diff options
| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-14 20:08:03 -0700 |
|---|---|---|
| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-14 20:08:03 -0700 |
| commit | fb6cf0c3f68d1a54722f7fe4a34e25c7d6a52c7a (patch) | |
| tree | 5d4fe20cf48ad6e99f5e1d2df03d25845843dcb8 /37449-h | |
Diffstat (limited to '37449-h')
| -rw-r--r-- | 37449-h/37449-h.htm | 6368 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 37449-h/images/3star.png | bin | 0 -> 11822 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 37449-h/images/p11.png | bin | 0 -> 398086 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 37449-h/images/p125.png | bin | 0 -> 103410 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 37449-h/images/p135.png | bin | 0 -> 673592 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 37449-h/images/p155.png | bin | 0 -> 474208 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 37449-h/images/p171.png | bin | 0 -> 419741 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 37449-h/images/p183.png | bin | 0 -> 706384 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 37449-h/images/p193.png | bin | 0 -> 455722 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 37449-h/images/p209.png | bin | 0 -> 466796 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 37449-h/images/p21.png | bin | 0 -> 568883 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 37449-h/images/p225.png | bin | 0 -> 475760 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 37449-h/images/p239.png | bin | 0 -> 458783 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 37449-h/images/p251.png | bin | 0 -> 517911 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 37449-h/images/p271.png | bin | 0 -> 458624 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 37449-h/images/p37.png | bin | 0 -> 577649 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 37449-h/images/p55.png | bin | 0 -> 483236 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 37449-h/images/p75.png | bin | 0 -> 474875 bytes |
18 files changed, 6368 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/37449-h/37449-h.htm b/37449-h/37449-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..771f0e2 --- /dev/null +++ b/37449-h/37449-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,6368 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Transitional//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-transitional.dtd"> +<!-- $Id: header.txt 236 2009-12-07 18:57:00Z vlsimpson $ --> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"/> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Puppets at Large: Scenes and Subjects from Mr. Punch's Show, by F. Anstey. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + font-weight: normal; + font-variant: normal; + font-style: normal; +} /* page numbers */ + +.linenum { + position: absolute; + top: auto; + left: 4%; +} /* poetry number */ + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.sidenote { + width: 20%; + padding-bottom: .5em; + padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; + padding-right: .5em; + margin-left: 1em; + float: right; + clear: right; + margin-top: 1em; + font-size: smaller; + color: black; + background: #eeeeee; + border: dashed 1px; +} + +.bb {border-bottom: solid 2px;} + +.bl {border-left: solid 2px;} + +.bt {border-top: solid 2px;} + +.br {border-right: solid 2px;} + +.bbox {border: solid 2px;} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.right {text-align: right;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.u {text-decoration: underline;} + +.caption {font-weight: bold;} + +/* Images */ +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; +} + +.figleft { + float: left; + clear: left; + margin-left: 0; + margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-right: 1em; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +.figright { + float: right; + clear: right; + margin-left: 1em; + margin-bottom: + 1em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-right: 0; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +/* Footnotes */ +.footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + +.footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + +.footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + +.fnanchor { + vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: + none; +} + +/* Poetry */ +.poem { + margin-left:10%; + margin-right:10%; + text-align: left; +} + +.poem br {display: none;} + +.poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + +.poem span.i0 { + display: block; + margin-left: 0em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i2 { + display: block; + margin-left: 2em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i4 { + display: block; + margin-left: 4em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Puppets at Large, by F. Anstey + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. 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: Puppets at Large + Scenes and Subjects from Mr Punch's Show + +Author: F. Anstey + +Illustrator: J. Bernard Partridge + +Release Date: September 17, 2011 [EBook #37449] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUPPETS AT LARGE *** + + + + +Produced by David Clarke, Katie Hernandez and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[ iii]</a></span></p> + + +<h1>Puppets at Large</h1> + +<h2>Scenes and Subjects<br /></h2> +<h2>From Mr. Punch's Show.<br /><br /></h2> +<h3>By F. Anstey<br /></h3> +<div class='center'>Author of "Vice Versa," "Voces Populi," &c., &c.<br /><br /></div> +<div class='center'>With Illustrations by<br /></div> + +<div class='center'>J. Bernard Partridge<br /><br /></div> + +<div class='center'>London<br /></div> +<div class='center'>Bradbury, Agnew, & Co. Ld., Bouverie St., E.C.<br /></div> +<div class='center'>1897<br /></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv">[ iv]</a></span></p> + + + + +<p class="center">BRADBURY, AGNEW, & CO. LD., PRINTERS,<br /> +LONDON AND TONBRIDGE.<br /></p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[ v]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CONTENTS.</h2> + + +<div class="center"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">PAGE</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Doing a Cathedral</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Instantaneous Process</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_13">13</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">In the Cause of Charity</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_27">27</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Classical Scholar in Reduced Circumstances</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_43">43</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Rus in Urbe</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_51">51</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Catching the Early Boat</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_61">61</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Society's Next Craze</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_71">71</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">An Ideal Interviewer</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_83">83</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Saturday Night in the Edgware Road</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_91">91</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The "Model Husband" Contest</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_101">101</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Courier of the Hague</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_109">109</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Feeling their Way</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_119">119</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[ vi]</a></span>A Testimonial Manque</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_131">131</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Model Democracy</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_145">145</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">By Parliamentary</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_159">159</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Farming of the Future</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_167">167</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">A Dialogue on Art</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_177">177</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Old Love and the New</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_189">189</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">A Doll's Diary</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_201">201</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Elevating the Masses</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_219">219</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Bookmakers on the Beach</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_231">231</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">'Igher Up!</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_243">243</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">At a Highland Cattle Auction</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_257">257</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Country of Cockaigne</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_265">265</a></td></tr> +</table></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[ vii]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>ILLUSTRATIONS.</h2> + + + +<div class="center"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td> </td><td align="left">PAGE</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">"What did 'e want to go and git the fair 'ump about?"</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_11">11</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">"What's she got hold of now?"</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_21">21</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">"You have lofty ambitions and the artistic temperament"</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_37">37</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">"They ain't on'y a lot o' sheep! I thought it was reciters, +or somethink o' that"</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_55">55</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">"Mokestrians"</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_75">75</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">"Dear, dear! <i>not</i> a county family!"</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_125">125</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">"Well, he's had a sharp lesson,—there's no denying that".</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_135">135</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">"None of your humour here, mind!"</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_155">155</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">"I cann't get nothen done to 'en till the weather's a bit +more hopen like"</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_171">171</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">"They haven't the <i>patiensh</i> for it"</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_183">183</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">"It must be a sort of animal, I suppose"</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_193">193</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">"I see <i>him</i> standing on the very brink of the precipice"</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_209">209</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">"To-night is ours!"