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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 158, April 14, 1920 + +Author: Various + +Release Date: October 11, 2007 [EBook #22957] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH *** + + + + +Produced by Matt Whittaker, Jonathan Ingram and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<hr /> +<p class="center">Transcriber's Note: typo "thundebrolt" changed to thunderbolt on page 267. <u>Underlining</u> was used to indicate where text appeared upside down in the original.</p> +<hr /> + + +<h1>PUNCH,<br /> + +OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.</h1> + +<h2>VOL. 158.</h2> + +<h2>April 14, 1920.</h2> + +<hr class="full" /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page267" id="page267"></a>[pg 267]</span> + +<h2>CHARIVARIA.</h2> + +<p>"Hat-pins to match the colour of +the eyes are to be very fashionable this +year," according to a Trade journal. +This should be good news to those +Tube-travellers who object to having +green hat-pins stuck in their blue eyes.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>Enterprise cannot be dead if it is +really true that a well-known publisher +has at last managed to persuade Mr. +<span class="sc">Winston Churchill</span> to write a few +words concerning the Labour Question.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>"I have never been knocked down +by a motor omnibus," +says Mr. <span class="sc">Justice Darling</span>. +The famous judge +should not complain. +He must take his turn +like the rest of us.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>"Never pull the doorbell +too hard" is the +advice of a writer on +etiquette in a ladies' +journal. When calling +at a new wooden house +the safest plan is not to +pull the bell at all.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>"American bacon +opened stronger yesterday," +says a market report. +If it opened any +stronger than the last +lot we bought it must +have "gone some."</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>Five golf balls were +discovered inside a cow +which was found dead +last week on a Hertfordshire +golf course. +We understand that a +certain member of the +Club who lost half-a-dozen +balls at Easter-time +has demanded a recount.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>"An Englishman's place is by his +own fireside," declares a writer in the +Sunday Press. This is the first intimation +we have received that Spring-cleaning +is over.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>A serious quarrel between two prominent +Sinn Feiners is reported. It appears +that one accused the other of +being "no murderer."</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p><i>The Commercial Bribery and Tipping +Review</i>, a new American publication, +offers a prize of four pounds for the +best article on "Why I believe barbers +should not be tipped." The barbers +claim that what they receive is not a +tip, but the Price of Silence.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>According to an evening paper, +crowds can be seen in London every +day waiting to go into the pit. Oh, if +only they were miners!</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>"It is the last whisky at night which +always overcomes me," said a defendant +at the Guildhall. "A good plan," says +a correspondent, "is to finish with the +last whisky but one."</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>The British Admiralty are offering +two hundred and fifty war vessels for +sale. This is just the chance for people +who contemplate setting up in business +as a new country.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>"A good tailor," says a fashion +writer, "can always give his customer +a good fit if he tries." All he has to +do, of course, is to send the bill in.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>Mr. <span class="sc">Allday</span>, a resident in Lundy +Island for twenty years, who has just +arrived in London, states that he has +never seen a tax-collector. There is +some talk of starting a fund with the +object of presenting him with one.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>Dunmow workhouse is offered for +sale. A great many people are anxious +to buy it with the object of putting it +aside for a rainy day.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>A Houndsditch firm has just had a +telephone installed which was ordered +six years ago. This, however, is not a +record. Quite a number of instruments +have been fitted up in less time than +this.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>We understand that the thunderbolt +which fell at Chester is not the one +that the <span class="sc">Premier</span> intended to drop this +month.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>Signor <span class="sc">Caproni</span>, lecturing in New +York, says that aeroplanes capable of +carrying five hundred passengers will +shortly be constructed. We can only +say that anybody can have our seat.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>Since <i>The Daily Express</i> tirade +against the officials of +the Zoo visitors are requested +not to go too +near the Fellows.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>"The French army," +says the <i>Berliner Tageblatt</i>, +"will soon be all +over." It does not say +what; but if our late +enemy continues the +violation of the Peace +Treaty the missing word +should be "Germany."</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>Birds, says <i>The Times</i>, +are nesting in the plane-trees +of Printing House +Square. Some of the +fledglings, we are informed, +are already +learning to whistle the +familiar Northcliffe air, +"<span class="sc">Lloyd George</span> Must +Go," quite distinctly.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>The National Portrait +Gallery, occupied by the +War Office since 1914, +has just been reopened. +The rumour that a +Brigadier-General who +had eluded all attempts +to evacuate him was still hanging about +disguised as a portrait of Mrs. <span class="sc">Siddons</span> +attracted a large attendance.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>The Corporation of Waterford has +refused to recognise "Summer" time. +One gathers that it is still the winter +of their discontent down there.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>Sinn Feiners are now asking for the +abolition of the Royal Irish Constabulary, +and it is feared that, unless their +request is granted, they may resort to +violence.</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:55%;"><a href="images/267.png"><img width="100%" src="images/267.png" alt="" /></a><p>"<span class="sc">Though the material, Sir, is somewhat more expensive, the leather +brace has the great advantage that it lasts for ever; and, moreover, +when it wears out it makes an excellent razor-strop</span>."</p></div> + +<hr /> + +<blockquote><p>"Mrs. —— Requires useful Ladies' Maid, +for Bath and country; only ex-soldier or sailor +need apply."—<i>Provincial Paper.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p>A job that will obviously need a man +of proved courage.</p> + +<hr /> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page268" id="page268"></a>[pg 268]</span><h2>WISDOM UP TO DATE—12TH EDITION.</h2> + +<blockquote><p>[<i>The Times</i> has announced, in two consecutive issues, that Mr. +<span class="sc">Hugh Chisholm</span> has retired from the control of its financial columns +in order to resume his editorship of the <i>Encyclopædia Britannica</i>. +One seems here to catch a faint echo of the proprietary booming of the +10th Edition by <i>The Times</i> and Mr. <span class="sc">Hooper</span>. The present publishers +are the Cambridge University Press.]</p></blockquote> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>It is a common object of remark</p> +<p class="i2">How many things in life are periodic,</p> +<p>Some punctual (like the nesting of the lark,</p> +<p class="i2">Or Derby-day), and others more spasmodic,</p> +<p>Recurring loosely when the hour is ripe;</p> +<p>And here I sing a sample of the latter type.</p> +</div> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Nine years have coursed with their accustomed speed</p> +<p class="i2">Since England hailed its previous apparition,</p> +<p>Since every man and woman who could read,</p> +<p class="i2">Wanting the nearest way to erudition,</p> +<p>Bought as an ornament of her (or his) home</p> +<p>The monumental masterpiece of Mr. <span class="sc">Chisholm</span>.</p> +</div> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Much has occurred meanwhile of new and strange;</p> +<p class="i2"><i>E.g.</i>, in matters purely scientific</p> +<p>Great Thinkers, eager to enlarge our range,</p> +<p class="i2">Have (on the lethal side) been most prolific;</p> +<p>Ten tomes would scarce contain what might be said on</p> +<p>Their contributions to the recent Armageddon.</p> +</div> <div class="stanza"> +<p>What wonder if the Editor forsakes</p> +<p class="i2">The conduct of <i>The Times'</i> financial pages?</p> +<p>An even weightier task he undertakes</p> +<p class="i2">Than to report on bullion; he engages</p> +<p>To let us know, by 1922,</p> +<p>All things (or more) that anybody ever knew.</p> +</div> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Why should he care if Oil-cakes fall or jump?</p> +<p class="i2">He has the Total Universe for oyster;</p> +<p>Yankees may yield a point or Rubbers slump,</p> +<p class="i2">Yet not for such things shall his eye grow moister,</p> +<p>Save when, by force of habit, he admits</p> +<p>"A heavy tendency to-day in Ency. Brits."</p> +</div> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Could but <i>The Times</i> revive its ancient part,</p> +<p class="i2">Repeat its famous turn of dollar-scooping!</p> +<p>O memories of the urgent boomster's art,</p> +<p class="i2">And that persistent noise of <span class="sc">Hooper</span> whooping,</p> +<p>Down to the Last Chance and the Closing Door,</p> +<p>And then the Absolutely Last, and then some more!</p> +</div> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Those shrill appeals to get the Work <span class="sc">TO-DAY</span></p> +<p class="i2">(With the superb revolving fumed-oak garage)—</p> +<p>How well they followed up their fearful prey</p> +<p class="i2">Till the massed thunders of the final barrage</p> +<p>Such pressure on your tympanum would bring</p> +<p>That you could bear no more, and <i>had</i> to buy the thing.</p> +</div> <div class="stanza"> +<p>O. S.</p> +</div></div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>The Giant's Robe—Cheap.</h2> + +<blockquote><p>"<span class="sc">For Sale.</span>—Superior Dress Suit, 37 chest, City made, silk facings +and lining, worn twice, no further use, suitable for individual 7 ft. 8 in. +Price 4 guineas."