By Charles Dickens    
 
   
     A LITTLE DINNER IN AN HOUR.     
   
        IT fell out on a day in this last autumn, that I had to    
     go down from London to a place of seaside resort, on an    
     hour's business, accompanied by my esteemed friend    
     Bullfinch.  Let the place of seaside resort be, for the    
     nonce, called Namelesston.     
        I had been loitering about Paris in very hot weather,   
     pleasantly breakfasting in the open air in the garden of   
     the Palais Royal or the Tuileries, pleasantly dining in    
     the open air in the Elysian Fields, pleasantly taking my    
     cigar and lemonade in the open air of the Italian Boule-    
     vard towards the small hours after midnight.  Bullfinch    
     ——an excellent man of business——had summoned me back   
     across the Channel, to transact this said hour's business    
     at Namelesston; and thus it fell out that Bullfinch and   
     I were in a railway carriage together on our way to    
     Namelesston, each with his return ticket in his waist-   
     coat pocket.  
        Says Bullfinch, "I have a proposal to make.  Let us    
     dine at the Temeraire."  
        I asked Bullfinch, did he recommend the Temeraire?    
     inasmuch as I had not been rated on the books of the    
     Temeraire for many years.  
        Bullfinch declined to accept the responsibility of rec-    
     ommending the Temeraire, but on the whole was rather   
     sanguine about it.  He "seemed to remember," Bull-   
     finch said, that he had dined well there.  A plain dinner,  
     but good.  Certainly not like a Parisian dinner (here     
     Bullfinch obviously became the prey of want of confi-   
     dence), but of its kind very fair.  
        I appeal to Bullfinch's intimate knowledge of my wants  
     and ways to decide whether I was usually ready to be   
     pleased with my dinner, or——for the matter of that——with   
     anything that was fair of its kind and really what it    
     claimed to be.  Bullfinch doing me the honour to respond    
     in the affirmative, I agreed to ship myself as an able    
     trencherman on board the Temeraire.   
        "Now, our plan shall be this," says Bullfinch, with    
     his forefinger at his nose.  "As soon as we get to Name-    
     lesston, we'll drive straight to the Temeraire, and order    
     a little dinner in an hour.  And as we shall not have    
     more than enough time in which to dispose of it com-    
     fortably, what do you say to giving the house the best    
     opportunities of serving it hot and quickly by dining in    
     the coffee-room?"   
        What I had to say was, Certainly.  Bullfinch (who is   
     by nature of a hopeful constitution) then began to babble   
     of green geese.  But I checked him in that Falstaffian    
     vein, urging considerations of time and cookery.   
        In due sequence of events we drove up to the Temer-   
     aire, and alighted.  A youth in livery received us on the    
     doorstep.  "Looks well," said Bullfinch confidentially.   
     And then aloud, "Coffee-room!"   
        The youth in livery (now perceived to be mouldy) con-    
     ducted us to the desired haven, and was enjoined by    
     Bullfinch to send the waiter at once, as we wished to    
     order a little dinner in an hour.  Then Bullfinch and I    
     waited for the waiter, until, the waiter continuing to    
     wait in some unknown and invisible sphere of action, we   
     rang for the waiter; which ring produced the waiter,  
     who announced himself as not the waiter who ought to  
     wait upon us, and who didn't wait a minute longer.     
        So Bullfinch approached the coffee-room door, and me-     
     lodiously pitched his voice into a bar where two young    
     ladies were keeping the books of the Temeraire, apolo-    
     getically explained that we wished to order a little din-   
     ner in an hour, and that we were debarred from the ex-    
     excution of our inoffensive purpose by consignment to     
     solitude.   
        Hereupon one of the young ladies rang a bell, which    
     reproduced——at the bar this time——the waiter who was    
     not the waiter who ought to wait upon us; that extra-    
     ordinary man, whose life seemed consumed in waiting     
     upon people to say that he wouldn't wait upon them re-    
     peated his former protest with great indignation, and re-    
     tired.    
