We hid the awning and poles behind the hedge and went home to brekker.
After brek we got the big zinc bath they wash clothes in, and after filling it with clean water we just had to empty it again, because it was too heavy to lift. So we carried it vacant to the trysting-spot and left H. O. and Noël to guard it while we went and fetched separate pails of water; very heavy work, and no one who wasn't really benevolent would have bothered about it for an instant. Oswald alone carried three pails. So did Dicky and the Dentist. Then we rolled down some empty barrels and stood up three of them by the road-side, and put planks on them. This made a very first-class table, and we covered it with the best table-cloth we could find in the linen cupboard. We brought out several glasses and some teacups—not the best ones, Oswald was firm about that—and the kettle and spirit-lamp and the teapot, in case any weary tramp-woman fancied a cup of tea instead of Eiffel Tower. H. O. and Noël had to go down to the shop for tea; they need not have grumbled; they had not carried any of the water. And their having to go the second time was only because we forgot to tell them to get some real lemons to put on the bar to show what the drink would be like when you got it. The man at the shop kindly gave us tick for the lemons, and we cashed up out of our next week's pocket-money.
Two or three people passed while we were getting things ready, but no one said anything except the man who said, "Bloomin' Sunday-school treat," and as it was too early in the day for any one to be thirsty we did not stop the wayfarers to tell them their thirst could be slaked without cost at our Benevolent Bar.
But when everything was quite ready, and our blue rosettes fastened on our breasts over our benevolent hearts, we stuck up the great placard we had made with "Benevolent Bar. Free Drinks to all Weary Travellers," in white wadding on red calico, like Christmas decorations in church. We had meant to fasten this to the edge of the awning, but we had to pin it to the front of the table-cloth, because I am sorry to say the awning went wrong from the first. We could not drive the willow poles into the road; it was much too hard. And in the ditch it was too soft, besides being no use. So we had just to cover our benevolent heads with our hats, and take it in turns to go into the shadow of the tree on the other side of the road. For we had pitched our table on the sunny side of the way, of course, relying on our broken-reed-like awning, and wishing to give it a fair chance.
Everything looked very nice, and we longed to see somebody really miserable come along so as to be able to allieve their distress.
A man and woman were the first; they stopped and stared, but when Alice said, "Free drinks! Free drinks! Aren't you thirsty?" they said, "No, thank you," and went on. Then came a person from the village; he didn't even say "Thank you" when we asked him, and Oswald began to fear it might be like the awful time when we wandered about on Christmas Day trying to find poor persons and persuade them to eat our Conscience pudding.
But a man in a blue jersey and a red bundle eased Oswald's fears by being willing to drink a glass of lemonade, and even to say, "Thank you, I'm sure," quite nicely.
After that it was better. As we had foreseen, there were plenty of thirsty people walking along the Dover Road, and even some from the crossroad.
We had had the pleasure of seeing nineteen tumblers drained to the dregs ere we tasted any ourselves. Nobody asked for tea.
More people went by than we gave lemonade to. Some wouldn't have it because they were too grand. One man told us he could pay for his own liquor when he was dry, which, praise be, he wasn't over and above, at present; and others asked if we hadn't any beer, and when we said "No," they said it showed what sort we were—as if the sort was not a good one, which it is.
And another man said, "Slops again! You never get nothing for nothing, not this side heaven you don't. Look at the bloomin' blue ribbon on 'em! Oh, Lor'!" and went on quite sadly without having a drink.
Our Pig-man who helped us on the Tower of Mystery day went by and we hailed him, and explained it all to him and gave him a drink, and asked him to call as he came back. He liked it all, and said we were a real good sort. How different from the man who wanted the beer. Then he went on.
One thing I didn't like, and that was the way boys began to gather. Of course we could not refuse to give drinks to any traveller who was old enough to ask for it, but when one boy had had three glasses of lemonade and asked for another, Oswald said:
"I think you've had jolly well enough. You can't be really thirsty after all that lot."
The boy said, "Oh, can't I? You'll just see if I can't," and went away. Presently he came back with four other boys, all bigger than Oswald; and they all asked for lemonade. Oswald gave it to the four new ones, but he was determined in his behavior to the other one, and wouldn't give him a drop. Then the five of them went and sat on a gate a little way off and kept laughing in a nasty way, and whenever a boy went by they called out:
"I say, 'ere's a go," and as often as not the new boy would hang about with them. It was disquieting, for though they had nearly all had lemonade, we could see it had not made them friendly.
A great glorious glow of goodness gladdened (those go all together and are called alliteration) our hearts when we saw our own tramp coming down the road. The dogs did not growl at him as they had at the boys or the beer-man. (I did not say before that we had the dogs with us, but of course we had, because we had promised never to go out without them.)
Oswald said, "Hullo," and the tramp said, "Hullo."
Then Alice said, "You see we've taken your advice; we're giving free drinks. Doesn't it all look nice?"
"It does that," said the tramp. "I don't mind if I do."
So we gave him two glasses of lemonade succeedingly, and thanked him for giving us the idea. He said we were very welcome, and if we'd no objection he'd sit down a bit and put on a pipe. He did, and after talking a little more he fell asleep. Drinking anything seemed to end in sleep with him. I always thought it was only beer and things made people sleepy, but he was not so. When he was asleep he rolled into the ditch, but it did not wake him up.
The boys were getting very noisy, and they began to shout things, and to make silly noises with their mouths, and when Oswald and Dicky went over to them and told them to just chuck it, they were worse than ever. I think perhaps Oswald and Dicky might have fought and settled them—though there were eleven, yet back to back you can always do it against overwhelming numbers in a book—only Alice called out:
"Oswald, here's some more, come back!"
We went. Three big men were coming down the road, very red and hot, and not amiable-looking. They stopped in front of the Benevolent Bar and slowly read the wadding and red-stuff label.
Then one of them said he was blessed, or something like that, and another said he was too. The third one said, "Blessed or not, a drink's a drink. Blue ribbon though by ——" (a word you ought not to say, though it is in the Bible and the catechism as well). "Let's have a liquor, little missy."
The dogs were growling, but Oswald thought it best not to take any notice of what the dogs said, but to give these men each a drink. So he did. They drank, but not as if they cared about it very much, and then they set their glasses down on the table, a liberty no one else had entered into, and began to try and chaff Oswald. Oswald said in an undervoice to H. O.:
"Just take charge. I want to speak to the girls a sec. Call if you want anything." And then he drew the others away, to say he thought there'd been enough of it, and considering the boys and the new three men, perhaps we'd better chuck it and go home. We'd been benevolent nearly four hours anyway.
While
