Mr. Smith’s Chatter 
In Farnborough at that time there were three 
licensed houses—the “* Ship,” the “‘ Tumbledown 
Dick,” and Bridger’s. Bridger’s, my uncle re- 
marked, as if it was the most ordinary thing in 
the world, Bridger’s was “a Tom and Jerry.” 
“What's a ‘Tom and Jerry’?” I exclaimed 
—as I was no doubt expected to do. 
““T was just goin’ to tell you if you’d give me 
time,’”’ my uncle said, sarcastically. Then he 
explained. A “Tom and Jerry” was a shop 
where you could buy groceries, and also beer, 
doubtless to be drunk on the premises. 
Of the three licensed houses in Farnborough 
old Tom was a constant patron, troubled, however, 
by his wife trying to get him home. It would 
happen in this way. She would find him drinking 
at Bridger’s and bid him to come home. “ All 
right,” he would answer meekly: “let’s just 
finish this little I got here,’ and he would offer 
her a sip from his mug. So she was induced to 
sit down and make herself comfortable. 
Then, before the mug was empty, he would 
say, in a deprecating manner, “I must jest go 
outside a minute,” and so would go out, leaving 
her expectant of his return. 
But, instead of returning, he made his way to 
the ‘‘ Ship,” where he could have a nicish time 
before his wife at last found him. At the “ Ship,” 
on some different plea, the woman was once more 
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