—<i>Local Paper.</i></p> + +<hr /> + +<p>"<span class="sc">Paying Guests Wanted</span>—From 1st June, married couple with +no children; also at once, single married lady or gentleman for three +single rooms or one single married couple."—<i>Indian Paper.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p>To be in keeping with the inhabitants the house, no doubt, +is "semi-detached."</p> + +<hr /> + +<blockquote><p>"250 <span class="sc">WORDS.</span> <span class="wide"><span class="sc">TWO GUINEAS.</span></span></p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p>THE YOUNG WIFE'S ALLOWANCE."</p> +</div></div> + +<p><i>Daily Paper.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p>The young husband who tries to get off for two guineas will +find that the young wife regards two hundred and fifty +words as entirely inadequate.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2>OUR SUPER-PILGRIM'S PROGRESS.</h2> + +<p>The meagre and tantalizing report of Lord Northsquith's +great journey through Spain and North Africa which has +been issued through Reuter's agency has stimulated but not +allayed curiosity. It is therefore with unfeigned pleasure +that we are able to supplement this jejune summary with +some absolutely authentic details supplied us by a Levantine +detective of unimpeachable veracity who shadowed the party.</p> + +<p>Of the journey through Spain he has little to say. Lord +Northsquith attended a bull-fight at Seville, at which an +extraordinary incident occurred. At the moment when the +distinguished visitor entered the ring and was taking his +seat in the Royal Box, the bull, a huge and remarkably +ferocious animal, suddenly threw up its hind legs and, after +pawing the air convulsively for a few seconds, fell dead on +the spot. No reason could be assigned for this rash act, +which caused a very painful impression, but it is a curious +fact that it synchronized exactly with the issue of the special +edition of the Seville evening <i>Tarántula</i>, with the placard +"Strange behaviour (<i>extravagancia</i>) of the British Prime +Minister."</p> + +<p>At a subsequent interview with Count <span class="sc">Romanones</span>, Lord +Northsquith was reluctantly obliged to confirm the statement +that Mr. <span class="sc">Lloyd George</span> was still under the impression +that the Spanish Alhambra was a late replica of a theatre +in London, but begged him not to attach undue importance +to the misapprehension.</p> + +<p>The tour in Morocco was not attended by any specially +untoward incidents, but at Marrakesh a group of Berbers +evinced some hostility, which was promptly converted into +effusive enthusiasm on their learning that Lord Northsquith +was not of Welsh origin. Similar assurances were conveyed +to the sardine-fishers of the coast, with beneficial results. +The Pasha of Marrakesh expressed the hope that Lord +Northsquith was not disappointed with the Morocco Atlas, +and the illustrious stranger wittily rejoined, "No, but you +should see my new morocco-bound <i>Times</i> Atlas." When +the remark was translated to the Pasha he laughed very +courteously.</p> + +<p>Always interested in the relics of the mighty past Lord +Northsquith made a special trip to the East Algerian Highlands +to visit Timgad, and spent several minutes in the +<i>tepidarium</i> of the Roman baths. It was understood from +the expression of his features that he was profoundly impressed +by the superiority of the arrangements over those +contemplated by the Coalition Minister of Health in the +new bath-houses to be erected in Limehouse.</p> + +<p>Lastly the tour included a flying visit to Carthage. The +French archæologists in charge of the excavations had +recently dug up a colossal statue of <span class="sc">Hannibal</span>, and the +resemblance to Lord Northsquith was so extraordinary that +many of them were moved to transports of delight. They +were however unanimous in their conviction that the deplorable +state of the ruins was largely, if not entirely, due +to Mr. <span class="sc">Lloyd George's</span> ignorance of Phœnician geography.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2>A Startling Disclosure.</h2> + +<p class="center">From "Answers to Correspondents" in a Canadian Paper:</p> + +<blockquote><p>"Q.—Is it not a fact, that all of Lipton's challengers were built +stronger and heavier than the American cup defenders, to enable +them to cross the Atlantic?—A. D. B., Montreal.</p> + +<p>A.—Yes, they were built stronger as they had to cross the ocean +under their own steam."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>"Serious injuries were sustained by ——, aged 54, while assisting +in discharging cargo. Shortly before one o'clock, it is stated, a cheese +struck him and knocked him down."—<i>Provincial Paper.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p>We have always maintained that these dangerous creatures +should not be allowed to run loose.</p> + +<hr /> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page269" id="page269"></a>[pg 269]</span><div class="figcenter" style="width:95%;"><a href="images/269.png"><img width="100%" src="images/269.png" alt="" /></a><h3>THE "WITHDRAWAL" FROM MOSCOW.</h3> + +<p class="center"><span class="sc">Chorus of Half-Revolutionists support Messrs. Snowden and Ramsay Macdonald by singing "The Red (but not too Red) Flag."</span></p> + +<p class="center">[The Independent Labour Party by a large majority has voted in favour of withdrawing from the Moscow Internationale.]</p></div> + +<hr /> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page270" id="page270"></a>[pg 270]</span><div class="figcenter" style="width:75%;"><a href="images/270.png"><img width="100%" src="images/270.png" alt="" /></a><h3>TENNIS PROSPECTS.</h3></div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>LITTLE BITS OF LONDON.</h2> + +<p class="center"><span class="sc">The Houses of Parliament.</span></p> + +<p>The guide-books have a good deal to +say about the Houses of Parliament, +but the people who write guide-books +never go to the really amusing places +and never know the really interesting +things. For instance they have never +yet explained what it is that the House +of Commons smells of. I do not refer +to the actual Chamber, which merely +smells like the Tube, but the lofty passages +and lobbies where the statues +are. The smell, I think, is a mixture +of cathedrals and soap. It is a baffling +but rather seductive smell, and they +tell me that the policemen miss it when +they are transferred to point-duty. Possibly +it is this smell which makes ex-Premiers +want to go back there.</p> + +<p>But let us have no cheap mockery +of the Houses of Parliament, because +there is a lot to be said for them. They +are much the best houses for hide-and-seek +I know. The parts which are +dear to the public, the cathedral parts, +are no good for that, but behind them +and under them and all round them +there are miles and miles of superb +secret passages and back staircases, the +very place for a wet afternoon. They +are decorated like second-class waiting-rooms +and lead to a lot of rooms like +third-class waiting-rooms; and at every +corner there is a policeman; but this +only adds to the excitement. Besides, +at any moment you may blunder into +some very secret waiting-room labelled +"Serjeant-at-Arms."</p> + +<p>If you are seen by the <span class="sc">Serjeant-at-Arms</span> +you have lost the game, and if +you are seen by a Lord of the Treasury +I gather from the policemen that you +would be put in the Tower. Or you may +start light-heartedly from the Refreshment +Department of the House of +Commons and find yourself suddenly in +the bowels of the House of Lords, probably +in the very passage to the <span class="sc">Lord +Chancellor's</span> Secretary's Room.</p> + +<p>Still, there is no other way for +Private Secretaries to take exercise and +at the same time avoid their Members +without actually leaving the building, +so risks of that sort have to be faced.</p> + +<p>While the Private Secretary is playing +hide-and-seek in the passages and +purlieus his Member waits for him in +the Secretaries' Room. The Secretaries' +Room is the real seat of legislation in +this country, and it is surprising that +Mr. <span class="sc">Bagehot</span> gave it no place in his +account of the Constitution. It is also +surprising, in view of its importance, +that it should be such a dismal, ill-furnished +and thoroughly mouldy room. +It is a rotten room. Mr. <span class="sc">Asquith</span>, +when a Private Secretary, is reported +to have said of it, "In the whole course +of my political career I can recall no +case of administrative myopia at all +parallel to the folly or ineptitude which +has condemned the authors of legislation +in His Majesty's Parliament to discharge +their functions in this grotesque +travesty of a legislative chamber, this +sombre and obscure repository of +mouldering archives and forgotten records, +where the constructive statesmen +of to-morrow are expected to shape +their Utopias in an atmosphere of +disillusion and decay, in surroundings +appointed to be the shameful sepulchre +of the nostrums of the past." If that +is what Mr. <span class="sc">Asquith</span> said, I agree with +him; if he didn't say it, I wish he had.</p> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page271" id="page271"></a>[pg 271]</span><p>The room is pitch-dark always, and +it is full of tables and tomes. The +tables are waiting-room tables and the +tomes are as Mr. <span class="sc">Asquith</span> has described +them. It is divided into two by a swing-door. +One part is the female Private +Secretary part, the other is the male +Private Secretary part, and it is lamentable +to record that no romance has ever +occurred between a male Private Secretary +and a female one.</p> + +<p>The room is plentifully supplied with +House of Commons' stationery, which +disappears at an astonishing rate. This +is because the Members come in and +remove it by the gross, knowing full +well that the <span class="sc">Serjeant-at-Arms</span> will +suspect the Private Secretaries. It is +a hard world.</p> + +<p>However, this is where the Members +come to their Private Secretaries for instructions. +They come there nominally +to dictate letters to their constituents, +but really they come to be told what +amendments to move and what questions +to ask and what the Drainage +Bill is about, and whether they ought +to support the Dentist Qualification +(Ireland) (No. 2) Bill, or not. It is +awful to think that if the Private +Secretaries downed tools the whole +machinery of Parliament would stop. +No questions would be asked and no +amendments moved and no speeches +made. The Government would have +things all their own way. Unless, +of course, the Government's Private +Secretaries struck too. But of course +the Government's Private Secretaries +never would, the dirty blacklegs!