The Three Fellows Have Love In Their Midst

A short, stout character with a certain seedy aspect walked awkwardly up to the bar, and, placing his right hand firmly upon the counter with a sharp bang, which suggested he was, in fact, swatting some irritating insect for which he had borne a long and painful grudge, and not merely assuming a relaxed attitude, he shouted aggressively to the young lady who was a little way off serving drinks to another patron.

“Another poor man’s velvet and a cider! Oh- and a glass of water…” he said, casting a look over his shoulder in the direction of a tall, quiet-looking man who sat at a table a little way off- the look contained a note of disgust and mortification, as though the word “water” were some black oath forced into unwilling utterance upon his lips by this latter person.

Due to the aggressive and somewhat fearsome demeanour of the stout man, one would expect a degree of antipathy or even fear from a young lady thrust into an encounter with such a person; however, upon hearing these demands, the woman smiled daintily and said: “Yes of course, Sir”, and left off pouring beer into a nondescript gentlemen’s glass midway, to the great annoyance of the owner of the glass. “I’ll bring them over in a mo,” the worthy woman said, still with the smile upon her face, and the stout man uttered a grunt of satisfaction and returned to his place at a table.

He was seated with the man formerly mentioned, whose height was of a notably less intimate distance from the solid earth than the former person. Also seated at the table was a young man, whose eyes and general bearing often gave rise to feelings of concern and doubt within the minds of young, dutiful parents, that perhaps the needs of their offspring were not being met by the current educational system… These three men had been embroiled in a debate, centering around this dubious young character, as to the nature and cause of an unknown malady which had recently afflicted the lad. (The tall man, who remained perpetually silent, seemed to communicate through a series of signs and expressions understood only by his two companions). The symptoms of this malady, after ruthless investigation from his two friends over the past few days, which consisted of amused and prolonged stares, aggressive questioning reminiscent of the methods and procedures of the Nazi party, and constant, intrusive meddling in the affairs of this afflicted individual, were found to be: 1. An air of distraction and thought, formerly unknown within this person… 2. In his own words: “A tingly, fuzzy sort of feeling in the chest”, and 3. A tendency to remain in the immediate vicinity of the pub at which the three men were currently situated.

This evening, the two associates of the young lad had reached a diagnosis of this “malady”…

“‘Yer in luv!” The stout man declared vehemently. 

“It’s that there tart that ails ya,” he continued, jerking a grubby thumb over his shoulder towards the barmaid.

(This person had a manner of elocution which was not known for possessing certain qualities long thought essential to proper communication- such as clarity, accuracy and tone… When and to what extent this fault was due to a lack of education or an abundance of alcoholic substances, was not always clear…)

Upon hearing this “diagnosis”, the young lad merely smiled; refusing, it would seem, to deny the severity of the charge.

This theory of love was somewhat confirmed, when, a few moments later, the barmaid approached the table with the drinks. 

Her first port of call was the young lad, with his cider, and his companions observed that the width and intensity of the smile given by the young lady was noticeably greater when handing the lad his drink than it was upon serving them theirs…

Also, the accused uttered two words, extremely rare and only used in the direst emergencies by these three individuals, when the barmaid gave him his drink. The words were: “Thank you.”

“Amazin’”, the stout man declared as the woman departed, “Docter Arthur knows ‘is patent!” 

This remark was given with a large, grim smirk, of a nature often depicted in the artwork of old times on the face of the Devil, and the tall man too indulged himself in a knowing smile.

He also gestured wildly, first at the young lady and then at the lad, and then proceeded to take hold of two empty beer glasses that were on the table and place them tightly together as though in a tender embrace- a touching symbolism of the relationship brewing between the two young persons…

“It wus luv that ruined me Father!” declared the stout man mysteriously.

(As it was doubtless love, or some form of it, that was responsible for the existence of the individual making this remark, a great deal of truth could be ascribed to this statement…)

“Which one!” the young lad demanded cheekily. 