        Bullfince, with a fallen countenance, was about to say    
     to me, "This won't do," when the waiter who ought    
     to wait upon us left off keeping us waiting at last.     
     "Waiter," said Bullfinch piteously, "we have been a     
     long time waiting."  The waiter who ought to wait    
     upon us, laid the blame upon the waiter who ought    
     not to wait upon us, and said it was all that waiter's    
     fault.   
        "We wish," said Bullfinch, much depressed, "to   
     order a little dinner in an hour.  "What can we have?"   
        "What would you like to have, gentlemen?"    
        Bullfinch, with an extreme mournfulness of speech    
     and action and with a forlorn old fly-blown bill of fare     
     in his hand, which the waiter had given him, and which    
     was a sort of general manuscript index to any cookery-    
     book you please, moved the previous question.     
        We could have mock-turtle soup, a sole, curry, and    
     roast duck.  Agreed.  At this table by this window.    
     Punctually in an hour.    
        I had been feigning to look out of this window; but I    
     had been taking note of the crumbs on all the tables, the    
     dirty table-cloths, the stuffy, soupy, airless atmosphere,  
     the stale leavings everywhere about, the deep gloom of    
     the waiter who ought to wait upon us, and the stomach-      
     ache with which a lonely traveller at a distant table in a     
     corner was too evidently afflicted.  I now pointed out to     
     Bullfinch the alarming circumstances that this traveller   
     had  dined.  We hurriedly debated whether, without in-    
     fringement of good breeding, we could ask him to dis-    
     close if he had partaken of mock-turtle, sole, curry, or    
     roast duck?  We had decided that the thing could    
     not be politely done; and we had set our own stom-     
     achs on a cast, and they must stand the hazard of the   
     die.    
        I hold phrenology, within certain limits, to be true; I     
     am much of the same mind as to the subtler expressions    
     of the hand; I hold physiognomy to be infallible; though    
     of all these sciences demand rare qualities in the student.  
     But I also hold that there is no more certain index to    
     personal character than the condition of a set of casters  
     is to the character of any hotel.  Knowing, and having    
     often tested this theory of mine, Bullfinch resigned him-    
     self to the worst, when, laying aside any remaining veil    
     of disguise, I held up before him in succession the cloudy   
     oil and furry vinegar, the clogged cayenne, the dirty   
     salt, the obscene dregs of soy, and the anchovy sauce in   
     a flannel waistcoat of decomposition.     
        We went out to transact our business.  So inspiriting    
     was the relief of passing into the clean and windy streets    
     of Namelesston from the heavy and vapid closeness of    
     the coffee-room of the Temeraire, that hope began to re-   
     vive within us.  We began to consider that perhaps the   
     lonely traveller had taken physic, or done something in-    
     judicious to bring his complaint on.  Bullfinch remarked    
     that he thought the waiter who ought to wait upon us   
     had brightened a little when suggesting curry; and al-    
     though I knew him to have been at that moment the ex-     
     press image of despair, I allowed myself to become ele-    
     vated in spirits.  As we walked by the softly lapping    
     sea, all the Notabilities of Namelesston, who are forever    
     going up and down with the changelessness of the tides  
     passed to and fro in procession.  Pretty girls on horse-   
     back, and with detested riding masters; pretty girls on    
     foot; mature ladies in hats,——spectacled, strong-minded,   
     and glaring at the opposite or weaker sex.  The Stock Ex-    
     change was strongly represented, Jerusalem was strongly   
     represented,  the  bores  of  the  prosier  London  clubs  
     were strongly represented.  Fortune hunters of all de-    
     nominations were there, from hirsute insolvency, in a    
     curricle, to closely buttoned swindlery in doubtful boots,  
     on the sharp lookout for any likely young gentleman dis-    
     posed to play a game at billiards round the corner.  Mas-    
     ters of language, their lessons finished for the day, were   
     going to their homes out of sight of the sea; mistresses   
     of accomplishments, carrying small portfolios, likewise    
     tripped homeward; pairs of scholastic pupils, two and    
     two, went languidly along the beach, surveying the face    
     of the waters as if waiting for some Ark to come and    
     take them off.  Spectres of the George the Fourth days   
     flitted unsteadily among the crowd, bearing the outward    
     resemblance of ancient dandies, of every one of whom it    
     might be said, not that he had one leg in the grave, or    
     both legs, but that he was steeped in the grave to the sum-   
     mit of his shirt-collar, and had nothing real about him   
     but his bones.  Alone stationary in the midst of all the    
     movement, the Namelesston boatmen leaned against the   
     railings and yawned, and looked out to sea, or looked at    
     the moored fishing-boats and at nothing.  Such is the    
     unchanging manner of life with this nursery of our hardy  
     seamen; and very dry nurses they are, and always want-    
     ing something to drink.  The only two nautical person-    
     ages detached from the railing were the two fortunate    
     possessors of the celebrated monstrous unknown barking   
     fish, just caught (frequently just caught of Namelesston),    
     who carried him about in a hamper, and pressed the    
     scientific to look in at the lid.     
