Part 46 (1/2)
He addressed a scornful eye at the shoulders of the lady to his left.
Presently he was refusing another dish. He didn't like it--fussed up food! Probably cooked by some foreigner. He finished up his wine and his bread.
”No, thenks.”
”No, thenks.”...
He discovered the eye of a diner fixed curiously upon his flushed face.
He responded with a glare. Couldn't he go without things if he liked?
”What's this?” said Kipps to a great green cone.
”Ice,” said the waiter.
”I'll 'ave some,” said Kipps.
He seized a fork and spoon and a.s.sailed the bombe. It cut rather stiffly. ”Come up!” said Kipps, with concentrated bitterness, and the truncated summit of the bombe flew off suddenly, travelling eastward with remarkable velocity. Flop, it went upon the floor a yard away, and for awhile time seemed empty.
At the adjacent table they were laughing together.
Shy the rest of the bombe at them?
Flight?
At any rate a dignified withdrawal.
”No!” said Kipps, ”no more,” arresting the polite attempt of the waiter to serve him with another piece. He had a vague idea he might carry off the affair as though he had meant the ice to go on the floor--not liking ice, for example, and being annoyed at the badness of his dinner. He put both hands on the table, thrust back his chair, disengaged a purple slipper from his napkin, and rose. He stepped carefully over the prostrate ice, kicked the napkin under the table, thrust his hands deep into his pockets, and marched out--shaking the dust of the place, as it were, from his feet. He left behind him a melting fragment of ice upon the floor, his gibus hat, warm and compressed in his chair, and in addition every social ambition he had ever entertained in the world.
--7
Kipps went back to Folkestone in time for the Anagram Tea. But you must not imagine that the change of heart that came to him in the dining-room of the Royal Grand Hotel involved any change of att.i.tude toward this promised social and intellectual treat. He went back because the Royal Grand was too much for him.
Outwardly calm, or at most a little flushed and ruffled, inwardly Kipps was a horrible, tormented battleground of scruples, doubts, shames and self-a.s.sertions during that three days of silent, desperate grappling with the big hotel. He did not intend the monstrosity should beat him without a struggle, but at last he had sullenly to admit himself overcome. The odds were terrific. On the one hand himself--with, among other things, only one pair of boots; on the other a vast wilderness of rooms, covering several acres, and with over a thousand people, staff and visitors, all chiefly occupied in looking queerly at Kipps, in laughing at him behind his back, in watching for difficult corners at which to confront and perplex him, and inflict humiliations upon him.
For example, the hotel scored over its electric light. After the dinner the chambermaid, a hard, unsympathetic young woman with a superior manner, was summoned by a bell Kipps had rung under the impression the b.u.t.ton was the electric light switch. ”Look 'ere,” said Kipps, rubbing a s.h.i.+n that had suffered during his search in the dark, ”why aren't there any candles or matches?” The hotel explained and scored heavily.
”It isn't everyone is up to these things,” said Kipps.
”No, it isn't,” said the chambermaid, with ill-concealed scorn, and slammed the door at him.
”S'pose I ought to have tipped her,” said Kipps.
After that Kipps cleaned his boots with a pocket-handkerchief and went for a long walk and got home in a hansom, but the hotel scored again by his not putting out his boots and so having to clean them again in the morning. The hotel also snubbed him by bringing him hot water when he was fully dressed and looking surprised at his collar, but he got a breakfast, I must admit, with scarcely any difficulty.
After that the hotel scored heavily by the fact that there are twenty-four hours in the day and Kipps had nothing to do in any of them.
He was a little footsore from his previous day's pedestrianism, and he could make up his mind for no long excursions. He flitted in and out of the hotel several times, and it was the polite porter who touched his hat every time that first set Kipps tipping.
”What 'e wants is a tip,” said Kipps.
So at the next opportunity he gave the man an unexpected s.h.i.+lling, and having once put his hand in his pocket, there was no reason why he should not go on. He bought a newspaper at the book-stall and tipped the boy the rest of the s.h.i.+lling, and then went up by the lift and tipped the man a sixpence, leaving his newspaper inadvertently in the lift. He met his chambermaid in the pa.s.sage and gave her half a crown. He resolved to demonstrate his position to the entire establishment in this way. He didn't like the place; he disapproved of it politically, socially, morally, but he resolved no taint of meanness should disfigure his sojourn in its luxurious halls. He went down by the lift (tipping again), and, being accosted by a waiter with his gibus, tipped the finder half a crown. He had a vague sense that he was making a flank movement upon the hotel and buying over its staff. They would regard him as a character. They would get to like him. He found his stock of small silver diminis.h.i.+ng, and replenished it at a desk in the hall. He tipped a man in bottle green who looked like the man who had shown him his room the day before, and then he saw a visitor eyeing him, and doubted whether he was in this instance doing right. Finally he went out and took chance 'buses to their destinations, and wandered a little in remote, wonderful suburbs and returned. He lunched at a chop house in Islington, and found himself back in the Royal Grand, now unmistakably footsore and London weary, about three. He was drawn towards the drawing-room by a neat placard about afternoon tea.
It occurred to him that the campaign of tipping upon which he had embarked was perhaps after all a mistake. He was confirmed in this by observing that the hotel officials were watching him, not respectfully, but with a sort of amused wonder, as if to see whom he would tip next.