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68 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY
Margate, and very few passengers besides. A wandering Jew or two
were set down at Gravesend; the Rev. Mr. Wackerbart, and six
unhappy little pupils whom the reverend gentleman had pounced
upon in London, and was carrying back to his academy near Heme
Bay ; some of those inevitable persons of dubious rank who seem to
have free tickets, and always eat and drink hugely with the captain;
and a lady and her party, formed the whole list of passengers.
The lady—a very fat lady—had evidently just returned from
abroad. Her great green travelling chariot was on the deck, and
on all her imperials were pasted fresh large bills, with the words
INCE'S BRITISH HOTEL, BOULOGNE-SUR-MER ; for it is the custom
of that worthy gentleman to seize upon and plaster all the luggage
of his guests with tickets, on which his name and residence are
inscribed,—by which simple means he keeps himself perpetually
in their recollection, and brings himself to the notice of all other
persons who are in the habit of peering at their fellow-passengers'
trunks, to find out their names. I need not say what a large
class this is.
Well ; this fat lady had a courier, a tall whiskered man, who
spoke all languages, looked like a field-marshal, went by the name
of Donnerwetter, and rode on the box; a French maid, Mademoiselle
Augustine; and a little black page, called Saladin, who rode
in the rumble. Saladin's whole business was to attend a wheezy
fat white poodle, who usually travelled inside with his mistress
and her fair compagnon de voyage, whose name was Miss Runt.
This fat lady was evidently a person of distinction. During the
first part of the voyage, on a windy sunshiny April day, she paced
the deck stoutly, leaning on the arm of poor little Miss Runt ; and
after they had passed Gravesend, when the vessel began to pitch a
good deal, retired to her citadel, the travelling chariot, to and from
which the steward, the stewardess, and the whiskered courier were
continually running with supplies—of sandwiches first, and afterwards
of very hot brandy-and-water: for the truth must be told, it
was rather a rough afternoon, and the poodle was sick; Saladin
was as bad ; the French maid, like all French maids, was outrageously
ill ; the lady herself was very unwell indeed ; and poor dear
sympathising Runt was qualmish.
" Ah, Runt !" would the fat lady say in the intervals, " what a
thing this malady de mare is ? Oh, mong jew ; Oh—oh !"
" It is, indeed, dear madam," said Runt, and went " Oh—oh !"
in chorus.
" Ask the steward if we are near Margate, Runt." And Runt
did, and asked this question every five minutes, as people do on
these occasions.