Page 78 - The English Carnival 7

‘That’s my pound!’ my mother hissed. ‘By golly, he’s got a nerve!’

‘What’s in the glass?’ I asked.

‘Whisky,’ my mother said. ‘Neat whisky.’

The barman didn’t give him any change from the pound.

‘That must be a treble whisky,’ my mummy said.

‘What’s a treble?’

‘Three times the normal measure,’ she answered.

The little man picked up the glass and put it to his lips. He tilted it gently. Then he
tilted it higher . . . and higher . . . and very soon all the whisky had disappeared down
his throat in one long pour.

‘That’s a jolly expensive drink,’ I said.

‘It’s ridiculous!’ my mummy said. ‘Fancy paying a pound for something to swallow in
one go!’

‘It cost him more than a pound,’ I said. ‘It cost him a twenty-pound silk umbrella.’

‘So it did,’ my mother said. ‘He must be mad.’

The little man was standing by the bar with the empty glass in his hand. He was smiling
now, and a sort of golden glow of pleasure was spreading over his round pink face. I

saw his tongue come out to lick the white moustache, as though searching for one last
drop of that precious whisky.

Slowly, he turned away from the bar and edged his way back through the crowd to
where his hat and coat were hanging. He put on his hat.

He put on his coat. Then, in a manner so superbly cool and casual that you hardly
noticed anything at all, he lifted from the coat-rack one of the many wet umbrellas
hanging there, and off he went.

‘Did you see that?’ my mother shrieked. ‘Did you see what he did?’

‘Sssh!’ I whispered. ‘He’s coming out!’

We lowered our umbrella to hide our faces, and out from under it.

Out he came. But he never looked in our direction. He opened
What you Think?ou Think?
his new umbrella over his head and scurried off down the What y
road the way he had come. What little game is
referred here ?
‘So that’s his little game!’ my mother said.

‘Neat,’ I said. ‘Super.’

76