</p> + +<p>After the Secretaries' Room perhaps +the most interesting thing in the two +Houses is the House of Lords sitting +as the Supreme Court. Everybody +ought to see that. There is a nice old +man sitting in the middle in plain +clothes and several other nice old men +in plain clothes sitting about on the +benches, with little card-tables in front +of them. Two or three of them have +beards, which is against the best traditions +of the Law. But they are very +jolly old men, and now and then one +of them sits up and moves his lips. +You can see then that he is putting a +sly question to the barrister who is +talking at the counter, though you can't +hear anything because they all whisper. +While the barrister is answering, another +old man wakes up and puts a +sly question, so as to confuse the +barrister. That is the game. The barrister +who gets thoroughly annoyed +first loses the case.</p> + +<p>They have quite enough to annoy +them already. They are all cooped up +in a minute pen about eight feet square. +There are eight of them, four K.C.'s and +four underlings. They have nowhere to +put their papers and nowhere to stretch +their legs. They sit there getting cramp, +or they stand at the counter talking to +the old men. In either position they +grow more and more annoyed. Four +of them are famous men, earning thousands +and thousands. Why do they +endure it? Because lawyers, contrary +to the common belief, are the most +long-suffering profession in the world. +That is why they are the only Trade +Union whose members have only half-an-hour +for lunch. Well, it is their +funeral; but if I were a K.C. sitting in +that pen, with the whole of the House +of Lords empty in front of me, I should +get over the counter and walk about. +Then the <span class="sc">Lord Chancellor</span> might have +a fit; and that alone would make it +worth while.</p> + +<p>The only other interesting place in the +Houses of Parliament is the Strangers' +Dining Room. This is interesting because +the Members there are all terrified +lest you should hear what they are +going to say. They never know who +may be at the next table—a journalist +or a Bolshevist or a landowner—and +they talk with one eye permanently over +their shoulder. It must be very painful.</p> + +<p>But of course the best time to visit +the House is when it is not sitting, because +then, if you are lucky, you may +sit with impunity on the Front Bench +and put your feet up on the table. If +you are unlucky you will be shot at +dawn.</p> + +<p>A. P. H.</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:45%;"><a href="images/271.png"><img width="100%" src="images/271.png" alt="" /></a><p><i>Excitable Tenor</i> (<i>during dispute about the bill</i>). "<span class="sc">But, my friend, you not know me +who I am—no? I am Spofferino. To-night I sing at ze opera—'Butterfly.'</span>"</p> + +<p><i>Waiter</i> (<i>unimpressed</i>). "<span class="sc">Um—you <i>look</i> like a butterfly</span>!"</p></div> + +<hr /> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">"——'S BOOTS</p> +<p class="i3">HAVE BEEN</p> +<p><span class="sc">In Everybody's Mouth.</span>"</p> +</div> <div class="stanza"> +<p><i>Advt. in Local Paper.</i></p> +</div></div> + +<p>We fear the advertiser has put his foot +in it.</p> + +<hr /> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page272" id="page272"></a>[pg 272]</span><h2>LABOUR AND THE RUSSIAN BALLET.</h2> + +<p>I wasn't present at the station when +Madame <span class="sc">Pavlova</span> arrived in London, +bringing with her, as I have been assured +by six different newspapers, no +fewer than three hundred and eighty-five +pieces of luggage. But I have +seen, thanks to Sir <span class="sc">J. M. Barrie</span>, the +transformation which a Russian <i>prima +ballerina</i> makes in an English country +home, so I happen to know exactly +what occurred. I think it deserves to +be recorded. Very well then.</p> + +<blockquote><p><span class="sc">Scene</span>—<i>A Metropolitan railway terminus, +though you wouldn't perhaps recognise +it, because it looks a little like +the interior of a Greek cathedral and a +little like the fair at Nijni Novgorod, +and the posters have obviously been +painted by</i> Mr. <span class="sc">Wyndham Lewis</span> +<i>or somebody like that. One porter is +discovered leaning against an automatic +sweet machine designed by an +Expressionist sculptor. He is wearing +a long mole-coloured smock, and +looking with extreme disfavour at his +luggage-truck, which has somehow got +itself painted bright blue and green, +with red wheels. Music by</i> J. H. +Thomaski.</p></blockquote> + +<blockquote><p>[<i>Enter L., puffing slowly, the boat-train. +The engine and carriages +resemble Early-Victorian prints.</i> +Madame <span class="sc">Pavlova</span> <i>descends, and +in a very expressive dance conveys +to the</i> Porter <i>that she has +one or two trunks in the guard's +van which she wants him to convey +to a taxicab</i>.</p></blockquote> + +<p><i>Porter.</i> 'Ow many is there, lady?</p> + +<blockquote><p>[<span class="sc">Pavlova</span> <i>pirouettes a little more +and points three hundred and +eighty-five times at the station-roof +with her right toe</i>.</p></blockquote> + +<p><i>Porter.</i> Can't be done nohow.</p> + +<blockquote><p>[<span class="sc">Pavlova</span> <i>dances a dance indicative +of absolute and heartrending despair, +terminating in an appeal +to the heavens to come to her aid. +Enter R. an important-looking +personage with a long white +beard, wearing a costume which +might be, called a commissionaire's +if it wasn't so like a harlequin's.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p><i>Porter</i> (<i>impressively and with evident +relief</i>). The Stazione Maestro!</p> + +<p><i>The Stazione Maestro.</i> What's all this?</p> + +<blockquote><p>[<span class="sc">Pavlova</span> <i>dances an explanation of +the</i> impasse. <i>The</i> S.-M. <i>and the</i> +Porter <i>remove their caps and +scratch their heads solemnly, to +slow music</i>.</p></blockquote> + +<blockquote><p><i>The S.-M.</i> (<i>after deep cogitation</i>). This +must be referred to the N.U.R.</p></blockquote> + +<blockquote><p>[<i>Enter suddenly, R. and L., dancing, +the Central Executive Committee +of the N.U.R. There is +thunder and lightning.</i> <span class="sc">Pavlova</span> +<i>repeats her appeal. The</i> C.E.C. +<i>confabulate. The</i> Chairman <i>finally +announces that the thing is +entirely contrary to the principles +of their Union, and if the</i> Station-master +<i>permits it he must take +the consequences. The</i> C.E.C. +<i>disappear</i>.</p></blockquote> + +<p><i>The S.-M.</i> What about it, Bill?</p> + +<p><i>Porter.</i> We'll do it. (<i>He dances.</i>) +Here goes, Mum.</p> + +<blockquote><p>[<i>Enter, suddenly, chorus of porters +with multi-coloured trucks. (They +are the same as the</i> C.E.C. <i>really, +but they have changed their +clothes.) Aided by the</i> S.-M. <i>and</i> +Bill <i>they remove the three hundred +and eighty-five packages, +and wheel them, walking on their +toes, to the station exit, R. Here +is seen a taxicab whose driver is +wrapped in profound meditation +and smoking a hookah, the bowl +of which rests on the pavement. +It is represented to him that a +lady with some luggage desires to +charter his conveyance and proceed +to Hampstead. He comes forward +to the centre and explains:</i></p> + +<p><i>1. That it is near the dinner-hour.</i></p> + +<p><i>2. That he has no petrol.</i></p> + +<p><i>3. That he wouldn't do it for</i> +<span class="sc">Lloyd George</span> <i>hisself</i>.</p> + +<p><i>He retires to his vehicle and resumes +his hookah.</i> <span class="sc">Pavlova</span> +<i>dances some dances expressive of +Spring, of Butterflies, of Flowers, +of Unlimited Gold. In the midst +of the final passage the driver +leaps from his seat, rushes on to +the platform, jumps three hundred +and eighty-five times into +the air, whirls</i> <span class="sc">Pavlova</span> <i>off her +toes and dashes from side to side, +carrying her in one hand. He +finally flings her into the taxicab +and returns to his seat. The luggage +is piled upon the roof by +dancing porters and tied with +many-coloured ribbons. The taxi +departs in a cloud of petrol, the +driver steering with his toes and +manipulating the clutches with +his hands. Farewells are waved +and finally, surrounded by the +rest of the porters, the</i> Station +Master <i>and</i> Bill <i>dance a dance +of Glad Sacrifice, stab themselves +with their hands, and die</i>.</p></blockquote> + +<p class="center"><span class="sc">Curtain of Smoke</span>.</p> + +<p>Mind you, as I said at the beginning, +I wasn't there myself, but I helped to +steer three boxes to the seaside during +the Easter holiday without the blandishments +of Art. So I know something.</p> + +<p><span class="sc">Evoe</span>.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2>LABUNTUR ANNI.</h2> + +<p class="center"><span class="sc">To a Chital Head on the Wall of +a London Club</span>.</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Light in the East, the dawn wind singing,</p> +<p class="i2">Solemn and grey and chill,</p> +<p>Rose in the sky, with Orion swinging</p> +<p class="i2">Down to the distant hill;</p> +<p>The grass dew-pearled and the <i>mohwa</i> shaking</p> +<p class="i2">Her scented petals across the track,</p> +<p>And the herd astir to the new day breaking—</p> +<p class="i2">Gods! how it all comes back.</p> +</div> <div class="stanza"> +<p>So it was, and on such a morning</p> +<p class="i2">Somebody's bullet sped,</p> +<p>And you, as you called to the herd a warning,</p> +<p class="i2">Dropped in the grasses dead;</p> +<p>And some stout hunter's heart was brimming</p> +<p class="i2">For joy that the gods of sport were good—</p> +<p>With a lump in his throat and his eyes a-dimming,</p> +<p class="i2">As the eyes of sportsmen should;—</p> +</div> <div class="stanza"> +<p>As mine have done in the springtime running,</p> +<p class="i2">As mine in the halcyon days</p> +<p>Ere trigger-finger had lapsed from cunning</p> +<p class="i2">Or foot from the forest ways,</p> +<p>When I'd wake with the stars and the sunrise meeting</p> +<p class="i2">In the dewy fragrance of myrrh and musk,</p> +<p>Peacock and spurfowl sounding a greeting</p> +<p class="i2">And the jungle mine till dusk.</p> +</div> <div class="stanza"> +<p>You take me back to the valleys of laughter,</p> +<p class="i2">The hills that hunters love,</p> +<p>The sudden rain and the sunshine after,</p> +<p class="i2">The cloud and the blue above,</p> +<p>The morning mist and creatures crying,</p> +<p class="i2">The beat in the drowsy afternoon,</p> +<p>Clear-washed eve with the sunset dying,</p> +<p class="i2">Night and the hunter's moon.