</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_225">225</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">"Why the blazes don't ye take it?"</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_239">239</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">"Thash where 'tis, yer come on me too late!"</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_251">251</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">"'Ere, Florrie, you ain't <i>croying</i>, are yer?"</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_271">271</a></td></tr> +</table></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[ 1]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/3star.png" width="450" height="143" alt="" title="" /></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[ 3]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>DOING A CATHEDRAL.</h2> + +<h3>(<span class="smcap">A Sketch From the Provinces</span>.)</h3> + + +<p><i>The interior of Dulchester Cathedral.</i> <span class="smcap">Time</span>—<i>About 12.30. +The March sunshine slants in pale shafts through the clerestory +windows, leaving the aisles in shadow. From without, the +cawing of rooks and shouts of children at play are faintly +audible. By the West Door, a party of Intending Sightseers +have collected, and the several groups, feeling that it would be +a waste of time to observe anything in the building until officially +instructed to do so, are engaged in eyeing one another with all +the genial antipathy and suspicion of true-born Britons.</i></p> + + +<p>A Stodgy Sightseer (<i>to his friend</i>). Disgraceful, +keeping us standing about like this! +If I'd only known, I'd have told the head-waiter +at the "Mitre" to keep back those chops +till——</p> + +<p class="right"> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">[<i>He breaks off abruptly, finding that the chops are</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;"><i>reverberating from column to column with</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;"><i>disproportionate solemnity; a white-haired and</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;"><i>apple-faced verger rustles down from the choir</i></span><br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[ 4]</a></span> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;"><i>and beckons the party forward benignantly,</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;"><i>whereupon they advance with a secret satisfaction</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;"><i>at the prospect of "getting the cathedral</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;"><i>'done' and having the rest of the day to themselves;"</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;"><i>they are conducted to a desk and</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;"><i>requested, as a preliminary, to put sixpence</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;"><i>apiece in the Restoration Fund box and inscribe</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;"><i>their names in a book.</i></span></p> + +<p><i>Confused Murmurs.</i> Would you put "Portico +Lodge, Camden Road, or only London?"... +Here, I'd better sign for the lot of you, eh?... +They <i>might</i> provide a better pen—in a <i>cathedral</i>, I <i>do</i> +think!... He might have given all our names +in full instead of just "And party!"... Oh, I've +been and made a blot—will it <i>matter</i>, should you +think?... I never <i>can</i> write my name with people +looking on, can <i>you</i>?... I'm sure you've done +it beautifully, dear!... Just hold my umbrella +while I take off my glove, Maria.... Oh, why +<i>don't</i> they make haste? &c., &c.</p> + +<blockquote><p class="right">[<i>The</i> <span class="smcap">Stodgy Sightseer</span> <i>fumes, feeling that, +while they are fiddling, his chops are burning.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Verger</span>. Now, ladies and gentlemen, if you +will please to follow me, the portion of the building +where we now are is part of the original hedifice +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[ 5]</a></span> +founded by Ealfrytha, wife of Earl Baldric, in the +year height 'undred heighty-height, though we 'ave +reason to believe that an even hearlier church was in +existence 'ere so far back as the Roman occupation, +as is proved by a hancient stone receptacle recently +discovered under the crypt and hevidently used for +baptismal purposes.</p> + +<p>A <span class="smcap">Spectacled S.</span> (<i>who feels it due to herself to put +an intelligent question at intervals.</i>) What <i>was</i> the +method of baptism among the Early Christians?</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Verger</span>. We believe it to 'ave been by total +immersion, Ma'am.</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Spect. S.</span> Oh? <i>Baptists!</i></p> + +<blockquote><p class="right">[<i>She sets down the Early Christians as Dissenters, +and takes no further interest in them.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Verger</span>. At the back of the choir, and immediately +in front of you, is the shrine, formerly +containing the bones of St. Chasuble, with relics of +St. Alb. (<i>An</i> <span class="smcap">Evangelical Sightseer</span> <i>snorts in disapproval.</i>) +The 'ollow depressions in the steps leading +up to the shrine, which are still visible, were worn +away, as you see, by the pilgrims ascending on their +knees. (<i>The party verify the depressions conscientiously, +and click their tongues to express indulgent contempt.</i>) +The spaces between the harches of the shrine were +originally enriched by valuable gems and mosaics,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[ 6]</a></span> +all of which 'ave now long since disappeared, 'aving +been removed by the more devout parties who came +'ere on pilgrimages. In the chapel to your left +a monument with recumbent heffigies of Bishop +Buttress and Dean Gurgoyle, represented laying side +by side with clasped 'ands, in token of the lifelong +affection between them. The late Bishop used to +make a rather facetious remark about this tomb. +He was in the 'abit of observing that it was the honly +instance in <i>his</i> experience of a Bishop being on +friendly terms with his Dean. (<i>He glances round for +appreciation of this instance of episcopal humour, but is +pained to find that it has produced a general gloom; the</i> +<span class="smcap">Evangelical Sightseer</span>, <i>indeed, conveys by another +and a louder snort, his sense that a Bishop ought to set a +better example.</i>) In the harched recess to your right, +a monument in painted halibarster to Sir Ralph +Ringdove and his lady, erected immediately after her +decease by the disconsolate widower, with a touching +inscription in Latin, stating that their ashes would +shortly be commingled in the tomb. (<i>He pauses, +to allow the ladies of the party to express a becoming +sympathy—which they do, by clicks.</i>) Sir Ralph himself, +however, is interred in Ficklebury Parish +Church, forty mile from this spot, along with his +third wife, who survived him.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[ 7]</a></span></p> +<blockquote><p class="right">[<i>The ladies regard the image of Sir Ralph with +indignation, and pass on; the</i> <span class="smcap">Verger</span> <i>chuckles +faintly at having produced his effect.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Evangelical</span> S. (<i>snuffing the air suspiciously</i>). +I'm sorry to perceive that you are in the habit of +burning <i>incense</i> here!</p> + +<blockquote><p class="right">[<i>He looks sternly at the</i> <span class="smcap">Verger</span>, <i>as though to imply +that it is useless to impose upon him.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Verger</span>. No, Sir, what you smell ain't +incense—on'y the vaults after the damp weather +we've bin 'aving.</p> + +<blockquote><p class="right">[<i>The</i> <span class="smcap">Evangelical Sightseer</span> <i>drops behind, +divided between relief and disappointment.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p>A <span class="smcap">Plastic</span> S. (<i>to the</i> <span class="smcap">Verger</span>). What a perfectly +<i>exquisite</i> rose-window that is! For all the world like +a kaleidoscope. I suppose it dates from the Norman +period, at <i>least</i>?</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Verger</span> (<i>coldly</i>). No, Ma'am, it was only put +up about thirty year ago. <i>We</i> consider it the poorest +glass we 'ave.</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Plast.</span> S. Oh, the glass, yes; <i>that's</i> hideous, +certainly. I meant the—the other part.</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Verger</span>. The tracery, Ma'am? That was +restored at the same time by a local man—and a +shocking job he made of it, too!</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Plast.</span> S. Yes, it <i>quite</i> spoils the Cathedral, +<i>doesn't</i> it? Couldn't it be taken down?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[ 8]</a></span></p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Verger</span> (<i>in answer to another Inquirer</i>). Crowborough +Cathedral finer than this, Sir? Oh, <i>dear</i> +me, no. I went over a-purpose to 'ave a look at it +the last 'oliday I took, and I was quite surprised +to find 'ow very inferior it was. The spire? I don't +say that mayn't be 'igher as a mere matter of feet, +but our lantern-tower is so 'appily proportioned as +to give the effect of being by far the 'ighest in +existence.</p> + +<p>A <span class="smcap">Travelled S.</span> Ah, you should see the <i>continental</i> +cathedrals. Why, <i>our</i> towers would hardly come up +to the top of the naves of some of them!</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Verger</span> (<i>loftily</i>). I don't take no notice of +foreign cathedrals, Ma'am. If foreigners like to build +so ostentatious, all I can say is, I'm sorry <i>for</i> them.</p> + +<p>A <span class="smcap">Lady</span> (<i>who has provided herself with a "Manual +of Architecture" and an unsympathetic</i> <span class="smcap">Companion</span>). +<i>Do</i> notice the excessive use of the ball-flower as a +decoration, dear. Parker says it is especially characteristic +of this cathedral.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Unsympathetic Companion</span>. I don't see <i>any</i> +flowers myself. And if they like to decorate for +festivals and that, where's the harm?</p> + +<blockquote><p class="right">[<i>The</i> <span class="smcap">Lady with the Manual</span> <i>perceives that it +is hopeless to explain</i>.</p></blockquote> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Verger</span>. The dog-tooth mouldings round the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[ 9]</a></span> +triforium harches is considered to belong to the best +period of Norman work——</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Lady with the Manual</span>. Surely not <i>Norman</i>? +Dog-tooth is Saxon, <i>I</i> always understood.</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Verger</span> (<i>indulgently</i>). You'll excuse <i>me</i>, +Ma'am, but I fancy it's 'erringbone as is running in +<i>your</i> 'ed.