The Flying Inn. G. K. Chesterton
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Название: The Flying Inn
Автор: G. K. Chesterton
Издательство: Bookwire
Жанр: Языкознание
isbn: 4057664647795
isbn:
To crack a bottle with a friend,
Or treat unmoneyed men;
But who hath seen the Grocer
Treat housemaids to his teas,
Or crack a bottle of fish-sauce,
Or stand a man a cheese?
“He sells us sands of Araby
As sugar for cash down,
He sweeps his shop and sells the dust,
The purest salt in town;
He crams with cans of poisoned meat
Poor subjects of the King,
And when they die by thousands
Why, he laughs like anything.
“The Wicked Grocer groces
In spirits and in wine,
Not frankly and in fellowship,
As men in inns do dine;
But packed with soap and sardines
And carried off by grooms,
For to be snatched by Duchesses,
And drunk in dressing-rooms.
“The hell-instructed Grocer
Has a temple made of tin,
And the ruin of good inn-keepers
Is loudly urged therein;
But now the sands are running out
From sugar of a sort,
The Grocer trembles; for his time
Just like his weight is short.”
Captain Dalroy was getting considerably heated with his nautical liquor, and his appreciation of Pump’s song was not merely noisy but active. He leapt to his feet and waved his glass. “Ye ought to be Poet Laureate, Hump—ye’re right, ye’re right; we’ll stand all this no longer!”
He dashed wildly up the sand slope and pointed with the sign-post towards the darkening shore, where the low shed of corrugated iron stood almost isolated.
“There’s your tin temple!” he said. “Let’s burn it!”
They were some way along the coast from the large watering-place of Pebblewick and between the gathering twilight and the rolling country it could not be clearly seen. Nothing was now in sight but the corrugated iron hall by the beach and three half-built red brick villas.
Dalroy appeared to regard the hall and the empty houses with great malevolence.
“Look at it!” he said. “Babylon!”
He brandished the inn-sign in the air like a banner, and began to stride towards the place, showering curses.
“In forty days,” he cried, “shall Pebblewick be destroyed. Dogs shall lap the blood of J. Leveson, Secretary, and Unicorns—”
“Come back Pat,” cried Humphrey, “you’ve had too much rum.”
“Lions shall howl in its high places,” vociferated the Captain.
“Donkeys will howl, anyhow,” said Pump. “But I suppose the other donkey must follow.”
And loading and untethering the quadruped, he began to lead him along.
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