</p> +</div> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Not till all trees and jungles perish</p> +<p class="i2">Shall we go back that way</p> +<p>To those dear hills that the hunters cherish,</p> +<p class="i2">Where the hearts of the hunters stay;</p> +<p>So you dream on of the ancient glories,</p> +<p class="i2">Of water-meadows and hinds and stags,</p> +<p>While I and my like tell old, old stories ...</p> +<p class="i2">Ah! but it drags—it drags.</p> +</div> <div class="stanza"> +<p>H. B.</p> +</div> </div> + +<hr /> + +<blockquote><div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"><p class="i10">"<span class="sc">Matrimony</span>.</p></div></div> + +<p>Accountant would write up Books, also Tax +Returns; moderate charges."</p> + +<p><i>Liverpool Paper.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p>This is much more delicate than the +usual crude stipulation that the lady +must have means.</p> + +<hr /> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page273" id="page273"></a>[pg 273]</span><div class="figcenter" style="width:50%;"><a href="images/273.png"><img width="100%" src="images/273.png" alt="" /></a><h3>MANNERS AND MODES.</h3> + +<p class="center">A NEO-GEORGIAN TRIES TO MAKE THEM UNDERSTAND.</p></div> + +<hr /> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page274" id="page274"></a>[pg 274]</span><div class="figcenter" style="width:75%;"><a href="images/274.png"><img width="100%" src="images/274.png" alt="" /></a><p><i>Art Patron</i> (<i>who has heard something about a Modern Movement</i>). "<span class="sc">Now you're +not going to tell me that's a valuable bit of work? Why, hang it all, +I can recognise the place</span>."</p></div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>PEACE WITH HONOUR.</h2> + +<p>This is the story of Mr. Holmes, the +Curate, and of how he brought peace +to our troubled house. The principal +characters are John, my brother-in-law, +and Margery, my unmarried sister, and, +at the bottom of the programme, in large +letters, Mr. Holmes, the Curate. I have +a small walking-on part. The story +will now commence.</p> + +<p>John and Margery went out for a +walk in the beautiful Spring sunshine +as friendly as friendly. They came back +three hours later—well, Cecilia (his +wife) and I heard them at least two +villages away.</p> + +<p>They both rushed into the room +covered with mud and shouting at the +tops of their voices.</p> + +<p>"Cecilia," roared +John, "order this girl +out of my house. She +shan't stay under my +roof another hour."</p> + +<p>"Cecilia," shrieked +Margery, "he's an +obstinate ignorant +wretch, and thank +Heaven he isn't <i>my</i> +husband."</p> + +<p>I put a cushion over +my head.</p> + +<p>Cecilia kept hers.</p> + +<p>"If you will both go +out of the room," she +said, "take off your +filthy boots and come +back in your right +minds and decent +clothing I'll try to understand +what you are +both talking about."</p> + +<p>They crawled out of +the room abjectly and I came out into +the open once more.</p> + +<p>"Good Lord! What a family to be +in!" I said.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>"Cecilia," said John at tea, "harking +back to the question of Hairy +Bittercress——"</p> + +<p>"Hazel Catkin," said Margery.</p> + +<p>"What on earth——?" began Cecilia.</p> + +<p>"I'll tell her," said Margery quickly. +"Cecilia, we had a competition this +afternoon, seeing who could find most +signs of Spring. Well, I found a bit of +Hazel Catkin——"</p> + +<p>"Hairy Bittercress," said John.</p> + +<p>"I tell you——" went on Margery.</p> + +<p>"If you will calm yourself," interrupted +John with dignity, "we will +discuss the point."</p> + +<p>"There's nothing to discuss. What +do you know about botany, I'd like to +know?"</p> + +<p>"My dear child," said John, "when +you were an infant-in-arms, nay, +before you existed at all, it was my +custom to ramble o'er the dewy meads, +plucking the nimble Nipplewort and +the shy Speedwell. I breakfasted on +botany."</p> + +<p>"Talking of botany," I broke in +"there was a chap in my platoon——"</p> + +<p>John groaned loudly.</p> + +<p>"Do you suggest," I asked, "that he +was not in my platoon?"</p> + +<p>"I suggest nothing," he answered; +"I only know that they can't all have +been in your platoon."</p> + +<p>"All who, John?" asked Cecilia.</p> + +<p>"All the chaps he tells us about. +Haven't you noticed, since he came +home, it's impossible to mention any +type or freak or extraordinary individual +that wasn't like somebody in +his platoon? It must have been about +five thousand per cent. over strength."</p> + +<p>"I treat your insults with contempt," +I said, "and proceed with my story. +This chap had the same affliction that +has taken Margery and yourself. He +spent his life searching for specimens +of the Bingle-weed and the five-leaved +Funglebid. At bayonet-drill he would +stop in the middle of a 'long-point, short-point, +jab' to pluck a sudden Oojah-berry +that caught his eye. In the end his +passion got him to Blighty."</p> + +<p>"How?" asked Margery.</p> + +<p>"Well," I continued, "it was the +morning of the great German attack. +My friend—er—I will call him X—and +myself were retiring on the village of—er—Y, +followed by about six million +Germans. Shots were falling all round +us, when suddenly X saw a small wild +flower at his feet. He bent down to +pick it up and—er——"</p> + +<p>"That is quite enough, Alan," said +Cecilia.</p> + +<p>"That is all, Cecilia," I said; "that +is how he got to Blighty."</p> + +<p>"We will now proceed with the subject +in hand," said John after a moment's +silence. He produced a small +crushed piece of green-stuff from his +pocket.</p> + +<p>"The question before the house is, +as we used to say in the Great War, +'<i>Qu'est-ce-que c'est que ceci?</i>' Any +suggestions that it is of the Lemon +species will be returned unanswered. +For my part I say it is Hairy Bittercress."</p> + +<p>"And I say it's Hazel Catkin," said +Margery.</p> + +<p>"And what says Hubert the herbalist?" +asked John, handing the weed +to me.</p> + +<p>I examined it carefully +through the ring +of my napkin.</p> + +<p>"Well," I said, +"speaking largely, I +should say it is either +Mustard or Cress, or +both as the case may +be."</p> + +<p>I was howled down +and retired.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>We heard lots of +the weed during the +next few days. Each +morning at breakfast +it sprouted forth as it +were.</p> + +<p>"And how is the +Great Unknown?" I +would ask.</p> + +<p>"The Hairy Bittercress +is thriving, we +thank you," John +would answer.</p> + +<p>"Hazel Catkin," Margery would +throw out.</p> + +<p>"Catkin yourself," from John, and +so on <i>ad lib</i>.</p> + +<p>They kept it carefully in a small pot +in the window, and if one looked at it +the other watched jealously for foul +play.</p> + +<p>"On Saturday," said John, "the +Curate is coming to tea. He is a man +of wisdom and a botanist to boot—or +do I mean withal? On Saturday the +Hairy Bittercress shall be publicly proclaimed +by its rightful name."</p> + +<p>"Which is Hazel Catkin," said Margery.</p> + +<p>Saturday came and Saturday afternoon, +and, about three o'clock, the +Curate. I saw him coming and met +him at the door.</p> + +<p>"Good afternoon, Mr. Holmes," I +said. "You come to a house of bitterness +and strife. Walk right in."</p> + +<p>"Indeed I trust not," he said.</p> + +<p>"Come with me," I replied; "I will +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page275" id="page275"></a>[pg 275]</span>tell you all about it." And I led him +on tip-toe to a quiet spot.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Holmes," I said, "you know +the family well. We have always been +a happy loving crowd, have we not?"</p> + +<p>"Indeed you have," he said politely.</p> + +<p>"Well," I continued, "a weed has +split us asunder. My brother-in-law +and my younger sister are on the point +of committing mutual murder."</p> + +<p>I explained the whole situation and +drew a harrowing picture of its effect +on our family life. "Unless you help +us," I said, "this Hazel Catkin or Hairy +Bittercress will ruin at least four promising +young lives."</p> + +<p>"But I hardly see how I am to——" +began Mr. Holmes.</p> + +<p>I told him what to do.</p> + +<p>"But surely," he said, "they will +know better than that."</p> + +<p>"No, they won't," I said. "Neither +of them knows anything about it, really. +Come, Mr. Holmes, it is for a good +cause."</p> + +<p>"Very well," he said. "Perhaps the +end justifies the means. We will see +what we can do."</p> + +<p>"Good man," I said. "Children unborn +will bless your name for this day's +work."</p> + +<p>I took him to the dining-room, where +Margery and John were sitting.</p> + +<p>"Here is Mr. Holmes," I said.</p> + +<p>They both made a dash at him.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Holmes," said John, "we seek +your aid. You have a wide and deep +knowledge of geography—that is +botany, and you shall settle a problem +that is ruining my home."</p> + +<p>"Certainly I will do my best," said +Mr. Holmes. And then without a blush: +"What is the problem, may I ask?"</p> + +<p>"We have found a piece of——" +began John.</p> + +<p>"Don't tell him," shrieked Margery. +"Let him see for himself."</p> + +<p>They fetched the weed and handed it +reverently to the Curate.</p> + +<p>Mr. Holmes looked at it carefully. +He breathed on it and moistened it with +his finger. At last he looked up.</p> + +<p>"This is a very rare specimen indeed," +he said; "I never remember to have +seen one quite like it. It is in fact a +hybrid." He stopped and beamed at us.</p> + +<p>"What's it <i>called</i>?" shrieked Margery +and John together.</p> + +<p>Mr. Holmes chose his words carefully.</p> + +<p>"It is called," he said, "Hairy Catkin."</p> + +<p>There was a pause while Margery +and John gazed at each other.</p> + +<p>"'Hairy Catkin,'" said John solemnly.</p> + +<p>"Then—then we're both right!" said +Margery.</p> + +<p>They looked at each other again and +then did the only thing possible in the +circumstances. Each fell on the other's +neck.</p> + +<p>Mr. Holmes and I shook hands +silently.</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:80%;"><a href="images/275.png"><img width="100%" src="images/275.png" alt="" /></a><p>"<span class="sc">Get up, dear, and give your seat to this lady. Remember you lose nothing by being polite.</span>"</p> + +<p>"<span class="sc">Oh, don't I? I lose my seat.</span>"</p></div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>The Wool Shortage.</h2> + +<blockquote><p>"Blankets, guaranteed all wood."</p> + +<p><i>Provincial Paper.</i></p> + +<p>"Antique Carved Ebony Carpet."</p> + +<p><i>Another Provincial Paper.</i></p> + +<hr /> + +<p>"Within there is the delicious scent of +burning logs, and all the fragrance of only a +1½<i>d.</i> stamp."—<i>Daily Paper.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p>We have tasted the backs of these +stamps—a delicious bouquet.