</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Lady with the M.</span> (<i>after consulting "Parker" +for corroboration, in vain</i>). Well, I'm sure dog-tooth +is quite <i>Early English</i>, anyway. (<i>To her</i> <span class="smcap">Companion</span>.) +Did you know it was the interlacing of the round +arches that gave the first idea of the pointed arch, +dear?</p> + +<p>Her <span class="smcap">Comp.</span> No. But I shouldn't have thought +there was so very much in the <i>idea</i>.</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Lady with the M.</span> I do <i>wish</i> you took more +<i>interest</i>, dear. Look at those two young men who +have just come in. They don't <i>look</i> as if they'd care +for carving; but they've been studying every one of +the Miserere seats in the choir-stalls. That's what +<i>I</i> like to see!</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Verger</span>. That concludes my dooties, ladies +and gentlemen. You can go out by the South +Transept door, and that'll take you through the +Cloisters. (<i>The Party go out, with the exception of +the two</i> <span class="smcap">'Arries</span>, <i>who linger, expectantly, and cough in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[ 10]</a></span> +embarrassment.</i>) Was there anything you wished +to know?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">First 'Arry</span>. Well, Mister, it's on'y—er—'aven't +you got some old carving or other 'ere of a rather—well, +<i>funny</i> kind—sorter thing you on'y show to +<i>gentlemen</i>, if you know what I mean?</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Verger</span> (<i>austerely</i>). There's nothing in <i>this</i> +Cathedral for gentlemen o' <i>your</i> sort, and I'm surprised +at your expecting of it.</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>He turns on his heel.</i></p> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">First 'Arry</span> (<i>to Second</i>). I spoke civil enough to +<i>'im</i>, didn't I? What did 'e want to go and git the +fair 'ump about?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Second 'Arry</span>. Oh, <i>I</i> dunno. But you don't +ketch <i>me</i> comin' over to no more cathedrils, and +wastin' time and money all for nuthink—that's all.</p> + +<blockquote><p class="right">[<i>They tramp out, feeling that their confidence has +been imposed upon.</i></p></blockquote><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[ 11]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 437px;"> +<img src="images/p11.png" width="437" height="600" alt=""What did 'e want to go and git the fair 'ump about?"" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"What did 'e want to go and git the fair 'ump about?"</span></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[ 13]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/3star.png" width="450" height="143" alt="" title="" /></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[ 15]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>THE INSTANTANEOUS PROCESS;</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">Or, Fluff Sits for his Photograph.</span></h3> + + +<p><i>A Photographer's Studio on the Seventh Floor. It is a warm +afternoon.</i> <span class="smcap">Mr. Stippler</span>, <i>Photographic Artist, is discovered +alone.</i></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Stippler</span> (<i>to himself</i>). No appointments +while this weather lasts, thank goodness! +I shall be able to get ahead with those +negatives now. (<i>Sharp whistle from speaking-tube, to +which he goes.</i>) Well?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Voice of Lady Assistant</span> (<i>in shop below</i>). Lady +just brought her dog in; wants to know if she can +have it taken now.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Stip.</span> (<i>to himself</i>). Oh, dash the dog and the +lady too!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Voice.</span> No, only the <i>dog</i>, the lady says.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Stip.</span> (<i>confused</i>). Eh? Oh, exactly. Ask +the lady to have the goodness to—ah—step up. (<i>He +opens the studio door, and awaits the arrival of his client; +interval, at the end of which sounds as of a female in</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[ 16]</a></span> +<i>distress about halfway down are distinctly audible.</i>) +She's <i>stepping</i> up. (<i>Another interval. The head of a +breathless</i> <span class="smcap">Elderly Lady</span> <i>emerges from the gloom.</i>) +This way, Madam.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Elderly Lady</span> (<i>entering and sinking into the first +plush chair</i>). Oh, <i>dear</i> me, I thought I should <i>never</i> +get to the top! Now <i>why</i> can't you photographers +have your studios on the ground floor? So <i>much</i> +more convenient!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Stip.</span> No doubt, Madam, no doubt. But +there is—ah—a prejudice in the profession in favah +of the roof; possibly the light is considered somewhat +superiah. I thought I understood there was—ah—a +dog?</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">E. L.</span> Oh, he'll be here presently. I +think he saw something in one of the rooms on +the way up that took his fancy, or very likely +he's resting on one of the landing mats,—such +an <i>intelligent</i> dog! I'll call him. Fluffy, Fluffy, +come along, my pet, nearly up now! Mustn't +keep his missis waiting for him. (<i>A very long +pause: presently a small rough-haired terrier lounges +into the studio with an air of proprietorship</i>.) That's +the dog; he's so small, he can't take <i>very</i> long +to do, <i>can</i> he?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Stip.</span> The—ah—precise size of the animal<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[ 17]</a></span> +does not signify, Madam; we do it by an instantaneous +process. The only question is the precise +pose you would prefer. I presume the dog is a +good—ah—rattah?</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">E. L.</span> Really, I've no idea. But he's <i>very</i> +clever at killing bluebottles; he <i>will</i> smash them on +the window-panes.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Stip.</span> (<i>without interest</i>). I see, Madam. We +have a speciality for our combination backgrounds, +and you might like to have him represented on a +country common, in the act of watching a hole in +a bank.</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">E. L.</span> (<i>impressed</i>). For bluebottles?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Stip.</span> For—ah—rats. (<i>By way of concession.</i>) +<i>Or</i> bluebottles, of course, if you prefer it.</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">E. L.</span> I think I would rather have something +more characteristic. He has such a pretty way +of lying on his back with all his paws sticking straight +up in the air. I never saw any <i>other</i> dog do it.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Stip.</span> Precisely. But I doubt whether that +particulah pose would be effective—in a photograph.</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">E. L.</span> You think not? Where <i>has</i> he got +to, now? Oh, <i>do</i> just look at him going round, +examining everything! He <i>quite</i> understands what +he's wanted to do; you've no idea what a clever +dog he is!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[ 18]</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Stip.</span> Ray-ally? How would it do to have +him on a rock in the middle of a salmon stream?</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">E. L.</span> It would make me so uncomfortable +to see it; he has a perfect <i>horror</i> of wetting his +little feet!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Stip.</span> In <i>that</i> case, no doubt—— Then what +do you say to posing him on an ornamental pedestal? +We could introduce a Yorkshire moor, or a view +of Canterbury Cathedral, as a background.</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">E. L.</span> A pedestal seems <i>so</i> suggestive of +a cemetery, doesn't it?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Stip.</span> Then we must try some other position. +(<i>He resigns himself to the commonplace.</i>) Can +the dog—ah—sit up?</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">E. L.</span> Bee-yutifully! Fluffy, come and show +how nicely you can sit up!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Fluff</span> (<i>to himself</i>). Show off for this fellow? +Who pretends he's got rats—and hasn't! Not if +<i>I</i> know it!</p> + +<blockquote><p class="right">[<i>He rolls over on his back with a well-assumed air of +idiotcy</i>.</p></blockquote> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">E. L.</span> (<i>delighted</i>). There, <i>that's</i> the attitude +I told you of. But perhaps it <i>would</i> come out rather +too leggy?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Stip.</span> It is—ah—open to that objection, +certainly, Madam. Perhaps we had better take him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[ 19]</a></span> +on a chair sitting up. (<span class="smcap">Fluff</span> is, <i>with infinite trouble, +prevailed upon to mount an arm-chair, from which he +growls savagely whenever</i> <span class="smcap">Mr. Stippler</span> <i>approaches</i>.) +You will probably be more successful with him +than I, Madam.</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">E. L.</span> I could make him sit up in a <i>moment</i>, +if I had any of his biscuits with me. But I forgot +to bring them.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Stip.</span> There is a confectionah next door. +We could send out a lad for some biscuits. About +how much would you requiah—a quartah of a +pound? <i>He goes to the speaking tube.</i></p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">E. L.</span> He won't eat <i>all</i> those; he's a <i>most</i> +abstemious dog. But they must be <i>sweet</i>, tell them. +(<i>Delay. Arrival of the biscuits. The</i> <span class="smcap">Elderly +Lady</span> <i>holds one up, and</i> <span class="smcap">Fluff</span> <i>leaps, barking frantically, +until he succeeds in snatching it; a man[oe]uvre which he +repeats with each successive biscuit</i>.) Do you know, +I'm afraid he really <i>mustn't</i> have any more—biscuits +always <i>excite</i> him so. Suppose you take him lying +on the chair, much as he is now? (<span class="smcap">Mr. Stippler</span> +<i>attempts to place the dog's paws, and is snapped at</i>.) +Oh, <i>do</i> be careful!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Stip.</span> (<i>heroically</i>). Oh, it's of no consequence, +Madam. I am—ah—<i>accustomed</i> to it.</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">E. L.</span> Oh, yes; but <i>he</i> isn't, you know;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[ 20]</a></span> +so please be <i>very</i> gentle with him! And could +you get him a little water first? I'm sure he's +thirsty. (<span class="smcap">Mr. Stippler</span> <i>brings water in a developing +dish, which</i> <span class="smcap">Fluff</span> <i>empties promptly</i>.) Now he'll be +as <i>good</i>——!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Stip.</span> (<i>after wiping</i> <span class="smcap">Fluff's</span> <i>chin and arranging +his legs</i>). If we can only keep him like that for one +second.</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">E. L.