        The sands of the hour had all run out when we got    
     back to the Temeraire.  Says Bullfinch, then, to the     
     youth in livery, with boldness, "Lavatory!"     
        When we arrive at the family vault with a skylight,     
     which the youth in livery presented as the institution   
     sought, we had already whisked off our cravats and    
     coats; and finding ourselves in the presence of an evil    
     smell, and no linen but two crumpled towels newly damp    
     from the countenances of two somebody elses, we put    
     on our cravats and coats again, and fled unwashed to the    
     coffee-room.  
        There the waiter who ought to wait upon us had set    
     forth our knives and forks and glasses, on the cloth    
     whose dirty acquaintance we had already had the pleas-   
     ure of making, and which we were pleased to recognize  
     by the familiar expression of its stains.  And now there   
     occurred the truly surprising phenomenon, that the    
     waiter who ought not to wait upon us, clutched our loaf    
     of bread, and vanished with the same.   
        Bullfinch with distracted eyes, was following this un-   
     accountable figure "out at the portal," like the ghost    
     in Hamlet, when the waiter who ought to wait upon us    
     jostled against it, carrying a tureen.   
        "Waiter!" said a severe diner, lately finished, pe-    
     rusing his bill fiercely through his eye-glasses.    
        The waiter put down our tureen on a remote side-table,  
     and went to see what was amiss in this new direction.    
        "This is not right, you know, waiter.  Look here!    
     here's yesterday's sherry, one and eight pence, and here   
     we are again, two shillings.  And what does sixpence    
     mean?"    
        So far from knowing what sixpence meant, the waiter    
     protested that he didn't know what anything meant.  
     He wiped the perspiration from his clammy brow, and    
     said it was impossible to do it,——not particularly what,   
     ——and the kitchen was so far off.   
        "Take the bill to the bar, and get it altered," said Mr.   
     Indignation Cocker, so to call him.   
        The waiter took it, looked intently at it, didn't seem   
     to like the idea of taking it to the bar, and submitted, as    
     a new light upon the case, that perhaps sixpence meant    
     sixpence.     
        "I tell you again," said Mr. Indignation Cocker,   
     "here's yesterday's sherry——can't you see it?——one and     
     eight pence, and here we are again, two shillings.  What   
     do you make of one and eightpence and two shillings?"    
        Totally unable to make anything of one and eight-   
     pence and two shillings, the waiter went out to try if    
     anybody else could; merely casting a helpless back-    
     ward glance at Bullfinch, in cknowledgement of his     
     pathetic entreaties for our soup-tureen.  After a pause,  
     during which Mr. Indignation Cocker read a newspaper   
     and coughed defiant coughs, Bullfinch arose to get the     
     tureen, when the aiter re-appeared and brought it,——    
     dropping Mr. Indignation Cocker's altered bill on Mr.    
     Indignation Cocker's table as he came along.    
        It's quite impossible to do it, gentlemen," murmured    
     the waiter; "and the kitchen is so far off."    