“‘Ta one with the bad limpin’…” Came the honest reply; and the face of the short man assumed a serious air for a moment, as his mind doubtless became engrossed in various complicated familial considerations…

Now that the secret of his condition had been exposed, the young fellow seemed emboldened in his romantic course whilst in the presence of his friends, and he rose from the table and began to chatter to his lover.

The appearance of this young woman was in fact quite remarkable, as she possessed pleasant features and a winning smile which drew the eye. The young lad, who was noted for having a certain radical perspicacity in regard to the female appearance, had been drawn to her at their first meeting some days before…

The two fellows remaining at the table exchanged meaningful glances, and, now that the conversational potential of the group had been reduced by the tremendous factor of one, they began to focus intently upon their drinks, the stout man downing his in less than a minute.

Some time went by, and a lustful glance towards the bottles behind the bar suggested a fresh order for alcoholic beverages was soon to be forthcoming from the stout fellow.

Before he could rise, however, the attention of all present was directed towards a noteworthy individual who made his way into the pub.

Of especial note regarding this person was the fineness of his clothes, which were expensive, well-maintained and arranged, and incredibly out of place in the confines of a working man’s watering hole.

He carried a cane in his left hand, decorated with various intricate carvings, and in his right he carried his gloves, which he had evidently just removed.

He was possessed of a well trimmed beard, and an artfully kept moustache, which rested above two firm lips which seemed in locked in a state of emotional detachment.

His bearing was dignified and authoritative,  and his eyes roved about the room sternly, almost like the eyes of a schoolmaster who scans his students in order to detect and correct any signs of behavioural aberrancy…

His appearance was in such stark contrast to that of those around him; for instance, to that of the stout gentlemen who still sat with his silent companion, whose beard and hair had been allowed a degree of freedom and growth seldom seen outside of a hermits abode, and whose clothes, which dangled precariously from various parts of his body, bore witness to a violent, troubled way of existence, and a woeful lack of funds available for the improvement and refinement of his apparel.

The man of serious deportment approached the bar, where the lad and his lover still stood chatting.

As he approached, the young woman stopped talking and looked anxiously at this man.

She uttered one word, which had the immediate effect of causing the young lad to start and stand back suddenly from the bar, as though the man who had just entered had been discovered to be a leper…

“Father!” she said.

“Cindy!” The gentleman replied sternly, “And how are you today?” 

“Erm, fine thanks, father”, replied the barmaid, “Just giving this gentleman here his drink”.

“I see,” came her father’s reply, and gave the lad a suspicious glance.

“Well, I hope your time here has taught you something useful…” he insisted.

“Yes father,” she replied meekly.

“Good. I think we can bring this little lesson to its conclusion soon. For now, I’d like some of that lemonade you serve.”

“Yes father,” replied his daughter, and she made for the bottles behind the bar.

Whilst this conversation had been going on,  the stout fellow and the taller man had been observing intently. A combination of moderate concern mixed with sadistic pleasure had emerged with gruesome effect on the face of Arthur, and, as the gentlemanly father received his lemonade, he watched eagerly for a development in this engaging scene.

The young lad made as if to withdraw; then, seeing the look on Arthur’s face, he decided that he would attempt an act of great bravery in the face of this difficulty, and reapproached the bar just as his lover’s father had finished his lemonade, which he had consumed, surprisingly, in one enormous gulp.

The lad made as if to speak to the gentlemen, but he was delayed in this action as, issuing from the stern, sober mouth surrounded by the immaculately maintained facial hair, proceeded a truly magnificent belch…

The belch can be described as the great leveller amongst the various ranks and divisions of society which have existed throughout the ages. The noble king, sitting in his castle in a royal seat, is, for a few brief moments, at one with the peasant who quaffs ale in the rowdy village tavern, as his mouth opens wide and discharges the noxious fumes which have invaded his digestive regions…

The wealthy businessman, eating a magnificent lunch alone in his office, is swiftly brought down through the heady degrees of society to the level of the bawdy street urchin, as, eyes wide and his throat taut, he emits the consequences of the functioning human biology brought into intimate acquaintance with the produce of farm and field…

Ordinarily, a noise of this kind was of little consequence amongst the three fellows, being so frequently heard and thoughtlessly produced by them.

