Jerome Jerome: THREE MEN IN A BOAT

Then Harris, who was sitting next the window, drew aside the curtain and looked out upon the street.

It glistened darkly in the wet, the dim lamps flickered with each gust, the rain splashed steadily into the puddles and trickled down the water–spouts into the running gutters. A few soaked wayfarers hurried past, crouching beneath their dripping umbrellas, the women holding up their skirts.

«Well,» said Harris, reaching his hand out for his glass, «we have had a pleasant trip, and my hearty thanks for it to old Father Thames — but I think we did well to chuck it when we did. Here's to Three Men well out of a Boat!»

And Montmorency, standing on his hind legs, before the window, peering out into the night, gave a short bark of decided concurrence with the toast.

Or rather WERE. The Conservancy of late seems to have constituted itself into a society for the employment of idiots. A good many of the new lock–keepers, especially in the more crowded portions of the river, are excitable, nervous old men, quite unfitted for their post.

A capital little out–of–the–way restaurant, in the neighbourhood of - , where you can get one of the best–cooked and cheapest little French dinners or suppers that I know of, with an excellent bottle of Beaune, for three–and–six; and which I am not going to be idiot enough to advertise.