</p> + +<hr /> + +<blockquote><p>"Berwick Guardians on Euesday favour-tarining +in Ireland, was more able to deal +receive their vates. The candidate, Mr. D. +<u>opinion. The ballot for position of places</u> +accompanied feastings and jollification, and +sentation what elections were like in the the +the business of auctioneer."</p> + +<p><i>North-Country Paper.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p>Portions of the paragraph are not too +clear, but we should say there was no +doubt about the jollification.</p> + +<hr /> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page276" id="page276"></a>[pg 276]</span><div class="figcenter" style="width:78%;"><a href="images/276.png"><img width="100%" src="images/276.png" alt="" /></a><h3>STAGE AMENITIES.</h3> + +<p>"<span class="sc">Hello, Cissie! So you're assisting at Daisy Darlint's benefit too</span>?"</p> + +<p>"<span class="sc">Yes—the cat</span>!"</p></div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>CHIPPO'S SCENARIO.</h2> + +<p class="center">(<i>With the British Army in France.</i>)</p> + +<p>It was the Société Grand Guignol de +Cinéma's busy day. On the beach at +Petiteville cameras were rattling away +like machine guns, orders from the +producer were hissing through the air +with the vicious hum of explosive +bullets, and weary supers were marching +and counter-marching in a state of +hopeless apathy.</p> + +<p>At the very height of these operations +Chippo Munks wandered into the camera +barrage and got firmly entangled in +the picture. As "crowd in background" +was indicated by the scenario, the +producer refrained from killing Chippo +out of hand—in fact he invited his co-operation +for another crowd a little +later on. Thus it was that Chippo +earned the right to describe himself as +a "fillum actor," with licence to speak +familiarly of his colleagues, <span class="sc">Charles +Chaplin</span> and <span class="sc">Mary Pickford</span>, and full +powers to pose as the ultimate authority +of the camp whenever cinemas +were mentioned.</p> + +<p>At the Café des Promeneurs it was +generally assumed that Chippo was +merely waiting for a fat contract from +the Société Grand Guignol, and pending +its arrival he explained that he was +constructing a suitable scenario.</p> + +<p>"The public," he said, "is fed up +with Texas rancheros in Anzac 'ats and +antimacassar trousers playing poker +dice with one 'and and keeping a sustained +burst of rapid fire against their +opponents with the other. They wants +something true to life. Now, my fillum +opens at the Café de l'Avenir, where a +stout old British soldier runs a Crown +an' Anchor board at personal loss, but +'appy in the knowledge that 'e is +amusing his comrades."</p> + +<p>"The same answering to the name of +Chippo Munks?" interjected Chris +Jones.</p> + +<p>"The name on the programme is +<i>Reginald Denvers</i>," said Chippo firmly. +"Acrost the way, at the Café de la +Vache Noire, a drunken unprincipled +gambler named <i>Jim Blaney</i>—which +you will also reckernise is an alias—regularly +pockets the pay of 'is fellow-soldiers +under pretence of a square deal +at banker an' pontoon. One night, +'aving sucked 'is victims dry for the time +being and also largely taken 'is cawfee +<i>avec</i>, <i>Blaney</i> goes acrost to the Avenir +an' sets 'is stall out there. <i>Reginald</i> +remonstrates.</p> + +<p>"'I'm the Great White Chief in this +'ostelry,' says he, 'an' we don't want no +three-card-trick sharks butting in.'</p> + +<p>"'My modest shrinking vi'let,' says +<i>Blaney</i>, 'I'll play where I blinking +well please.'</p> + +<p>"<i>Reginald</i> thereupon remarks that +sooner than allow 'is innocent patrons +to be swindled by a six-fingered thimblerigging +son of a confidence trickster +'e'd start in an' expose 'im.</p> + +<p>"At this point <i>Blaney</i> swears to be +revenged, an' there is a hinterval of +a minute while the next part of the +fillum is bein' prepared.</p> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page277" id="page277"></a>[pg 277]</span><div class="figright" style="width:45%;"><a href="images/277.png"><img width="100%" src="images/277.png" alt="" /></a><h3>A LEVY ON PATRIOTISM.</h3></div> + +<p>"The following scene shows <i>Blaney</i> +all poshed up and busy trying to worm +'is way into the confidence of <i>Suzanne</i> +(the daughter of the <i>patron</i> of the Café +de l'Avenir), who cherishes a secret +passion for <i>Reginald</i>. 'E kids 'er to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page278" id="page278"></a>[pg 278]</span>drop the contents of a white packet into +<i>Reginald's vang blanc</i>, telling her it's a +love lotion—I should say potion—that +will gain 'er <i>Reginald's</i> everlasting +affections. <i>Reggie</i>, being thirsty, scoffs +off the whole issue an' finds to his dismay +that 'is voice 'as been completely +destroyed. That's a thrilling situation, +Chris, a <i>professeur de</i> Crown an' Anchor +not being able to do his patter."</p> + +<p>"'E might as well shut up shop +right away," agreed Chris.</p> + +<p>"Jest so. <i>Reginald</i> rushes after +<i>Blaney</i> and tells him off good an' +proper——"</p> + +<p>"'Ow could 'e when 'e'd lorst his +voice?" asked Chris.</p> + +<p>"Oh! burn it. This is a fillum +drama. 'E sees 'is extensive <i>clientèle</i> +drifting away to the Vache Noire an' +<i>Blaney</i> getting so rich 'e can afford +Beaune an' eggs an' chips for 'is supper +every night. In the interests of the +misguided victims <i>Reginald</i> tells the +Military Police that drinking goes on +during prohibited hours at the Vache +Noire, an' gets the place put out of +bounds. All the speckerlaters thereupon +return to the Avenir, an' Part II. +finishes with <i>Reginald</i> recovering 'is +voice an' carolling 'Little Billy Fair-play, +all the way from 'Olloway' while +he rakes in the shekels with both hands +and feet."</p> + +<p>"I'm getting the 'ang of this a bit," +said Chris; "I recollect there was a +chap named Slaney as once did you +down on a deal, an' I remember a red-'aired +girl at the Avenir. But all this +talk about love lotions and voice dope +gets me guessing."</p> + +<p>"A fillum drama that's true to life +ain't bound to be absolutely true as to +facts. The trimmings is extra. We +opens next with a little slow music an' +<i>Jim Blaney</i> meeting <i>Reginald</i> an' +telling 'im 'e 's reformed an' given up +gambling. Instead 'e's running a very +respectable football sweep, the prize to +be given to the one as draws the team +that scores most goals, an' 'e offers +<i>Reginald</i> a commission an' a seat on +the drawing committee if he'll recommend +it amongst 'is clients. Such is +'is plausibleness that 'e even sells +<i>Suzanne</i> a ticket, though she's not +rightly sure if Aston Villa is a race-horse +or a lottery number. <i>Reginald</i>, +however, suspects treachery.</p> + +<p>"'Take your breath reg'ler,' 'e says, +or makes movements to that effect. +'The matches for this sweep is played +on Saturday, an' I seems to recollect +that you an' a lot of the crowd is due for +demob on Wednesday, an' I'm going +for leave on Tuesday. What guarantee +'ave we that you weigh out before +you go?'</p> + +<p>"'I pays out <i>immédiatemong</i> on receipt +of the Sunday papers, which will +be Sunday night," says <i>Blaney</i>. 'That's +good enough, ain't it?'</p> + +<p>"<i>Reginald</i> therefore invests an' participates +in the drawing, though still a +bit doubtful. 'Is fears is justified, for +on Friday night, 'aving got all the +money, <i>Blaney</i> steps outside the <i>estaminay</i> +an' hits a Military Police over the +ear."</p> + +<p>"Whatever for?" asked Chris. "The +War's over."</p> + +<p>"That's a mystery; but the mystery +is solved when they 'ear that <i>Blaney</i> +'as gone to clink to do ten days F.P. +No. 2.</p> + +<p>"''E's just gauged it to a nicety,' +says someone; ''e won't come out till +we're demobbed, an' 'e'll be orf before +<i>Reginald</i> gets back from leave.'</p> + +<p>"It's 'ere the finest scene in the +fillum ought to 'appen. Imagine a +crowd of defrauded an' infuriated soldiery, +led by <i>Reginald</i>, marching up to +the F.P. compound and demanding that +the miserable <i>Blaney</i> an' their stakes +should be 'anded over to them.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width:70%;"><a href="images/278.png"><img width="100%" src="images/278.png" alt="" /></a><p class="center"><i>Mabel</i> (<i>to dentist</i>). "<span class="sc">Be careful, won't you? I'm dreffly ticklish.</span>"</p></div> + +<p>"'Never!' says the Provost-Sergeant, +twirling his moustaches to needle +points.</p> + +<p>"'As a sportsman I appeal to you,' +says <i>Reginald</i>, 'or we'll wreck the +blinkin' compound.'</p> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page279" id="page279"></a>[pg 279]</span><p>"'I'll not give him up while I have +breath in my body,' says the Provost-Sergeant. +'I've drawn Chelsea in the +sweep.'</p> + +<p>"Then should ensue the gloriousest +shemozzle that ever was; but this scene +is spoiled by some miserable perisher +who says it ain't worth while making a +rough house till they know who's won. +What really happens is that they wait +till the Sunday papers arrive, when it +is found <i>Suzanne</i> 'as won the sweep, +'er 'aving drawn Sunderland, what was +top-scorer with seven goals.</p> + +<p>"It is then that <i>Reginald's</i> noble +nature shows itself. Instead of telling +'er that she's won an' then disappointing +'er by saying the prize money +is in custody, 'e buys 'er ticket for 'alf-price. +Then 'e goes to the compound +an' bribes the sentry to let 'im talk to +<i>Blaney</i> through the barbed wire.</p> + +<p>"'There's the winning ticket, +<i>Blaney</i>,' 'e says; 'now pay out.'</p> + +<p>"'Pay out?' says <i>Blaney</i>, grinning +hideously. 'Why, what do you think I +got into clink for?'</p> + +<p>"And the end comes with <i>Reginald</i> +stalking 'elplessly outside the wire, an' +<i>Blaney</i> laughing an' taunting 'im from +inside."</p> + +<p>"I don't think much of it," said +Chris critically. "I know that Slaney—'im +what you call <i>Blaney</i>—did actually +do you down real proper, but as a +fillum it ain't a good ending."</p> + +<p>"P'r'aps it ain't—as it stands," +admitted Chippo, "but when I'm demobilized—when +<i>Reginald</i> is demobilized, +I should say, an' 'e 'appens to +meet that <i>Jim Blaney</i> there'll be the +finest fillum finish that's ever been released, +if the police don't interfere."</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:80%;"><a href="images/279.png"><img width="100%" src="images/279.png" alt="" /></a><p><i>Informative Visitor</i> (<i>member of party viewing sights of London</i>). "<span class="sc">'Ere y'are, boys. On our left is the statoo of the famous +singer, Albert 'All, and on the right we 'ave the Kensington Gas Works.</span>"</p></div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>THIS FOR REMEMBRANCE.</h2> + +<blockquote><p>[The Government is reported to have three +million empty rum jars for sale.]