</span> But he ought to have his ears pricked. +(<span class="smcap">Mr. Stippler</span> <i>makes weird noises behind the camera, +resembling demon cats in torture</i>; <span class="smcap">Fluff</span> <i>regards him +with calm contempt</i>.) Oh, and his hair is all in his +eyes, and they're his best feature!</p> + +<blockquote><p class="right">[<span class="smcap">Mr. Stippler</span> <i>attempts to part</i> <span class="smcap">Fluff's</span> <i>fringe; +snarls</i>.</p></blockquote> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Stip.</span> I have not discovered his eyes at +present, Madam; but he appears to have excellent—ah—<i>teeth</i>.</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">E. L.</span> <i>Has</i>n't he! Now, couldn't you catch +him like <i>that</i>?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Stip.</span> <i>(to himself</i>). He's more likely to catch +<i>me</i> like that! (<i>Aloud; as he retreats under a hanging +canopy.</i>) I think we shall get a good one of him +as he is. (<i>Focussing</i>.) Yes, that will do very nicely. +(<i>He puts in the plate, and prepares to release the shutter, +whereupon</i> <span class="smcap">Fluff</span> <i>deliberately rises and presents his tail<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[ 21]</a></span> +to the camera</i>.) I presume you do not desiah a <i>back</i> +view of the dog, Madam!</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 503px;"> +<img src="images/p21.png" width="503" height="600" alt=""What's she got hold of now."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"What's she got hold of now."</span> +</div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[ 22]</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[ 23]</a></span></p><p>The <span class="smcap">E. L.</span> Certainly not! Oh, Fluffy, naughty—naughty! +Now lie down again, like a good dog. +Oh, I'm afraid he's going to sleep!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Stip.</span> If you would kindly take this—ah—toy +in your hand, Madam, it might rouse him a little.</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">E. L.</span> (<i>exhibiting a gutta-percha rat</i>). Here, +Fluffy, Fluffy, <i>here</i>'s a pitty sing! What <i>is</i> it, eh!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Fluff</span> (<i>after opening one eye</i>). The old fool fancies +she's got a rat! Well, she may <i>keep</i> it!</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>He curls himself up again</i>.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Stip.</span> We must try to obtain more—ah—animation +than that.</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>He hands the</i> <span class="smcap">Elderly Lady</span> <i>a jingling toy</i>.</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">E. L.</span> (<i>shaking it vigorously</i>). Fluffy, see +what Missis has got!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Fluff</span> <i>(by a yawn of much eloquence</i>). At <i>her</i> age, +too! Wonderful how she can <i>do</i> it!</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>He closes his eyes wearily.</i></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Stip.</span> Perhaps you may produce a better +effect with this. [<i>He hands her a stuffed stoat.</i></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Fluff</span> (<i>to himself</i>). What's she got hold of <i>now</i>? +Hul-lo! (<i>He rises, and inspects the stoat with interest.</i>) +I'd no idea the old girl was so "varmint"!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Stip.</span> Capital! Now, if he'll stay like that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[ 24]</a></span> +another——(<span class="smcap">Fluff</span> <i>jumps down, and wags his tail +with conscious merit.</i>) Oh, <i>dear</i> me. I never saw +such a dog!</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">E. L.</span> He's tired out, poor doggie, and no +wonder. But he'll be all the <i>quieter</i> for it, <i>won't</i> he? +(<i>After restoring</i> <span class="smcap">Fluff</span> <i>to the chair.</i>) Now, couldn't +you take him panting, like that?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Stip.</span> I must wait till he's got a little less +tongue out, Madam.</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">E. L.</span> Must you? Why? <i>I</i> should have +thought it was a capital opportunity.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Stip.</span> For a physician, Madam, <i>not</i> a photographer. +If I were to take him now the result +would be an—ah—enormous tongue, with a dog in +the remote distance.</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">E. L.</span> And he's putting out more and more +of it! Perhaps he's thirsty again. Here, Fluffy, +water—water! [<i>She produces the developing dish.</i></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Fluff</span> (<i>in barks of unmistakable significance</i>). Look +here, I've had about enough of this tomfoolery. +Let's go. <i>Come</i> on!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Stip.</span> (<i>seconding the motion with relief</i>). I'm +<i>afraid</i> we're not likely to do better with him +to-day. Perhaps if you could look in some othah +afternoon?</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">E. L.</span> Why, we've only been an hour and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[ 25]</a></span> +twenty minutes as yet! But what would be the best +time to bring him?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Stip.</span> I should say the light and the temperatuah +would probably be more favourable by the week +aftah next—(<i>to himself</i>) when I shall be taking my +holiday!</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">E. L.</span> Very well, I'll come then. Oh, Fluffy, +Fluffy, what a silly little dog you are to give all this +trouble!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Fluff</span> (<i>to himself, as he makes a triumphant exit</i>). +Not half so silly as some people think! I <i>must</i> tell +the cat about this; she'll go into fits! I will say +she has a considerable sense of humour—for a cat.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[ 26]</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[ 27]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/3star.png" width="450" height="143" alt="" title="" /></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[ 29]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>IN THE CAUSE OF CHARITY.</h2> + + +<p><i>Mona House, the Town Mansion of the Marquis of Manx, which +has been lent for a Sale of Work in aid of the "Fund for Super-annuated +Skirt-dancers," under the patronage of Royalty and other +distinguished personages</i>.</p> + +<p><i>In the Entrance Hall.</i></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Wylie Dedhead</span> (<i>attempting to +insinuate herself between the barriers</i>). Excuse +me; I only wanted to pop in for a moment, +just to see if a lady friend of mine is in there, +that's <i>all</i>!</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Lady Money-taker</span> (<i>blandly</i>). If you will let +me know your friend's name—?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. W. D.</span> (<i>splendide mendax</i>). She's assisting the +dear Duchess. <i>Now</i>, perhaps, you will allow me to +pass!</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">L. M.</span> Afraid I can't, really. But if you mean +Lady Honor Hyndlegges—<i>she</i> is the only lady at the +Duchess's stall—I could send <i>in</i> for her. Or of +course, if you like to pay half-a-crown—<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[ 30]</a></span>—</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. W. D.</span> (<i>hastily</i>). Thank you, I—I won't disturb +her ladyship. I had no <i>idea</i> there was any +charge for admission, and—(<i>bristling</i>)—allow me to +say I consider such regulations <i>most</i> absurd.</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">L. M.</span> (<i>sweetly, with a half glance at the bowl of +coins on the table</i>). Quite <i>too</i> ridiculous, ain't they? +<i>Good</i> afternoon!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. W. D.</span> (<i>audibly, as she flounces out</i>). If they +suppose <i>I</i>'m going to pay half-a-crown for the +privilege of being <i>fleeced</i>——!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Footman</span> (<i>on steps, sotto voce, to confrère</i>). +"Fleeced"! that's a good 'un, eh? <i>She</i> ain't +brought much wool in with <i>her</i>!</p> + +<p>His <span class="smcap">Confrère</span>. On'y what's stuffed inside of her +ear. [<i>They resume their former impassive dignity.</i></p> + +<p><i>In the Venetian Gallery—where the Bazaar is being held.</i></p> + +<p>A <span class="smcap">Loyal Old Lady</span> (<i>at the top of her voice—to</i> +<span class="smcap">Stall-keeper</span>). Which of 'em's the Princess, my +dear, eh? It's her I paid <i>my</i> money to see.</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Stall-keeper</span> (<i>in a dismayed whisper</i>). Ssh! +Not <i>quite</i> so loud! There—just opposite—petunia +bow in her bonnet—selling kittens.</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">L. O. L.</span> (<i>planting herself on a chair</i>). So <i>that's</i> +her! Well, she <i>is</i> dressed plain—for a Royalty—but +looks <i>pleasant</i> enough. I wouldn't mind taking one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[ 31]</a></span> +o' them kittens off her Royal 'Ighness myself, if they +was going at all reasonable. But there, I expect, the +cats <i>'ere</i> is meat for my masters, so to speak; and +you see, my dear, 'aving the promise of a tortoise-shell +Tom from the lady as keeps the Dairy next door, +whenever——</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>She finds, with surprise, that her confidences are not +encouraged</i>.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Miss St. Leger de Mayne</span> (<i>persuasively to</i> +<span class="smcap">Mrs. Nibbler</span>). Do let me show you some of this +exquisite work, all embroidered entirely by hand, you +see!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Nibbler</span> (<i>edging away</i>). Lovely—<i>quite</i> lovely; +but I think—a—I'll just take a look round before +I——</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Miss de M.</span> If there is any <i>particular</i> thing you +were looking for, perhaps <i>I</i> could——</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. N.</span> (<i>becoming confidential</i>). Well, I <i>did</i> think if +I could come across a nice <i>sideboard-cloth</i>——</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Miss de M.</span> (<i>to herself</i>). What on earth's a sideboard-cloth? +(<i>Aloud.</i>) Why, I've the very <i>thing</i>! +See—all worked in Russian stitch!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. N.</span> (<i>dubiously</i>). I thought they were always +quite plain. And what's that queer sort of flap-thing +for?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Miss de M.</span> Oh, <i>that</i>? That's—a—to cover up the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[ 32]</a></span> +spoons, and forks, and things; quite the latest +fashion, <i>now</i>, you know.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. N.</span> (<i>with self-assertion</i>). I <i>have</i> noticed it at +several dinner parties I've been to in society lately, +certainly. Still I am not sure that——</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Miss de M.