A pretty, simple building, the club-house, with a rustic colonnade
outside, under which the members can sit on wet evenings, looking at
the patches of ground they cultivate for themselves; within, a well-
ventilated room, large and lofty, cheerful pavement of coloured
tiles, a bar for serving out the beer, good supply of forms and
chairs, and a brave big chimney-corner, where the fire burns
cheerfully. Adjoining this room, another:
"Built for a reading-room," said Friar Bacon; "but not much used--
yet."
The dreary sage, looking in through the window, perceiving a fixed
reading-desk within, and inquiring its use:
"I have Service there," said Friar Bacon. "They never went anywhere
to hear prayers, and of course it would be hopeless to help them to
be happier and better, if they had no religious feeling at all."
"The whole place is very pretty." Thus the sage.
"I am glad you think so. I built it for the holders of the
Allotment-grounds, and gave it them: only requiring them to manage
it by a committee of their own appointing, and never to get drunk
there. They never have got drunk there."
"Yet they have their beer freely?"
"O yes. As much as they choose to buy.
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