</p></blockquote> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>I've long mused on buying a rifle,</p> +<p class="i2">A chunk of an aeroplane's gear</p> +<p>Or other belligerent trifle</p> +<p class="i2">By way of a small souvenir;</p> +<p>I've thought 'twould be fine (and your pardon</p> +<p class="i2">I beg if this savours of swank)</p> +<p>If the grotto that graces my garden</p> +<p class="i2">Were topped by a tank.</p> +</div> <div class="stanza"> +<p>But only this morn I decided</p> +<p class="i2">Exactly the thing I preferred</p> +<p>To call back the prodigies I did</p> +<p class="i2">When the call for fatigue men was heard;</p> +<p>Though my life is again a civilian's,</p> +<p class="i2">Martial glories shall come back to view</p> +<p>If I buy from these derelict millions</p> +<p class="i2">A rum jar or two.</p> +</div> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Though the spirit's long since been a "goner,"</p> +<p class="i2">Though the uttermost heel-tap be drained,</p> +<p>I will give them a place of high honour,</p> +<p class="i2">Well knowing that once they contained</p> +<p>My solace when seasons were rotten,</p> +<p class="i2">When the cold put my courage to flight,</p> +<p>Or the sergeant, perchance, had forgotten</p> +<p class="i2">To kiss me good-night.</p> +</div> <div class="stanza"> +<p>In a world that is apt to be trying,</p> +<p class="i2">When things are inclined to go ill</p> +<p>And I'm sitting despondently sighing,</p> +<p class="i2">Perhaps they will comfort me still;</p> +<p>At the sight of these humble mementoes</p> +<p class="i2">It may be once more I shall know</p> +<p>From the crown of my head to my ten toes</p> +<p class="i2">That radiant glow.</p> +</div> </div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>Journalistic Candour.</h2> + +<blockquote><p>"<span class="sc">Chances Missed.</span></p> + +<p>By <i>The Daily Mail</i> correspondent recently +in France."—<i>Daily Mail.</i></p> + +<hr /> + +<p>"'The Trojan Person in Pink' will fill the +bill at the Haymarket."—<i>Evening Paper.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p>Is this intended for a description of the +lady to whom Paris gave the golden +apple?</p> + +<hr /> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page280" id="page280"></a>[pg 280]</span><div class="figcenter" style="width:85%;"><a href="images/280.png"><img width="100%" src="images/280.png" alt="" /></a><h3>THE WORM TURNS.</h3> + +<p class="center">A JUGGLER'S COMIC ASSISTANT REFUSES TO MUFF HIS TRICKS.</p></div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>PRESENCE OF MIND.</h2> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Proud is not the word for me</p> +<p>When I hear my 8-h.p.</p> +<p>Latest model motor-bike,</p> +<p>Having dodged the latest strike,</p> +<p>Is awaiting me complete</p> +<p>At the garage down the street.</p> +</div> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Joyfully I take my way</p> +<p>(And a cheque-book too to pay</p> +<p>The two hundred odd they thought it</p> +<p>Right to charge the man who bought it).</p> +<p>Still, it is a lovely creature,</p> +<p>Up-to-date in every feature,</p> +<p><i>And</i> a side-car, painted carmine—</p> +<p>Joy! to think they really <i>are</i> mine!</p> +</div> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Time is short; I don't lose much in</p> +<p>Starting, and I let the clutch in;</p> +<p>Lest I should accelerate</p> +<p>Passing through the garage-gate,</p> +<p>Feeling certain as to what'll</p> +<p>Happen, I shut off the throttle,</p> +<p>When—my heart begins to beat—</p> +<p>I'm propelled across the street</p> +<p>In a way I never reckoned,</p> +<p>Gathering speed at every second.</p> +</div> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Frantic, I apply the brake,</p> +<p>Realising my mistake</p> +<p>With my last remaining wit:</p> +<p><i>I've not shut, but opened it!</i></p> +<p>In another instant I</p> +<p>Hit the curb and start to fly.</p> +<p>Aeronautic friends of mine</p> +<p>Say that flying is divine;</p> +<p>Now I've tried it I confess</p> +<p>Few things interest me less,</p> +<p>Still, I own that in a sense</p> +<p>It is an experience.</p> +</div> <div class="stanza"> +<p>These and other thoughts are there</p> +<p>As I whistle through the air,</p> +<p>And continue till I stop</p> +<p>In an ironmonger's shop</p> +<p>(Kept by Mr. Horne, a kind</p> +<p>Soul, but deaf and very blind).</p> +<p>Still—I mention this with pride,</p> +<p>For it shows how well I ride—</p> +<p>I have left the bike outside.</p> +</div> <div class="stanza"> +<hr style="width: 20%; Margin-left: 1em; Margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;" /> +</div> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Little Mrs. Horne is sitting</p> +<p>In the neat back-parlour, knitting.</p> +<p>Mr. Horne, who hears the din</p> +<p>Which I make in coming in,</p> +<p>Leaves the shop and says to her:</p> +<p>"Martha, here's a customer.</p> +<p>From the sound of clinking metal</p> +<p>I should judge he wants a kettle."</p> +</div> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Mrs. H. shows some surprise</p> +<p>At the sight that greets her eyes,</p> +<p>And, in answer to her shout,</p> +<p>Mr. H. comes running out.</p> +</div> <div class="stanza"> +<hr style="width: 20%; Margin-left: 1em; Margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;" /> +</div> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Now, it's something of a strain</p> +<p>On the busy human brain</p> +<p>Passing through a window-pane</p> +<p>To decide what it will do</p> +<p>When at last it's safely through.</p> +<p>As I gaze around I find—</p> +<p>Horror! why, I must be blind!</p> +<p>Blind or dead, I don't know which—</p> +<p>All about is black as pitch;</p> +<p>Thick the atmosphere as well</p> +<p>With a dank metallic smell....</p> +</div> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Guessing that I am not dead</p> +<p>I attempt to loose my head</p> +<p>From a kettle's cold embrace;</p> +<p>And, meanwhile, to save my face</p> +<p>(Finding I can't get it out),</p> +<p>Say politely—up the spout—</p> +<p>"Lovely morning, is it not, Horne?</p> +<p>Think I'll take this little lot, Horne;</p> +<p>It is such a perfect fit,</p> +<p>And I'm so attached to it</p> +<p>That I find I cannot bring</p> +<p>My own head to leave the thing.</p> +<p>So you will oblige me greatly</p> +<p>If you'll pack them separately."</p> +</div> </div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>The Housing Stringency.</h2> + +<blockquote><p>"House for Sale 12 ft. by 1 ft., suitable for +bed-sitting-room."—<i>Provincial Paper.</i></p></blockquote> + +<hr /> + +<h2>Commercial Candour.</h2> + +<blockquote><p>"We claim that we can do you anything in +our line as well, or perhaps a little bit less +than you will get it at many other places."</p> + +<p><i>Advt. in Local Paper.</i></p> + +<hr /> + +<p>"<span class="sc">Alleged Wallet-Snatcher Takes Two +Omnibuses.</span>"</p> + +<p><i>Evening News.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p>No wonder there is a shortage in +London travelling facilities.</p> + +<hr /> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page281" id="page281"></a>[pg 281]</span><h3>THE WORD-BUILDERS;</h3> + +<p class="center"><span class="sc">A Shortage of Straw.</span></p> + +<p>Aitchkin has been doing great things +in forage, but prosperity has not spoilt +him. Although he must be aware that +I remember him in pre-war days, when +he used to strap-hang to the City with +his lunch in a satchel, nevertheless he +often invites me round on those rare occasions +when he dines quietly at home.</p> + +<p>The other evening, as he toyed with +a modest eight-course dinner, I perceived +that his cheerfulness was a trifle +forced, and I thought that probably he +was worrying over the behaviour of his +little son, who, tiring that afternoon of +his motor scooter, had done incalculable +damage to the orchid-house with a +home-made catapult.</p> + +<p>When we were left alone with our +cigars he unburdened his soul. It +appears that, ever since the Armistice, +ambition has spurred Aitchkin to be +something more than the "& Co." of a +firm which has become torpid with war +profits. He had decided to start in +business "on his lonesome," and to +make "Aitchkin" and "forage" synonymous +terms. Already he had taken +over the premises of a sovereign purse-maker +at a "reasonable figure." (When +Aitchkin is "reasonable" somebody +loses money.) But his bargain did not +include a Telegraphic Address, and that +morning, working from his letter-heading, +"Alfred Aitchkin," he had brought +himself to compose an appropriate +word. To the "Alf" of the Christian +name he added "Alpha" representing +the initial of the surname (I suspected +the assistance of his lady-typist), making +the complete word "Alf-Alpha" or, +written phonetically, "Alfalfa"—Spanish +for lucerne. It was a word which +could not fail to fix itself indelibly in +the minds of his clients, for it recalled +not only Aitchkin's name, but the commodity +he dealt in. Full of the pride +of authorship he had driven round to the +G.P.O. in his touring car.</p> + +<p>"But they crabbed it at once," he +said sadly. "Telegraphic addresses +nowadays have to conform to a lot of +rotten new rules."</p> + +<p>He handed me a slip of paper on +which, over the dead body of "Alfalfa," +he had jotted down the following +notes:—</p> + +<p>(1) Not less than eight, not more +than ten letters.</p> + +<p>(2) Must not be composed of words +or parts of words.</p> + +<p>(3) Words or parts of words may be +accepted if they appear in the middle.</p> + +<p>(4) Must not look like a word.</p> + +<p>(5) Must be pronounceable.</p> + +<p>(6) Russian names, on account of +their unusual spelling might be accepted.</p> + +<p>"And what's more," Aitchkin continued, +"even when you've got a word +which the Department will accept, it +has to be submitted to a Committee +who take 'ten to fourteen days' to +make up their minds."</p> + +<p>A faint tinkling of the piano came to +our ears. Mrs. Aitchkin was waiting +to sing to us. I produced pencil and +paper and threw myself heart and soul +into Aitchkin's problem.</p> + +<p>"Rules 2 and 3 are a little contradictory," +I said, "and it will require no +slight ingenuity to form a combination +of letters which shall be pronounceable +(Rule 5) and yet avoid the damnable +appearance of a word (Rule 4). The concession +about Russian names reminds +me of something I have read about +shaking hands with murder. In any +case it is a barren concession, because, +as we have seen, telegraphic addresses +must be pronounceable. There is something +sinister here," I continued. "This +is the work of no ordinary mind. Some +legal brain is behind all this."