</span> I always have them on my <i>own</i> sideboard +now—my husband won't <i>hear</i> of any others.... +Then, I <i>may</i> put this one in paper for you? +fifteen-and-sixpence—thanks <i>so</i> much! (<i>To her +colleague, as</i> Mrs. N. <i>departs</i>). Connie, I've got rid +of that awful nightgown case at <i>last</i>!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Maycup.</span> A—you <i>don't</i> happen to have a +small bag to hold a powder-puff, and so on, you +know?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Miss de M.</span> I <i>had</i> some very pretty ones; but I'm +afraid they're all—oh, no, there's just <i>one</i> left—crimson +velvet and real <i>passementerie</i>. (<i>She produces a +bag</i>). Too trotty for words, isn't it?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Maycup</span> (<i>tacitly admitting its trottiness</i>). But +then—that sort of purse shape——Could I get a +small pair of folding curling-irons into it, should you +think, at a pinch?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Miss de M.</span> You could get <i>anything</i> into it—at a +pinch. I've one myself which will hold—well, I can't +tell you what it <i>won't</i> hold! Half-a-guinea—so <i>many</i> +thanks! (<i>To herself, as</i> <span class="smcap">Mrs. Maycup</span> <i>carries off her</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[ 33]</a></span> +<i>bag</i>.) What <i>would</i> the vicar's wife say if she knew I'd +sold her church collection bag for <i>that</i>! But it's all +in a good cause! (<i>An</i> <span class="smcap">Elderly Lady</span> <i>comes up</i>.) May +I show you some of these——?</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Elderly Lady</span>. Well, I was wondering if +you had such a thing as a good warm pair of sleeping +socks; because, these bitter nights, I do find I suffer +so from cold in my feet.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Miss de M.</span> (<i>with effusion</i>). Ah, then I can <i>feel</i> for +you—so do <i>I</i>! At least, I <i>used</i> to before I tried—(<i>To +herself.</i>) Where <i>is</i> that pair of thick woollen +driving-gloves? Ah, <i>I</i> know. (<i>Aloud.</i>)—these. I've +found them <i>such</i> a comfort!</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">E. L.</span> (<i>suspiciously</i>). They have rather a +queer——And then they are divided at the ends, too.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Miss de M.</span> Oh, haven't you seen <i>those</i> before? +Doctors consider them so much healthier, don't you +know.</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">E. L.</span> I daresay they are, my dear. But +aren't the—(<i>with delicate embarrassment</i>)—the separated +parts rather long?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Miss de M.</span> Do you <i>think</i> so? They allow so much +more freedom, you see; and then, of course, they'll +shrink.</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">E. L.</span> That's true, my dear. Well, I'll take +a pair, as you recommend them so strongly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[ 34]</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Miss de M.</span> I'm quite <i>sure</i> you'll never regret +it! (<i>To herself, as the</i> <span class="smcap">E. L.</span> <i>retires, charmed</i>.) I'd give +<i>anything</i> to see the poor old thing trying to put +them on!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Miss Mimosa Tendrill</span> (<i>to herself</i>). I do so <i>hate</i> +hawking this horrid old thing about! (<i>Forlornly, to</i> +<span class="smcap">Mrs. Allbutt-Innett</span>.) I—I beg your pardon; +but <i>will</i> you give me ten-and-sixpence for this +lovely work-basket?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Allbutt-Innett</span>. My good girl, let me tell +you I've been pestered to buy that identical basket +at every bazaar I've set foot in for the last twelve-month, +and how you can have the face to ask ten-and-six +for it—you must think I've more money +than wit!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Miss Tendr.</span> (<i>abashed</i>). Well—<i>eighteenpence</i> then? +(<i>To herself, as</i> Mrs. <span class="smcap">A. I.</span> <i>closes promptly</i>.) There, I've +sold <i>something</i>, anyhow!</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Hon. Diana D'Autenbas</span> (<i>to herself</i>). It's +rather fun selling at a Bazaar; one can let oneself <i>go</i> +so much more! (<i>To the first man she meets.</i>) I'm sure +you'll buy one of my buttonholes—now <i>won't</i> you? +If I fasten it in for you myself?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Cadney Rowser</span>. A button'ole, eh? Think +I'm not classy enough as I am?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Miss D'Aut.</span> I don't think <i>anyone</i> could accuse<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[ 35]</a></span> +you of not being "<i>classy</i>;" still a flower would just +give the finishing-touch.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. C. R.</span> (<i>modestly</i>). Rats!—if you'll pass the +reedom. But you've such a way with you that—there—'ow +much.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Miss D'Aut.</span> Only five shillings. Nothing to <i>you</i>!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. C. R.</span> Five bob? You're a artful girl, <i>you</i> are! +"<i>Fang de Seakale</i>," and no error! But I'm <i>on</i> it; +it's worth the money to 'ave a flower fastened in by +such fair 'ands. I won't 'owl—not even if you <i>do</i> run +a pin into me.... What? You ain't done a'ready! +No <i>'urry</i>, yer know.... 'Ere, won't you come along +to the refreshment-stall, and 'ave a little something +at my expense. Do!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Miss D'Aut.</span> I think you must imagine you are +talking to a barmaid!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. C. R.</span> (<i>with gallantry</i>). I on'y wish barmaids +was 'alf as pleasant and sociable as <i>you</i>, Miss. But +they're a precious stuck-up lot, <i>I</i> can assure you!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Miss D'Aut.</span> (<i>to herself as she escapes</i>). I suppose +one ought to put up with this sort of thing—for a +charity!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Babbicombe</span> (<i>at the Toy Stall, to the Belle of +the Bazaar, aged three-and-a-half</i>). You <i>perfect</i> duck! +You're simply too <i>sweet</i>! I <i>must</i> find you something. +(<i>She tempers generosity with discretion by presenting</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[ 36]</a></span> +<i>her with a small pair of knitted doll's socks</i>.) There, +darling!</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Belle's Mother</span>. What do you say to the +kind lady <i>now</i>, Marjory?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Marjory</span> (<i>a practical young person, to the donor</i>). +Now div me a dolly to put ve socks on.</p> + +<p class="right">[<span class="smcap">Mrs. B.</span> <i>finds herself obliged to repair this omission</i>.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">A Young Lady Raffler</span> (<i>to a</i> <span class="smcap">Young Man</span>). Do +take a ticket for this charmin' <i>sachet</i>. Only half-a-crown!</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Young Man</span>. Delighted! If you'll put in for +this <i>splendid</i> cigar cabinet. Two shillin's!</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>The</i> <span class="smcap">Young Lady</span> <i>realises that she has encountered +an Augur, and passes on</i>.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Miss de. M.</span> (<i>to</i> <span class="smcap">Mr. Isthmian Gatwick</span>). Can't +I tempt you with this tea-cosy? It's so absurdly +cheap!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Isthmian Gatwick</span> (<i>with dignity</i>). A-thanks; +I think not. Never <i>take</i> tea, don't you know.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Miss de M.</span> (<i>with her characteristic adaptability).</i> +Really? No more do <i>I</i>. But you <i>could</i> use it as a +<i>smoking-cap</i>, you know. <i>I</i> always——</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Recollects herself, and breaks off in confusion</i>.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[ 37]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 478px;"> +<img src="images/p37.png" width="478" height="600" alt=""You have lofty ambitions and the artistic temperament."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"You have lofty ambitions and the artistic temperament."</span> +</div><p> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[ 38]</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[ 39]</a></span></p><p><span class="smcap">Miss Ophelia Palmer</span> (<i>in the "Wizard's Cave"—to</i> +<span class="smcap">Mr. Cadney Rowser</span>). Yes, your hand indicates +an intensely refined and spiritual nature; you are +perhaps a <i>little</i> too indifferent to your personal comfort +where that of others is concerned; sensitive—too +much so for your own happiness, perhaps—you +feel things keenly when you <i>do</i> feel them. You have +lofty ambitions and the artistic temperament—seven-and-sixpence, +please.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. C. R.</span> (<i>impressed</i>). Well, Miss, if you can read +all that for seven-and-six on the palm of my 'and, +I wonder what you <i>wouldn't</i> see for 'alf a quid on +the sole o' my boot!</p> + +<p class="right">[<span class="smcap">Miss P.'s</span> <i>belief in Chiromancy sustains a severe +shock</i>.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Bobbie Patterson</span> (<i>outside tent, as Showman</i>). +This way to the Marvellous Jumping Bean from +Mexico! Threepence!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Voice from Tent</span>. Bobbie! Stop! The Bean's +<i>lost</i>! Lady Honor's horrid Thought-reading Poodle +has just stepped in and swallowed it.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Bobbie</span>. Ladies and Gentlemen, owing to sudden +domestic calamity, the Bean has been unavoidably +compelled to retire, and will be unable to appear +till further notice.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Miss Smylie</span> (<i>to</i> <span class="smcap">Mr. Otis Barleywater</span>, <i>who—in +his own set—is considered "almost equal to Corney +Grain"</i>). I thought you were giving your entertainment +in the library? Why <i>aren't</i> you?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[ 40]</a></span> +<span class="smcap">Mr. Otis Barleywater</span> (<i>in a tone of injury</i>). Why? +Because I can't give my imitations of Arthur Roberts +and Yvette Guilbert with anything <i>like</i> the requisite +"go," unless I get a better audience than three +programme-sellers, all under ten, and the cloak-room +maid—<i>that's</i> why!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Allbutt-Innett</span> (<i>as she leaves, for the +benefit of bystanders</i>). I must say, the house is <i>most</i> +disappointing—not at <i>all</i> what I should expect a +<i>Marquis</i> to live in. Why, my <i>own</i> reception-rooms +are very nearly as large, and decorated in a much +more modern style!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Bobbie Patterson</span> (<i>to a</i> "<span class="smcap">Doosid Good-natured +Fellow</span>, <i>who doesn't care</i> what <i>he does," and whom he +has just discovered inside a case got up to represent an +automatic sweetmeat machine</i>). Why, my dear old +<i>chap</i>! No idea it was <i>you</i> inside that thing! Enjoying +yourself in there, eh?