However, coming from a man of such distinguished and noteworthy appearance, its sound created an atmosphere of intense shock and wonderment, not dissimilar to the effect brought about by a sudden earthquake or disaster of far-reaching import…

The stunned silence was broken by the gentlemen at the bar…

“Another lemonade, please Cindy…”

The young lad, eyeing this man curiously, became emboldened by this act- which proved that, for all their many differences, this strange gentleman and he had at least one thing in common…

Not exactly a champion of the art of eloquence, the young man struggled for a moment to find a worthy remark; after a pause, he said: “The lemonade’s good here, ain’t it!”

The barmaid’s father looked intently at the lad for a moment, evidently weighing up his character, merits and intelligence. A couple of seconds was sufficient for him to reach the disturbing conclusion that such an analysis must surely yield; looking away from the seedy lad and back towards his daughter, he replied: “Yes, it’s not bad is it… It’s much better than a lot of the harsh beverages I’ve had to endure during my time in Arabia.”

“Oh… You’ve been in ‘rabia recently then?” the lad inquired. (This latter fact will likely explain to a more educated mind the reason for this gentleman’s unrestrained belching, which had doubtless been absorbed into his habits from the customs of the Arabian people).

“Yes, my boy! For many years I have lived there as a part of the British diplomatic service. Recently, I have returned for a brief spell to this country to check on my daughter, who in the past has most severely abused my trust and has been caught… canoodling… shall we say, with a young man at her university. As part of her punishment, I have sent her to work here amongst the lower portions of society and their coarse environments. I hope that she has learnt her lesson and will desist from making attachments with young men whom I deem unsuitable…”

It seemed to the young lad that there was an ominous note of warning in this remark, and, judging from the man’s fine muscular arms and strong gait, as well as his powerful and ferocious manner of belching, it appeared to him that a continuation of his attachment to the young barmaid- at least in her father’s presence- was not desirable, and subsequently he withdrew to his comrades at the table. After a brief discussion, the three fellows seemed resolved to depart, (likely as a result of the young lads’ urgings) and they rose and walked over to the door.

“Leaving already?” asked the barmaid, a touch of concern in her voice.

Perhaps unwisely, it was the young lad who responded to this question… He replied simply: “Yes”, and, turning back to the door, he thoughtlessly added the remark: “Bye love!”

The following is a transcription of a letter sent from a certain PC Thomson to his superior, PC Roberts, regarding a recent series of arrests that were made whilst the latter was away from the town of Drilburn, in which PC Thomson serves at the local police station…

Dear Sir,

During your absence from the area, a violent kafuffle took place down at the Drilburn arms. I was called out to investigate by Mrs Jones, who heard the ruckus as she lives just next door. When I arrived with PC Smith, four men were struggling wildly in the pub. One of them, a little fattish fellow who was making a terrible grunting sound, had been pinned to the floor by a lithe, respectably dressed gentleman who was using an empty lemonade bottle to try and beat his brains out… The other two men, a young chap and a bloke who never uttered a word, were trying to prise the posh gentleman off of the fat fella’. Me and PC Smith had to haul ‘em off and tell ‘em to snap out of it. Anyway, when they’d simmered down some, I took their details and arrested the lot of ‘em. As we were leaving the pub, one of the blighters- the posh sort of gentlemen- lets out an enormous belch right near my ear ole! Anyway, I’m holding them in the detention cell until your return, sir. I’m sure you’ll know what to do with the blighters…

Sincerely,

PC Roberts.

~Finis~

Copyright Daniel Macintyre protectmywork.com 05/09/2024