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Updated: June 9, 2025
He came into the private bar at the usual time last night, and remained for twenty minutes. He drank a pint of ale, and was seen conversing with a shabbily dressed stranger, whose face was unfamiliar to the publican and the barmaid. This incident suggests two theories.
The young female in this case was, I understand, a barmaid. It is deplorable that our young men should allow themselves to get into such entanglements." "The wonder to me," said the irrepressible Mr. Judson, "is that more of these young chaps don't get put through it. His lordship wasn't so wide of the mark when he spoke like that to Freddie in the library that time.
It was a coach coming from London, and the driver was joking with a pretty barmaid who, in rather short petticoats, was fielding up to him the customary glass. The man, after satisfying himself that his time was not yet come, was turning back to the fire, when a head popped itself out of the window, and a voice cried, "Stars and garters! Will so that's you!"
"Aggie, fill me a mutchkin when you're at it," said Gourlay to the pretty barmaid with the curly hair. He had spent many an hour with her last summer in the bar. The four big whiskies he had swallowed in the last half-hour were singing in him now, and he blinked at her drunkenly.
"Oh, that's the young gentleman as wer' Miss Violet's sweetheart," said the barmaid confidentially; "nobody don't know of it, but I heard the Missus a-saying so." "Why bean't he at the house then?" "Oh, ye know, he ain't her sweetheart no longer; there's been a muddle somehow, and they do say as how he shot hisself, but he don't seem to be shot much now, to look at 'im.
Here a fresh-looking barmaid serves them each with a glass of early purl as they stand before the fire, coachman and guard exchanging business remarks. The purl warms the cockles of Tom's heart, and makes him cough. "Rare tackle that, sir, of a cold morning," says the coachman, smiling. "Time's up."
Glory looked back boldly and said in an audible voice, "What fun it must be to be a barmaid, and to have the gentlemen wink at you, and be laughing back at them!" But Polly nudged, her and told her to be quiet. She looked down herself, but nevertheless contrived to use her eyes as a kind of furtive electric battery in the midst of the most innocent conversation.
"Brothers and sisters," said the speaker, "I have shown you that these young men must be divorced from the long-sleever, and rescued from the lures of the plump, peroxided barmaid, and the blandishments of Bung, the reprobate who runs the pub.
The temptation at any rate prevailed with me." In every great city, it has been said, there are thousands of men who have no right to call any woman but a barmaid by her Christian name. All the brilliant fever of civilization pulses round them in the streets but their lips never touch it.
Who'd have thought of you turning barmaid? With your education, I should have thought you could have done something in the teaching line. Never mind. The queerest thing of all is that I'm really half glad to see you. How's Jack? The extraordinary conversation went on as they walked towards the street where Clara lived. It was in a poor part of Westminster.
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