</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Doosid Good-natured Fellow</span> (<i>fluffily, from +the interior</i>). Enjoying myself! With the beastly +pennies droppin' down into my boots, and the kids +howlin' because all the confounded chocolates have +worked up between my shoulder-blades, and I can't +shake 'em out of the slit in my arm? I'd like to +see <i>you</i> tryin' it!</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">L. O. L.</span> (<i>to a stranger, who is approaching the</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[ 41]</a></span> +<i>Princess's stall</i>). 'Ere, Mister, where are your manners? +'Ats off in the presence o' Royalty!</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>She pokes him in the back with her umbrella; the +stranger turns, smiles slightly, and passes on.</i></p> + +<p>A <span class="smcap">Well-informed Bystander</span>. You are evidently +unaware, Madam, that the gentleman you have just +addressed is His Serene Highness the Prince of +Potsdam!</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">L. O. L.</span> (<i>aghast</i>). Her '<i>usban</i>'! And me a +jobbin' of 'im with my umbrella! 'Ere, let me get +out!</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>She staggers out, in deadly terror of being sent to +the Tower on the spot.</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[ 42]</a></span></p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[ 43]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/3star.png" width="450" height="143" alt="" title="" /> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[ 45]</a></span> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>THE CLASSICAL SCHOLAR</h2> +<h2>IN REDUCED CIRCUMSTANCES.</h2> + + +You are, let us say, a young professional man in +chambers or offices, incompetently guarded by +an idiot boy whom you dare not trust with the +responsibility of denying you to strangers. You hear +a knock at your outer door, followed by conversation +in the clerk's room, after which your salaried +idiot announces "A Gentleman to see you." Enter a +dingy and dismal little man in threadbare black, who +advances with an air of mysterious importance. "I +think," he begins, "I 'ave the pleasure of speaking to +Mr. ——" (<i>whatever your name is</i>.) "I take the +liberty of calling, Mr. ——, to consult you on a matter +of the utmost importance, and I shall feel personally +obliged if you will take precautions for our conversation +not being over'eard." + +He looks grubby for a client—but appearances are +deceptive, and you offer him a seat, assuring him that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[ 46]</a></span> +he may speak with perfect security—whereupon he +proceeds in a lowered voice. + +"The story I am about to reveal," he says, smoothing +a slimy tall hat, "is of a nature so revolting, so +'orrible in its details, that I can 'ardly bring myself to +speak it to any 'uming ear!" (<i>Here you will probably +prepare to take notes.</i>) "You see before you one who +is of 'igh birth but low circumstances!" (<i>At this you +give him up as a possible client, but a mixture of +diffidence and curiosity compels you to listen.</i>) "Yes, +Sir, I was '<i> fruges consumeary nati</i>.' I 'ave received +a neducation more befitting a dook than my present +condition. Nursed in the lap of haffluence, I was +trained to fill the lofty position which was to have +been my lot. But, '<i>necessitas</i>,' Sir, as you are aware, +'<i>necessitas non abat lejim</i>,' and such I found it. While +still receiving a classical education at Cambridge +College—(praps you are yourself an alumbus of +<i>Halma Mater</i>? No? I apologise, Sir, I'm sure)—but +while preparing to take my honorary degree, my +father suddenly enounced the horful news that he +was a bankrup'. Stript of all we possessed, we were +turned out of our sumchuous 'ome upon the cold +world, my father's grey 'airs were brought down +sorrowing to sangwidge boards, though he is still +sangwin of paying off his creditors in time out of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[ 47]</a></span> +what he can put by from his scanty hearnings. My +poor dear Mother—a lady born and bred—sank by +slow degrees to a cawfy-stall, which is now morgidged +to the 'ilt, and my eldest Sister, a lovely and accomplished +gairl, was 'artlessly thrown over by a nobleman, +to 'oom she was engaged to be married, before +our reverses overtook us. His name the delikit +hinstinks of a gentleman will forbid you to inquire, +as likewise me to mention—enough to 'int that he +occupies a prominent position amongst the hupper +circles of Society, and is frequently to be met with +in the papers. His faithlessness preyed on my +Sister's mind to that degree, that she is now in +the Asylum, a nopeless maniac! My honely Brother +was withdrawn from 'Arrow, and now 'as the +'yumiliation of selling penny toys on the kerbstone +to his former playfellers. '<i>Tantee nannymice salestibus +hirĉ</i>,' indeed, Sir! + +"But you ask what befell myself." (<i>You have not—for +the simple reason that, even if you desired information, +he has given you no chance, as yet, of putting in +a word.</i>) "Ah, Sir, there you 'ave me on a tender +point. '<i>Hakew tetigisti</i>,' if I may venture once +more upon a scholarly illusion. But I 'ave resolved +to conceal nothing—and you shall 'ear. For a time I +obtained employment as Seckertary and Imanuensis<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[ 48]</a></span> +to a young baranit, 'oo had been the bosom friend +of my College days. He would, I know, have used +his influence with Goverment to obtain me a lucritive +post; but, alas, ere he could do so, unaired sheets, +coupled with deliket 'elth, took him off premature, +and I was once more thrown on my own resources. + +"In conclusion, Sir, you 'ave doubtless done me +the hinjustice to expect, from all I 'ave said, that +my hobjick in obtaining this interview was to ask +you for pecuniary assistance?" (<i>Here you reflect +with remorse that a suspicion to this effect has certainly +crossed your mind.</i>) "Nothing of the sort or kind, +I do assure you. A little 'uming sympathy, the +relief of pouring out my sorrers upon a feeling 'art, +a few kind encouraging words, is all I arsk, and that, +Sir, the first sight of your kind friendly face told me +I should not lack. Pore as I am, I still 'ave my +pride, the pride of a English gentleman, and if you +was to orfer me a sovereign as you sit there, I should +fling it in the fire—ah, I <i>should</i>—'urt and indignant +at the hinsult!" (<i>Here you will probably assure him +that you have no intention of outraging his feelings in +any such manner.</i>) "No, and <i>why</i>, Sir? Because +you 'ave a gentlemanly 'art, and if you were to make +sech a orfer, you would do it in a kindly Christian +spirit which would rob it of all offence. There's not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[ 49]</a></span> +many as I would bring myself to accept a paltry +sovereign from, but I dunno—I might from one like +yourself—I <i>might</i>. <i>Ord hignara mali, miseris succur-reary +disco</i>, as the old philosopher says. You 'ave +that kind of <i>way</i> with you." (<i>You mildly intimate that +he is mistaken here, and take the opportunity of touching +the bell</i>.) "No, Sir, don't be untrue to your better +himpulses. '<i>Ave</i> a feelin 'art, Sir! Don't send me +away, after allowing me to waste my time 'ere—which +is of value <i>to me</i>, let me tell yer, whatever +<i>yours</i> is!—like this!.... Well, well, there's 'ard +people in this world? I'm <i>going</i>, Sir ... I 'ave +sufficient dignity to take a 'int.... You 'aven't got +even a trifle to spare an old University Scholar in +redooced circumstances then?... Ah, it's easy to +see you ain't been at a University yourself—you +ain't got the <i>hair</i> of it! Farewell, Sir, and may +your lot in life be 'appier than——All right, don't +<i>hexcite</i> yourself. I've bin mistook in yer, that's all. +I thought you was as soft-edded a young mug as you +look. Open that door, will yer; I want to get out +of this 'ole!" + +Here he leaves you with every indication of disgust +and disappointment, and you will probably +hear him indulging in unclassical vituperation on +the landing. + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[ 51]</a></span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/3star.png" width="450" height="143" alt="" title="" /></div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[ 53]</a></span> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>RUS IN URBE.</h2> + +<h3>(<span class="smcap">A Sketch in Regent's Park.</span>)</h3> + + +<i>A railed-in corner of the Park. <span class="smcap">Time</span>—About 7 p.m. Inside +the enclosure three shepherds are engaged in shearing the park +sheep. The first shepherd has just thrown his patient on its +back, gripped its shoulders between his knees, and tucked its +head, as a tiresome and obstructive excrescence, neatly away +under one of his arms, while he reaches for the shears. The +second is straddled across his animal, which is lying with its +hind legs hobbled on a low stage under an elm, in a state of +stoical resignation, as its fleece is deftly nipped from under its +chin. The third operator has almost finished his sheep, which, as +its dark grey fleece slips away from its pink-and-white neck and +shoulders, suggests a rather décolletée dowager in the act of +removing her theatre-cloak in the stalls. Sheep, already shorn, lie +and pant in shame and shivering bewilderment, one or two nibble +the blades of grass, as if to assure themselves that that resource is +still open to them. Sheep whose turn is still to come are penned up +at the back, and look on, scandalised, but with an air which seems +to express that their own superior respectability is a sufficient +protection against similar outrage. The shearers appear to take a +humorous view of their task, and are watched by a crowd which +has collected round the railings, with an agreeable assurance that +they are not expected to contribute towards the entertainment.</i> + +<span class="smcap">First Work-girl</span> (<i>edging up</i>). Whatever's +goin' on inside 'ere? (<i>After looking—disappointed.</i>) +Why they ain't on'y a lot o'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[ 54]</a></span> +sheep! I thought it was Reciters, or somethink o' +that. + +<span class="smcap">Second Work-girl</span> (<i>with irony</i>). They <i>look</i> +like Reciters, don't they! It do seem a shime +cuttin' them poor things as close as convicks, +that it do! + +<span class="smcap">First W.-g.</span> They don't mind it partickler; +you'd 'ear 'em 'oller fast enough if they did. + +<span class="smcap">Second W.-g.</span> I expeck they feel so redic'lus, +they 'aven't the 'art to 'oller. + +<span class="smcap">Lucilla</span> (<i>to <span class="smcap">George</span></i>). Do look at that one +going up and sniffing at the bundle of fleeces, +trying to find out which is his. <i>Isn't</i> it +pathetic? + +<span class="smcap">George.</span> H'm—puts one in mind of a shy man +in a cloak-room after a party, saying feebly, "I +rather think that's <i>my</i> coat, and there's a crush hat +of mine <i>somewhere</i> about," eh? + +<span class="smcap">Lucilla</span> (<i>who is always wishing that <span class="smcap">George</span> would +talk more sensibly</i>). Considering that sheep don't +<i>wear</i> crush hats, I hardly see how—— + +<p><span class="smcap">George.