In The Fog

CHAPTER I

The Grill is the club most difficult of access in the world. To be
placed on its rolls distinguishes the new member as greatly as though he
had received a vacant Garter or had been caricatured in "Vanity Fair."

Men who belong to the Grill Club never mention that fact. If you were
to ask one of them which clubs he frequents, he will name all save that
particular one. He is afraid if he told you he belonged to the Grill,
that it would sound like boasting.

The Grill Club dates back to the days when Shakespeare's Theatre stood
on the present site of the "Times" office. It has a golden Grill which
Charles the Second presented to the Club, and the original manuscript
of "Tom and Jerry in London," which was bequeathed to it by Pierce Egan
himself. The members, when they write letters at the Club, still use
sand to blot the ink.

The Grill enjoys the distinction of having blackballed, without
political prejudice, a Prime Minister of each party. At the same sitting
at which one of these fell, it elected, on account of his brogue and his
bulls, Quiller, Q. C., who was then a penniless barrister.

When Paul Preval, the French artist who came to London by royal command
to paint a portrait of the Prince of Wales, was made an honorary
member--only foreigners may be honorary members--he said, as he signed
his first wine card, "I would rather see my name on that, than on a
picture in the Louvre."

At which. Quiller remarked, "That is a devil of a compliment, because
the only men who can read their names in the Louvre to-day have been
dead fifty years."

On the night after the great fog of 1897 there were five members in
the Club, four of them busy with supper and one reading in front of the
fireplace. There is only one room to the Club, and one long table. At
the far end of the room the fire of the grill glows red, and, when the
fat falls, blazes into flame, and at the other there is a broad bow
window of diamond panes, which looks down upon the street. The four men
at the table were strangers to each other, but as they picked at the
grilled bones, and sipped their Scotch and soda, they conversed with
such charming animation that a visitor to the Club, which does
not tolerate visitors, would have counted them as friends of long
acquaintance, certainly not as Englishmen who had met for the first
time, and without the form of an introduction. But it is the etiquette
and tradition of the Grill, that whoever enters it must speak with
whomever he finds there. It is to enforce this rule that there is but
one long table, and whether there are twenty men at it or two, the
waiters, supporting the rule, will place them side by side.

For this reason the four strangers at supper were seated together, with
the candles grouped about them, and the long length of the table cutting
a white path through the outer gloom.

In The Fog