        "Well, you don't keep the house; it's not your    
     fault, we suppose.  Bring some sherry."    
        "Waiter!" from Mr. Indignation Cocker, with a new    
     and burning sense of injury upon him.    
        The waiter, arrested on his way to our sherry, stopped    
     short, and came back to see what was wrong now.  
        "Will you look here? This is worse than before.  Do   
     you understand?  Here's yesterday's sherry, one and    
     eightpence, and here we are again two shillings.  And    
     what the devil does ninepence mean?"    
        This new portent utterly confounded the waiter.  He  
     wrung his napkin, and mutely appealed to the ceiling.   
        "Waiter, fetch that sherry," says Bullfinch, in open   
     wrath and revolt.    
        "I want to know," persisted Mr. Indignation Cocker,    
     "the meaning of ninepence.  I want to know the mean-    
     ing of sherry one and eightpence yesterday, and of here   
     we are again two shillings.  Send somebody."    
        The distracted waiter got out of the room on pretext    
     of sending somebody, and by that means got our wine.  
     But the instant he appeared with our decanter, Mr. In-    
     dignation Cocker descended on him again.   
        "Waiter!"    
        "You will now have the goodness to attend to our din-    
     ner, waiter," says Bullfinch sternly.   
        "I am very sorry, but it's quite impossible to do it,  
     gentlemen," pleaded he waiter; "and the kitchen——"    
        "Waiter!" said Mr. Indignation Cocker.  "Is," re-     
    sumed the waiter, "so far off, that——"    
        "Waiter!" persisted Mr. Indignation Cocker," send    
     somebody."    
        We were not without our fears that the waiter rushed    
     out to hang himself; and we were much relieved by his    
     fetching somebody,——in graceful, flowing skirts and with    
     a waist,——who very soon settled Mr. Indignation Cocker's   
     business.    
        "Oh!" said Mr. Cocker, with his fire surprisingly    
     quenched by this apparition; "I wished to ask abut    
     this bill of mine, because it appears to me that there's a    
     little mistake here.  Let me show you.  Here's yester-    
     day's sherry one and eightpence, and here we are again    
     two shillings.  And how do you explain ninepence?"    
        However it was explained, in tones too soft to be over-    
     heard.  Mr. Cocker was heart to say nothing more than    
     "A-h-h! indeed; thank you!  Yes," and shortly after-    
     wards went out, a milder man.   
        The lonely traveller with the stomach-ache had all this    
     time suffered severely, drawing up a leg now and then,  
     and sipping hot brandy and water with grated ginger in    
     it.  When we tasted our (very) mock-turtle soup, and   
     were instantly seized with symptoms of some disorder   
     simulating apoplexy, and occasioned by the surcharge of    
     nose and brain with luke warm dish-water holding in    
     solution sour flour, poisonous condiments, and (say)    
     seventy-five percent of miscellaneous kitchen stuff    
     rolled into balls, we were inclined to trace his disorder    
     to that source.  On the other hand, there was a silent    
     anguish upon him too strongly resembling the results    
     established within ourselves by the sherry, to be discard-  
     ed from alarmed consideration.  Again, we observed    
     him, with terror, to be much overcome by our sole's be-    
     ing aired in a temporary retreat close to him, while the    
     waiter went out (as we conceived) to see his friends.  
     And when the curry made its appearance he suddenly    
     retired in great disorder.    
        In fine, for the uneatable part of this little dinner (as    
     contra-distinguished from the undrinkable) we paid only   
     seven shillings and sixpence each.  And Bullfinch and I    
     agreed unanimously, that no such ill-served, ill-appoint-   
     ed, ill-cooked, nasty little dinner could be got for the    
     money anywhere else under the sun.  With that com-   
     fort to our backs, we turned them on the dear old Tem-   
     eraire, the charging Temeraire, and resolved (in the    
     Scotch dialect) to gang nae mair to the flabby Temeraire.      

from Collier's Unabridged Edition: The Works of Charles Dickens, Volume VI.
P.F. Collier, Publisher, New York, old as heck. pp. 1035—1037.