</span> My dear, I bow to your superior knowledge +of natural history. Now you mention it, I +believe it <i>is</i> unusual. But I merely meant to suggest +a general resemblance.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[ 55]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 416px;"> +<img src="images/p55.png" width="416" height="600" alt=""They ain't on'y a lot o' sheep! I thought it was Reciters, +or somethink o' that."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"They ain't on'y a lot o' sheep! I thought it was Reciters, +or somethink o' that."</span> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[ 57]</a></span></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lucilla</span> (<i>reprovingly</i>). I know. And you've got +into such a silly habit of seeing resemblances in +things that are perfectly different. I'm sure I'm +<i>always</i> telling you of it.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">George.</span> You are, my dear. But I'm not +nearly so bad as I <i>was</i>. Think of all the things +I used to compare <i>you</i> to before we were +married!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Sarah Jane</span> (<i>to her <span class="smcap">Trooper</span></i>). I could stand an' +look at 'em hours, I could. I was born and bred in +the country, and it do seem to bring back my old +'ome that plain.</p> + +<p>Her <span class="smcap">Trooper</span>. I'm country bred too, though +yer mightn't think it. But there ain't much in +sheep shearin' to <i>my</i> mind. If it was <i>pig killin'</i>, +now!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Sarah Jane.</span> Ah, that's along o' your bein' in the +milingtary, I expect.</p> + +<p>Her <span class="smcap">Trooper</span>. No, it ain't that. It's the +reckerlections it 'ud call up. I 'ad a 'ole uncle +a pork-butcher, d'ye see, and (<i>with sentiment</i>) +many and many a 'appy hour I've spent as a +boy—— [<i>He indulges in tender reminiscences.</i></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">A Young Clerk</span> (<i>who belongs to a Literary Society, +to his <span class="smcap">Fiancée</span></i>). It has a wonderfully rural look—quite +like a scene in 'Ardy, isn't it?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[ 58]</a></span></p> + +<p>His <span class="smcap">Fiancée</span> (<i>who has "no time for reading rubbish"</i>). +I daresay; though I've never been there +myself.</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Clerk</span>. Never been? Oh, I see. <i>You</i> +thought I said <i>Arden</i>—the Forest of Arden, in +Shakspeare, didn't you?</p> + +<p>His <span class="smcap">Fiancée</span>. Isn't that where Mr. Gladstone +lives, and goes cutting down the trees in?</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Clerk</span>. No; At least it's spelt different. +But it was 'Ardy <i>I</i> meant. <i>Far from the Madding +Crowd</i>, you know.</p> + +<p>His <span class="smcap">Fiancée</span> (<i>with a vague view to the next Bank +Holiday</i>). What do you <i>call</i> "far"—farther than +<i>Margate</i>?</p> + +<blockquote><p class="right">[<i>Her companion has a sense of discouragement.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p>An <span class="smcap">Artisan</span> (<i>to a neighbour in broadcloth and a white +choker</i>). It's wonderful 'ow they can go so close +without 'urtin' of 'em, ain't it?</p> + +<p>His <span class="smcap">Neighbour</span> (<i>with unction</i>). Ah, my friend, it +on'y shows 'ow true it is that 'eving tempers the +shears for the shorn lambs!</p> + +<p>A <span class="smcap">Governess</span> (<i>instructively, to her charge</i>). Don't +you think you ought to be very grateful to that poor +sheep, Ethel, for giving up her nice warm fleece on +purpose to make a frock for <i>you</i>?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[ 59]</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Ethel</span> (<i>doubtfully</i>). Y—yes, Miss Mavor. But +(<i>with a fear that some reciprocity may be expected of +her</i>) she's too big for any of my <i>best</i> frocks, <i>isn't</i> +she?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">First Urchin</span> (<i>perched on the railings</i>). Ain't that +'un a-kicking? 'E don't like 'aving <i>'is</i> 'air cut, 'e +don't, no more shouldn't I if it was me.... 'E's +bin an' upset 'is bloke on the grorss, now! Look at +the bloke layin' there larfin'.... 'E's ketched 'im +agin now. See 'im landin' 'im a smack on the 'ed; +that'll learn 'im to stay quiet, eh? 'E's strong, +ain't 'e?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Second Urchin.</span> Rams is the wust, though, +'cause they got 'orns, rams 'ave.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">First Urch.</span> What, same as goats?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Second Urch.</span> (<i>emphatically</i>). Yuss! Big crooked +'uns. And runs at yer, they do.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">First Urch.</span> I wish they was rams in 'ere. See +all them sheep waitin' to be done. I wonder what +they're finkin' of.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Second Urch.</span> Ga-arn! They <i>don't</i> fink, sheep +don't.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">First Urch.</span> Not o' anyfink?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Second Urch.</span> Na-ow! They ain't got nuffink to +fink <i>about</i>, sheep ain't.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">First Urch.</span> I lay they <i>do</i> fink, 'orf and on.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[ 60]</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Second Urch.</span> Well, I lay <i>you</i> never see 'em +doin' of it!</p> + +<blockquote><p class="right">[<i>And so on. The first Shepherd disrobes his sheep, +and dismisses it with a disrespectful spank. +After which he proceeds to refresh himself from +a brown jar, and hands it to his comrades. +The spectators look on with deeper interest, and +discuss the chances of the liquid being beer, +cider, or cold tea, as the scene closes.</i></p></blockquote><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[ 61]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/3star.png" width="450" height="143" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CATCHING THE EARLY BOAT.</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>In Bed; At the Highland Hotel, Oban.</i></p> + +<p>What an extraordinary thing is the mechanism +of the human mind! Went to sleep last +night impressed with vital importance of +waking at six, to catch early steamer to Gairloch. +And here I am—broad awake—at exactly 5.55! Is it +automatic action, or what? Like setting clockwork +for explosive machine. When the time comes, I +blow up—I mean, <i>get</i> up. Think out this simile—rather +a good one.... Need not have been so particular +in telling Boots to call me, after all. Shall I +get up <i>before</i> he comes? He'll be rather surprised +when he knocks at the door, and hears me singing +inside like a lark. But, on reflection, isn't it rather +<i>petty</i> to wish to astonish an hotel Boots? And why +on earth should I get up myself, when I've tipped +another fellow to get me up? But suppose he forgets +to call me. I've no right, as yet, to <i>assume</i> that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[ 64]</a></span> +he will. To get up now would argue want of confidence +in him—might hurt his feelings. I will give +him another five minutes, poor fellow....</p> + +<p><i>Getting up.</i>—No actual necessity to get up yet, +but, to make assurance doubly—something or other, +forget what—I will ... I do. Portmanteau rather +refractory; retreats under bed—quite ten minutes +before I can coax it out.... When I have, it won't +let me pack it. That's the worst of this breed of +brown portmanteaus—they're always nasty-tempered. +However, I am getting a few things into it +now, by degrees. Very annoying—as fast as I put +them in, this confounded portmanteau shoots them +out again! If I've put in that pair of red and white +striped pyjamas once, I've done it twenty times—and +they always come twisting and rolling out of +the back, somehow. Fortunate I left myself ample +time.</p> + +<p>Man next door to me is running it rather fine. +<i>He</i> has to catch the boat, too, and he's not up yet! +Hear the Boots hammering away at his door. How +<i>can</i> a fellow, just for the sake of a few more minutes +in bed—which he won't even know he's <i>had</i>!—go +and risk losing his steamer in that way? I'll do him +a good turn—knock at the wall myself. "Hi! get +up, you lazy beggar. Look sharp—you'll be late!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[ 65]</a></span> +He thanks me, in a muffled tone, through the wall. +He is a remarkably quick dresser, he tells me—it +won't take him thirty-five seconds to pack, dress, +pay his bill, and get on board. If that's the case, +I don't see why <i>I</i> should hurry. I've got much +more than that <i>already</i>.</p> + +<p><i>At the Quay.</i>—People in Oban stare a good deal. +Can't quite make out reason, unless they're surprised +to find me up so early. Explain that I got +up without having even been called. Oban populace +mildly surprised, and offer me neckties—<i>Why?</i></p> + +<p>Fine steamer this; has a paddle-wheel at <i>both</i> +ends—"because," the Captain explains, "she has +not only to <i>go</i> to Gairloch—but come back as well."</p> + +<p>First-rate navigator, the Captain; he has written +my weight, the date of my last birthday, and the +number of the house I live in, down in a sort of +ledger he keeps. He does this with all his passengers, +he tells me, reduces the figures to logarithms, +and works out the ship's course in decimals. No +idea there was so much science in modern seamanship.</p> + +<p><i>On Board.</i>—Great advantage of being so early is +that you can breakfast quietly on deck before starting. +Have mine on bridge of steamer, under +awning; everything very good—ham-méringues<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[ 66]</a></span> +<i>excellent</i>. No coffee, but, instead, a capital brand +of dry, sparkling marmalade, served, sailor-fashion, +in small pomatum-pots.</p> + +<p>What a small world we live in! Of all people in +the world, who should be sitting next to me but my +Aunt Maria! I was always under the impression +that she had died in my infancy. Don't like to +mention this, because if I am <i>wrong</i>, she might be +offended. But if she <i>did</i> die when I was a child, +she ought to be a much older woman than she looks. +I <i>do</i> tell her this—because it is really a compliment.</p> + +<p>My Aunt, evidently an experienced traveller, never +travels, she informs me, without a pair of globes and +a lawn-mower. She offers, very kindly, to lend me +the Celestial globe, if the weather is at all windy. +This is behaving <i>like</i> an Aunt!</p> + +<p>We are taking in live-stock; curious-looking +creatures, like spotted pug-dogs (only bigger and +woollier, of course) and without horns. Somebody +leaning over the rail next to me (I <i>think</i> he is the +Public Prosecutor, but am not quite sure), tells me +they are "Scotch Shortbreads." Agreeable man, +but rather given to staring.