box, containing the club
records, books of reference, &c., is on the table), and for the secretary's
clerk. Rows of plain chairs stretch across the room, rank after rank;
these are for the audience. And last of all are two long forms, as if for
Hodge, if Hodge chooses to come.
A gleam of the afternoon sun--as the clouds part awhile--attracts one
naturally to the window. The thickness of the wall in which it is placed
must be some two or three feet, so that there is a recess on which to put
your arms, if you do not mind the dust, and look out. The window is
half open, and the sounds of the street come up, 'baaing' and bellowing

and squeaking, the roll of wheels, the tramp of feet, and, more distant,
the shouting of an auctioneer in the market-place, whose stentorian
tones come round the corner as he puts up rickcloths for sale. Noise of
man and animal below; above, here in the chamber of science, vacancy
and silence. Looking upwards, a narrow streak of blue sky can be seen
above the ancient house across the way.
After awhile there comes the mellow sound of bells from the church
which is near by, though out of sight; bells with a soft, old-world tone;
bells that chime slowly and succeed each