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Updated: May 26, 2025
The road was thick with people and lined with sweet-standings; and by the near end of the bridge a Punch-and-Judy show had just closed a performance. The orchestra had unloosed his drum, and fallen to mopping the back of his neck with the red handkerchief that had previously bound the panpipes to his chin.
The sweet-standings, you see, always drew a swarm of wasps on feast-days, and the old man never could abide them since his accident with the bee-skip. Mr. Job sat there with his mouth screwed up, eyeing the whole length of the lugger. "I'd like to know why you were hammering out that tinplate?" said he.
Usually too, Whitsun Fair fell at the height of the militia training; and then for two days booths and caravans, sweet-standings and shooting-galleries lined the main street, and Taffy went out with a shilling in his pocket to enjoy himself. But the bigger shows the menagerie, the marionettes, and the travelling Theatre Royal were pitched on Mount Folly, just under his window.
"Up riding the hobby-horses, I b'lieve," answered Jacka, as friendly as you please. "And in thirty-six hours you've engaged to have the Pride ready for sea!" "She's about ready now," said Jacka, stopping to put a peppermint in his mouth. He had bought a packet off one of the sweet-standings, and spread it on the deck beside him.
Job takes a stroll down the quay past the sweet-standings, and cocks his eye over the edge, down upon the deck of the old Pride that was moored alongside and fitting out for a fresh cruise. And there, in the shade of the quay wall, sat old Captain Jacka with a hammer, tap-tapping at a square of tinplate. "Hullo!" Mr. Job hailed. "Where's the crew?"
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