I have often wondered what would be the
effect, other than an effect of astonishment, on the outer world,
of one of these narratives illustrating our Five Towns
peculiarities of deportment. And I intend for the first time in
history to make such a narrative public property. I have purposely
not chosen an extreme example; just an average example. You will
see how it strikes you.
Toby Hall, once a burgess of Turnhill, the northernmost and
smallest of the Five Towns, was passing, last New Year's Eve,
through the district by train on his way from Crewe to Derby. He
lived at Derby, and he was returning from the funeral of a brother
member of the Ancient Order of Foresters at Crewe. He got out of
the train at Knype, the great railway centre of the Five Towns, to
have a glass of beer in the second-class refreshment-room. It
being New Year's Eve, the traffic was heavy and disorganized,
especially in the refreshment-room, and when Toby Hall emerged on
to the platform again the train was already on the move. Toby was
neither young nor active. His years were fifty, and on account of
the funeral he wore broadcloth and a silk hat, and his overcoat
was new and encumbering. Impossible to take a flying leap into the
train! He missed the train. And then he reflectively stroked his
short grey beard (he had no moustache, and his upper lip was very
long), and then he smoothed down his new overcoat over his rotund
form.
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