</p> + +<p>Love of the bizarre and the latitude +of the Russian Rule led me to make +my first attempt with the name of that +all-round Bolshevik sportsman, <span class="sc">Blodnjinkoff</span>, +and I was endeavouring to +abridge it to not less than eight and not +more than ten letters without spoiling +the natural beauty of the name when +Aitchkin stopped me rather brusquely. +And my next effort, "<span class="sc">Plucrœs</span>," he +quashed, because he said that the implacable +suspicion of the G.P.O. would +be at once aroused by the diphthong. I +fancy, though, from the narrowing of +his eyes that he had some misgivings +as to the derivation of the word.</p> + +<p>I then set to work with alternate +consonants and vowels (which must +give a pronounceable word), dealing +with difficulties under the other rules +as they might arise. Meanwhile Aitchkin, +after the manner of an obstructionist +official of the worst type, sat +over me with the rules, condemning my +results. Even "Telegrams: <span class="sc">Hahahahaha</span> +London," merely caused him to +sniff contemptuously.</p> + +<p>"You'll like this one," I exclaimed—"<span class="sc">Arleyota</span>. +This is a combination of +the word 'barley' (the 'b' being +treated as obsolete like the 'n' in +'norange') and the word 'oat' with +the 'a' and 't' transposed."</p> + +<p>Aitchkin was interested. Breathing +heavily, he tested the word with each +rule in turn, while I sat relaxed in my +chair. I pictured <span class="sc">Arleyota</span> passed by +the Department and brought into a +hushed chamber before a solemn conclave +of experts. How they would +probe and analyse it during those +momentous ten to fourteen days. And +what a sensation there would be when +they discovered that <span class="sc">Arleyota</span> begins +and ends with the indefinite article.</p> + +<p>Aitchkin thrust the papers into his +pocket and rose abruptly, jamming the +stopper more tightly into a decanter +with his podgy hand.</p> + +<p>"Not too bad, <span class="sc">Arleyota</span>," he said +loftily; "I'll get them to polish it up +at the office to-morrow." (So I <i>was</i> +right about the lady-typist).</p> + +<p>He opened the door and we passed +out.</p> + +<p>"But it ends in <span class="sc">TA</span>," he shouted +against the <i>Roses of Picardy</i> which +now came with unbroken force from +the drawing-room. "'<span class="sc">Ta</span>' is a word, +you know."</p> + +<p>"<i>You</i> may use it as such," I bawled, +"but they've never heard of it among +the staff of the G.P.O."</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2>THE WANDERER IN NORFOLK.</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>A Fantasia on East Anglian +Place-Names.</i></p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Tired by the City's ceaseless roaring</p> +<p>I fly to Great or Little Snoring;</p> +<p>When crowds grow riotous and lawless</p> +<p>I seek repose at Stratton Strawless;</p> +<p>When feeling thoroughly week-endish</p> +<p>I hie in haste to Barton Bendish,</p> +<p>Or vegetate at Little Hautbois</p> +<p>(Still uninvaded by the "dough-boy").</p> +<p>The simple rustic fare of Brockdish</p> +<p>Excels the choicest made or mock dish;</p> +<p>Nor is there any <i>patois</i> so</p> +<p>Superb as that of Spooner Row.</p> +<p><span class="sc">Pett-Ridge's</span> lively <i>Arthur Lidlington</i></p> +<p>Might possibly be bored at Didlington;</p> +<p>And I admit that it would stump <span class="sc">Shaw</span></p> +<p>To stir up a revolt at Strumpshaw.</p> +<p>The spirits of unrest are wholly</p> +<p>Out of their element at Sloley;</p> +<p>But even the weariest straphanger</p> +<p>Regains his courage at Shelfanger.</p> +<p>No taint of Bolshevistic snarling</p> +<p>Poisons the atmosphere of Larling,</p> +<p>And infants in the throes of teething</p> +<p>Become seraphical at Seething.</p> +</div> <div class="stanza"> +<p>Nor must my homely Muse be mute on</p> +<p>The charms of Guist and Sall and Booton,</p> +<p>Shimpling and Tattersett and Stody</p> +<p>(Which, be it noted, rhymes with ruddy),</p> +<p>And fair Winfarthing, where <span class="sc">King Tino</span></p> +<p>Would seek in vain for a casino</p> +<p>Or even a flask of maraschino.</p> +<p>For here, far from the social scurry</p> +<p>That devastates suburban Surrey,</p> +<p>You find the authentic countryside;</p> +<p>Here, taking Solitude for bride,</p> +<p>The wanderer almost forgets</p> +<p>The jazzing crowd, the miners' threats.</p> +</div> </div> + +<hr /> + +<blockquote><p>"UNAPPROACHABLE</p> + +<p><span class="sc">Family Ales & Stout.</span>"</p> +<p><i>Advt. in Provincial Paper.</i></p></blockquote> + + +<p>This should please Mr. "<span class="sc">Pussyfoot</span>."</p> + +<hr /> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page282" id="page282"></a>[pg 282]</span><div class="figcenter" style="width:50%;"><a href="images/282.png"><img width="100%" src="images/282.png" alt="" /></a><h3>THE NEW SPIRIT IN WEDDING GIFTS.</h3></div> + +<hr /> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page283" id="page283"></a>[pg 283]</span><h2>ON THE WESTERN FRONT.</h2> + +<p>Once again we are "for it." It is +that heavy hour between five and six +when the vitality is all too low for +the ordeal that awaits us. On either +side the far-flung battle line of clustering +figures stretches away into the +gloom. It is an inspiring sight, this +tense silent crowd of men of every +class and vocation, united by a common +purpose, grimly awaiting the +moment when as one man +they will hurl themselves into +the fray.</p> + +<p>Is it the mere lust for fighting +that has brought them +here? Or is it the thought +of the home that each hopes +to return to that steels their +courage and lends that <i>élan</i> +to their resolution without +which one enters the struggle +in vain?</p> + +<p>In the dim half-light I +furtively scan the set faces +around me and find myself +wondering what thoughts +those impassive masks conceal. +Are they counting the +cost? Most of them have +been through the ordeal before. +Pale faces there are—small +wonder when one +thinks of what lies before +them. Here and there a man +is puffing at his beloved "gasper" +with the nonchalance +that marks your bull-dog breed +when stern work is afoot.</p> + +<p>Yet one cannot keep one's +thoughts from the tremendous +possibilities of the next +few minutes. Where shall +we be a few minutes hence? +Some, one knows, will have +gone West—and the others? +Would they effect a lodgement, +or be hurled back baffled +and raging and impotent, +as, alas! had too often been +the case before?</p> + +<p>And what of those who +were even now maybe preparing +against our onslaught? Their +intelligence could hardly have failed +to warn them of our intentions. The +position would be occupied, never fear, +and in force, with seasoned men from +the East.</p> + +<p>At last a stunning roar that seems +to shake the very ground, rising to a +shriek. Now it is each man for himself. +The long line surges forward, +looking eagerly for a breach. Now we +can see our opponents—hate in their +eyes—as they brace themselves for the +shock. Now we are into them, fighting +silently, with a sort of cold fury save +where a muttered curse or the sharp +cry of the injured bears testimony to +the fierceness of the struggle.</p> + +<p>But see, they turn and waver. One +more rush and we are through, driving +them before us. The position is +won.</p> + +<p>Breathing hard we look around at +the havoc we have wrought, and suddenly +the glamour of victory seems to +fade and one loathes the whole senseless, +savage business. We do not really +hate these men. After all, they are our +fellow-creatures.</p> + +<p>But what would you? One cannot +spend the night on Charing Cross +District platform.</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:40%;"><a href="images/283.png"><img width="100%" src="images/283.png" alt="" /></a><h3>SHAKSPEARE AND THE NEW ART.</h3> + +<p>"<span class="sc">What's here? The portrait of a blinking idiot?</span>"</p> + +<p><i>Merchant of Venice, Act II. Sc. 9.</i></p></div> + +<hr /> + +<p>From a drapery firm's advertisement:</p> + +<blockquote><p>"WE NEVER ALLOW</p> + +<p>DISSATISFIED CUSTOMER TO LEAVE THE <br /> +PREMISES IF WE CAN AVOID IT.</p> + +<p>IT DOESN'T PAY!"</p> + +<p><i>Scotch Paper.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p>Suspiciously like a case of "Your money +or your life!"</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2>BY THE STREAM.</h2> + +<p class="center">(<i>Featuring the Premier.</i>)</p> + +<p>Mr. <span class="sc">Lloyd George</span> has returned +from a visit to the haunts of his youth +with renewed health and reinforced +Welsh accent. The last day of his +holiday was spent in fishing in the +company of two friends; but unfortunately +the newspapers failed to supply +any details of the scene, a lack of enterprise +which it is difficult to +understand, especially on the +part of the journals known +to employ Rubicon experts +on their staff. Happily we +are able to give information +which we have reason to +believe will not be officially +contradicted.</p> + +<p>From his childhood Mr. +<span class="sc">Lloyd George</span> has known +intimately the romantic +stream, named, for some unexplained +reason, the Dwyfor +river. To its musical murmur +may be traced the +mellifluous cadences of the +statesman's voice employed +so effectually in his appeals +to Labour and the Paris +Conference. Who can say +what influences this little +Welsh river, with its bubbling +merriment, the flashing forceful +leap of its cascades, its +adroit avoidance of obstacles, +may have had upon the career +of the statesman of to-day, +as through the years it has +wound its way from the +springs to the ocean? The +senior fish of the Dwyfor are +well known to him, and they +gather fearlessly in large numbers +to smile at his bait and to +point it out to their friends.</p> + +<p>Towards the end of the day +a humorous incident occurred. +A keeper appeared on the opposite +bank of the river and +excitedly warned the party +that they were trespassing, +requesting them to retire. +To his amazement his demands were +ignored, and the trespassers replied to +his protests by singing "The Land +Song," the <span class="sc">Premier's</span> rich tenor voice +being easily distinguished above the +roar of a neighbouring cascade.</p> + +<hr /> + +<blockquote><p>"Lieut —— proposed that Mr. ——, our +present vice-chairman, be elected to the chair +until the usual election of officials took place, +by that time a capable member would probably +be found willing to accept the position.</p> + +<p>Mr. —— thanked the proposer and seconders +for their compliment."—<i>Service Paper.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p>The new chairman seems to be easily +pleased.</p> + +<hr /> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page284" id="page284"></a>[pg 284]</span><div class="figcenter" style="width:75%;"><a href="images/284.png"><img width="100%" src="images/284.png" alt="" /></a><p><i>Sunday School Teacher.