n short-story plots in the pages of
the Civil Service Stores List.)

When we tired of talking, Georgie inquired what we should do _now_. I
put it: suppose we took a stroll along Bankside to London Bridge, and
turned off to Bermondsey to take a taste of the dolours of the Irish
colony, and then follow the river to Cherry Gardens and cross to Wapping
by the Rotherhithe Tunnel; but he said No, and gave as his reason that
the little girls of the Irish and foreign quarters were too
distractingly lovely for him, as he is one of those unfortunates who
want every pretty thing they see and are miserable for a week if they
can't get it. His idea was to run over to Homerton. Did I know old
Jumbo? Fat old Jumbo. Jumbo, who kept Jumbo's, under the arches, where
you got cut from the joint, two veg., buggy-bolster, and cheese-roll. I
did. So to Jumbo's we went by the Stoke Newington 'bus, whose conductor
shouted imperatively throughout the journey: "Aw fez pliz!" though we
were the only passengers; and on the way I made a little, soft song, the
burden of which was: "I do love my table d'hote, but O you Good Pull Up
For Carmen!"

Jumbo received us with that slow good-humour which has made his business
what it is. He and his assistant, Dusty, a youngster of sixty-two who
cuts about like a newsboy, have worked together for so many years that
Dusty frequently tells his chief not to be such a Censored fool. Jumbo's
joints are good, and so are his steak-toad, sprouts, and baked, but his
steak-and-kidney puddings at fourpence are better. I had one of these,
garnished with "boiled and tops." Georgie had "leg, well done, chips,
and batter." I never knew a man who could do the commonplace with so
much natural dignity. He gave his order with the air of a viveur
planning a ten-course arrangement at Claridge's. He shouted for a
half-of-bitter with the solemnity of one who commands that two bottles
of dry Monopole be put on the ice. He is, too, the only man I know who
salutes his food. I have been at dinners in Wesleyan quarters like St.
John's Wood where heads of families have mumbled what they call Grace or
"asking a blessing"; but I have seen nothing so simply beautiful as
George's obeisance to his filled plate. He bows to Irish stew as others
dip to the altar.

While Dusty stalked a clean fork through a forest of dirty ones, Georgie
fired at him questions in which I had no part. Did Dusty remember the
show at Willie's about--how many was it?