</i> "<span class="sc">Dear me, Maggie, you're not going away before the service is begun?</span>"</p> + +<p><i>Little Girl.</i> "<span class="sc">It's our Freddie, Miss. 'E's swallowed the collection.</span>"</p></div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.</h2> + +<p class="center">(<i>By Mr. Punch's Staff of Learned Clerks.</i>)</p> + +<p>Inevitably you will find a sad significance in the title of +<i>Harvest</i> (<span class="sc">Collins</span>), the last story, I suppose, that we shall +have from the pen of Mrs. <span class="sc">Humphrey Ward</span>. It is a quite +simple tale, very simply told, and of worth less for its inherent +drama than for the admirable picture it gives of rural +England in the last greatest days of the Great War. How +quick was the writer's sympathy with every phase of the +national ordeal is proved again by a score of vivid passages +in which the fortunes of her characters are dated by the +tremendous events that form their background. The story +itself is of two women in partnership on a Midland farm, one +of whom, the senior, has in her past certain secret episodes +which, as is the way of such things, return to find her out +and bring her happiness to ruin. The character of this +<i>Janet</i> is well and vigorously drawn, though there is perhaps +little in her personality as shown here to make understandable +the passion of her past. All the details of life on the +land in the autumn of 1918 are given with a skill that +brings into the book not only the scent of the wheat-field +but the stress, emotional and economic, of those unforgettable +months. Because it is all so typically English one +may call it a true consummation of the work of one who +loved England well. In Mrs. <span class="sc">Ward's</span> death the world of +letters mourns the loss of a writer whose talent was ever +ungrudgingly at the service of her country. She leaves a +gap that it will be hard to fill.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>In some ways I think that they will be fortunate who do +not read <i>A Remedy Against Sin</i> (<span class="sc">Hutchinson</span>) till the +vicissitudes of book-life have deprived it of its pictorial +wrapper, because, though highly attractive as a drawing, +the very charmingly-clad minx of the illustration is hardly +a figure to increase one's sympathy with her as an injured +heroine. And of course it is precisely this sympathy that +Mr. <span class="sc">W. B. Maxwell</span> is playing for—first, last and all the +time. His title and the puff's preliminary will doubtless +have given you the aim of the story, "to influence the public +mind on one of the most vital questions of the day," the +injustice of our divorce laws. For this end Mr. <span class="sc">Maxwell</span> +has exercised all his ability on the picture of a foolish young +wife, chained to a lout who is shown passing swiftly from +worse to unbearable, and herself broken at last by the +ordeal of the witness-box in a "defended action." Inevitably +such a book, a record of disillusion and increasing misery, +can hardly be cheerful; tales with a purpose seldom are. +But the poignant humanity of it will hold your sympathy +throughout. You may think that Mr. <span class="sc">Maxwell</span> too obviously +loads his dice, and be aware also that (like others of +its kind) the story suffers from over-concentration on a +single theme. It moves in a world of incompatibles. The +heroine's kindly friend is tied to a dipsomaniac wife; her +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page285" id="page285"></a>[pg 285]</span>coachman has no remedy for a ruined home because of the +expense of divorce, and so on. To a great extent, however, +Mr. <span class="sc">Maxwell's</span> craft has enabled him to overcome even +these obstacles; his characters, though you may suspect +manipulation, remain true types of their rather tiresome +kind, and the result is a book that, though depressing, +refuses to be put down. But as a wedding-present—no!</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><i>The Underworld</i> (<span class="sc">Jenkins</span>) describes life round about and +down below a small coal-mine in Scotland something near +thirty years ago. Its author, <span class="sc">James Welsh</span>, tells us in a +simple manly preface that he became a miner at the age +of twelve, and worked at every phase of coal-getting till +lately he was appointed check-weigher by his fellows, and +therefore writes of what he knows at first hand. Here +then is a straightforward tale with for hero a sensitive and +enthusiastic young miner who draws his inspiration from +<span class="sc">Bob Smillie</span>, loses his girl to the coal-owner's son and his +life in a rescue-party. The villain, double-dyed, is not the +coal-owner but his "gaffer," who favours his men as to +choice of position at +the coal-face in return +for favours received +from their wives. The +chief surprise to the +reader will be the difference +between the status +and power of the miner +then and now. The +writer has a considerable +skill in composing +effective dialogue, especially +between his +men; gives a convincing +picture of the pit +and home life, the +anxieties, courage, affections +and aspirations +of the friends of whom +he is "so proud." Nor +does he cover up their +weaknesses. Purple +passages of fine writing +show his inexperience +slipping into pitfalls by the way, but his work rings true +and deserves to be read by many at the present time when +miners are so far from being victims of "the block"—the +employers' device for starving out a "difficult" man—that +they look like fitting the boot to another leg. One is made +to realise their anxiety to get rid of that boot.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><i>How They Did It</i> (<span class="sc">Methuen</span>) may be regarded as a novel +with a purpose, and, like most such, suffers from the defects +of its good intentions. The object is "an exposure of war +muddling at home," and it must be admitted that Mr. +<span class="sc">Gerald O'Donovan</span> gives us no half-measure; indeed I +was left with the idea that greater moderation would have +made a better case. To illustrate it, he takes his hero, +<i>David Grant</i>, through a variety of experiences. Incapacitated +from active fighting through the loss of an arm, he is +given work as a housing officer on the Home Front. His endeavours +to check the alleged extravagance and corruption of +this command led to his being "invalided out"; after which +he wanders round seeking civilian war-work (and marking +only dishonesty everywhere), and ends up with a post in +the huge, newly-formed and almost entirely farcical Ministry +of Business. This final epithet puts in one word my +criticism of Mr. <span class="sc">O'Donovan's</span> method. Everyone admits the +large grain of truth in his charges; the trouble is that he +has too often allowed an honest indignation to carry him +past his mark into the regions of burlesque, and in particular +to confuse character with caricature. But as a +topical squib, briskly written, <i>How They Did It</i> will provide +plenty of angry amusement, with enough suggestion of +the <i>roman à clef</i> to keep the curious happy in fitting +originals to its many portraits. I should perhaps add that +the plot, such as it is, is held together by a rather perfunctory +and intermittent love-affair, too obviously employed +only to fill up time while the author is thinking +out some fresh exposure. This I regretted, as <i>Mary</i>, the +heroine, is here a shadow of what seems attractive and +original substance. I wonder that the author did not invent +for her a Ministry of Romance. He is quite capable of it.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Among the writers who have established stable reputations +for themselves during the War "<span class="sc">Klaxon</span>" is in the +very front rank. This is partly due to an easy natural style, +but most to a sound judgment and an amazingly clear eye +for essentials. To those (not myself) who want to forget the +last few years it may +seem that we have +already been given +enough opportunities +to read about our submarines. +Well, I have +read nearly everything +that has been written on +this subject and could +yet draw great delight +from <i>The Story of Our +Submarines</i> (<span class="sc">Blackwood</span>), +a most informing +and fascinating +book. "Whatever happens," +says "<span class="sc">Klaxon</span>," +"the German policy +of torpedoing merchant +ships without warning +must be made not only +illegal but unsafe for a +nation adopting it.... +If these notes of mine +serve no other purpose, +they will, at any rate, do something towards differentiating +between the submarine and the U-boat." By which it will be +seen that to his many other claims on our regard "<span class="sc">Klaxon</span>" +adds the gift, not always found among experts, of modesty.</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:75%;"><a href="images/285.png"><img width="100%" src="images/285.png" alt="" /></a><p>DISGUST OF AN ARTIST ON FINDING HIS ACADEMY SUCCESS +OF 1899 AT AN AUCTION OF MISCELLANEOUS ARTICLES LEFT +BEHIND IN RAILWAY CARRIAGES.</p></div> + +<hr /> + +<h2>THE VISIT.</h2> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>When I went to Fairyland, visiting the Queen,</p> +<p>I rode upon a peacock, blue and gold and green;</p> +<p>Silver was the harness, crimson were the reins,</p> +<p>All hung about with little bells that swung on silken chains.</p> +</div> <div class="stanza"> +<p>When I went to Fairyland, indeed you cannot think</p> +<p>What pretty things I had to eat, what pretty things to drink;</p> +<p>And did you know that butterflies could sing like little birds?</p> +<p>And did you guess that fairy-talk is not a bit like words?</p> +</div> <div class="stanza"> +<p>When I went to Fairyland—of all the lovely things!—</p> +<p>They really taught me how to fly, they gave me fairy wings;</p> +<p>And every night I listen for a tapping on the pane—</p> +<p>I want so very much to go to Fairyland again.</p> +</div> <div class="stanza"> +<p>R. F.</p> +</div> </div> + +<hr /> + +<blockquote><p>"Wanted, Bedroom and Sitting room (furnished), with use of bathroom, +without attendance."—<i>Provincial Paper.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p>We share the advertiser's desire for privacy during ablutions.</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. +158, April 14, 1920, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH *** + +***** This file should be named 22957-h.htm or 22957-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/2/9/5/22957/ + +Produced by Matt Whittaker, Jonathan Ingram and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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