</p> + +<p>Didn't observe it before, but my Aunt is really +amazingly like Mr. Gladstone. Ask her to explain +this. She is much distressed that I have noticed it;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[ 67]</a></span> +says she has felt it coming on for some time; it is +not, as she justly complains, as if she took any +interest in politics either. She has consulted every +doctor in London, and they all tell her it is simply +weakness, and she will outgrow it with care. Singular +case—must find out (delicately) whether it's +catching.</p> + +<p>We ought to be starting soon; feel quite fresh and +lively, in spite of having got up so early. Mention +this to Captain. Wish he and the Public Prosecutor +wouldn't stare at me so. Just as if there was +something singular in my appearance!</p> + +<p>They're embarking my portmanteau now. Knew +they would have a lively time of it! It takes at +least four sailors, in kilts, to manage it. Ought I to +step ashore and quiet it down? Stay where I am. +Don't know why, but feel a little afraid of it when +it's like this. Shall exchange it for a quiet hand-bag +when I get home.</p> + +<p>Captain busy hammering at a hole in the funnel—dangerous +place to spring a leak in—hope he is +making it water-tight. The hammering reminds me +of that poor devil in the bedroom next to mine at +the hotel. <i>He</i> won't catch the boat now—he <i>can't</i>! +My Aunt (who has left off looking like Mr. Gladstone) +asks me why I am laughing. I tell her about<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[ 68]</a></span> +that unfortunate man and his "thirty-five seconds." +She screams with laughter. Very humorous woman, +my Aunt.</p> + +<p>Deck crowded with passengers now: all pointing +and staring ... at whom? Ask Aunt Maria. She +declines to tell me: says, severely, that "If I don't +know, I ought to."</p> + +<p>Great Heavens! It's at <i>me</i> they're staring! And +no wonder—in the hurry I was in, I must have +packed <i>everything</i> up!... I've come away just as +I was! <i>Now</i> I understand why someone offered me +a necktie. Where shall I go and hide myself? +Shall I ever persuade that beast of a portmanteau +to give me out one or two things to put on—because +I really <i>can't</i> go about like this! Captain +still hammering at funnel—but he can't wake that +sleepy-headed idiot in the next room. "Louder—knock +<i>louder</i>, or the boat will go without him! Tell +him there isn't another for two days. He's said +good-bye to everybody he knows at Oban—he will +look such an ass if he doesn't go, after all!"... +Not the least use! Wonder what his name is. My +Aunt says <i>she</i> knows, only she won't tell me—she'll +whisper it, as a great secret. She is just about to +disclose the name, which, somehow, I am extremely +curious to know—when ...<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[ 69]</a></span></p> + +<p>Where am I? Haven't they got that unhappy +fellow up <i>yet</i>? Why the dickens are they knocking +at <i>my</i> door? I've been on board the steamer for +hours, I tell you? Eh? <i>what?</i> Five minutes +to eight! And the Gairloch boat? "Sailed at +usual time—seven. Tried to make you hear—but +couldn't."... Confound it all! Good mind not +to get up all day—now!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[ 70]</a></span></p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[ 71]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/3star.png" width="450" height="143" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>SOCIETY'S NEXT CRAZE.</h2> + +<h3>(<span class="smcap">As Foreseen by Mr. Punch's Second-sighted +Clairvoyant.</span>)</h3> + + +<p><i>It is the summer of 189-. The scene is a road skirting +Victoria Park, Bethnal Green, which Society's leaders have +recently discovered and appointed as the rendez-vous for the +Season, and where it is now the correct thing for all really smart +people to indulge, between certain prescribed hours, in sports and +pastimes that have hitherto been more characteristic of the masses +than the classes. The only permissible mount now is the donkey, +which must be ridden close to the tail, and referred to as a "moke." +A crowd of well-turned-out spectators arrives from the West End +every morning about eleven to watch the brilliant parade of +"Mokestrians" (as the Society journalist will already have decided +to call them). Some drive slowly up and down on coster-barrows, +attended by cockaded and disgusted grooms. About twelve, they +break up into light luncheon parties; after which they play +democratic games for half an hour or so, and drive home on drags.</i></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Woodby-Innett</span> (<i>to the <span class="smcap">Donkey +Proprietor</span></i>). Kept a moke for me? I +told you I should be wantin' one every +mornin' now.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[ 74]</a></span></p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Donkey Proprietor</span> (<i>after consulting engagement +book</i>). I've not got it down on my list, Sir. +Very sorry, but the Countess of Cumberback has just +booked the last for the 'ole of this week. Might let +you 'ave one by-and-by, if Sir Hascot Goodwood +brings his in punctual, but I can't promise it.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Woodby-Inn.</span> That's no good; no point in +ridin' after the right time. (<i>To himself, as he turns +away.</i>) Nuisance! Not that I'm so keen about a +moke. Not a patch on a bike!—though it don't +do to say so. Only if I'd known this, I'd have turned +up in a tall hat and frock coat; and then I could +have taken a turn on the steam-circus. Wonder +if it would be any sort of form shyin' at cocoa-nuts in +tweeds and a straw hat. Must ask some chap who +knows. More puzzlin' what to put on this year than +ever!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Lady Ranela Hurlingham</span> (<i>breathlessly to <span class="smcap">Donkey +Proprietor</span></i>). That's mine, isn't it? Will you please +put me up, and <i>promise</i> me you'll keep close behind +and make him run. (<i>Suppliantly.</i>) You will, <i>won't</i> you?</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Donkey Proprietor</span> (<i>with a due sense of his +own value</i>). Well, I dessay I can come along +presently, Lady 'Urlingham, and fetch 'im a whack +or two; jest now I can't, having engaged to come +and 'old the Marshiness of 'Ammercloth on <i>'er</i> moke;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[ 75]</a></span> +but there, you orter be able to git along well enough +by yourself now—<i>you</i> ought!</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 474px"> +<img src="images/p75.png" width="474" height="600" alt=""Mokestrians."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"Mokestrians."</span> +</div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[ 76]</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[ 77]</a></span></p><p><span class="smcap">Captain Sonbyrne</span> (<i>just home on leave from India—to +<span class="smcap">Mrs. Chesham-Lowndes</span></i>). Rather an odd sort +of idea this—I mean, coming all the way out here to +ride a lot of donkeys, eh?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Chesham-Lowndes.</span> It used to be rather +amusing a month ago, before they all got used +to riding so near the tail; but now they're all so good +at it, don't you know.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Capt. Sonb.</span> I went down to Battersea Park +yesterday to see the bicyclists. Not a soul there, +give you my word!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. C.-L.</span> No; there <i>wouldn't</i> be <i>this</i> season. +You see, all sorts and conditions of people began to +take it up, and it got too fearfully common. And +now moke-riding has quite cut it out.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Capt. Sonb.</span> But why ride donkeys when you +can get gees?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. C.-L.</span> Oh, well, they're democratic, and +cheap, and all that, don't you know. And one really +can't be <i>seen</i> on a horse this year—in town, at least. +In the country it don't matter so much.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">First Mokestrian</span> (<i>to second ditto</i>). Hullo, old +chap, so <i>you</i>'ve taken to a moke at last, eh? How +are you gettin' on?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[ 78]</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Second Mokestrian.</span> Pretty well. I can sit on +his tail all right now, but I can't get into the way +of keepin' my heels off the ground yet, it's so beastly +difficult.</p> + +<p><i>Fragments from</i> <span class="smcap">Spectators</span>. That's rather a +smart barrow Lady Barinrayne's drivin' to-day.... +Who's the fellow with her, with the paper feather in +his pot-hat? Bad style, <i>I</i> call it.... That's Lord +Freddy Fugleman—best dressed man in London. +You'll see everybody turnin' up in a paper feather +in a day or two.... Lot of men seem to be +using a short clay as a cigarette-holder now, don't +they?... Yes, Roddie Rippingill introduced +the idea last week, and it seems to have caught +on. [<i>&c.</i>, <i>&c.</i>]</p> + + +<p><i>After Luncheon; at the Steam-Circus and other Sports.</i></p> + +<p><i>Scraps of Small-talk.</i> No end sorry, Lady +Gwendolen; been tryin' to get you a scent-squirt +everywhere; but they're all gone; such a run on 'em +for Ascot, don't you know.... Thanks; it doesn't +matter; only dear Lady Buckram has just thrown +some red ochre down the back of my neck, and Algy +Vere came and shot out a coloured paper thing right +in my face, and I shouldn't like to seem uncivil.... +Suppose I shall see you at Lady Brabazon's "Kiss<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[ 79]</a></span> +in the Ring" at Bethnal Green to-morrow afternoon?... +I believe she <i>did</i> send us cards, but we promised +to look in at a friendly lead the Duchess of Dillwater +is giving at such a dear little public she's discovered +in Whitechapel, so we may be rather late.... +You'll keep a handkerchief-throw for me if you <i>do</i> +come on, won't you?... It will have to be an +<i>extra</i>, then, I'm afraid.... Are you goin' to Lord +Balmisyde's eight o'clock breakfast to-morrow? <i>So</i> +glad; I hear he's engaged five coffee-stalls, and +we're all to stand up and eat saveloys and trotters +and thick bread and butter.... Oh, I wanted to +ask you, my girls have got an invitation to a hoky-poky +party the Vavasours are giving after the moke-ridin' +next Thursday, and I'm told it's quite wrong +to eat hoky-poky with a spoon—do you know how +that is?... The only <i>correct</i> way, Caroline, is to +lick it out of the glass, which requires practice before +it can be <i>attempted</i> in public. But I hear there's +quite a pleasant boy-professor somewhere in the Mile +End Road who teaches it in a single lesson; he's +<i>very</i> moderate; his terms are only half a guinea, +which includes the hoky-poky. I'll send you his +address if I can find it.... Thanks <i>so</i> much; the +dear girls <i>will</i> be so grateful to you.... I <i>do</i> think +it's <i>quite</i> too bad of Lady Geraldine Grabber, she goes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[ 80]</a></span> +and sticks her card on the only decent wooden horse +in the steam-circus and says she's engaged it for the +whole time, though she hardly ever takes a round! +And so many girls standing out who can ride without +getting in the <i>least</i> giddy!... Rathah a boundah, +that fellow, if you ask me; I've <i>seen</i> him pullin' +a swing boat in brown boots and ridin'-breeches!... +How wonderfully well your daughter throws +the rings, dear Lady Cornelia, I hear she's won three +walking-sticks and five clasp knives.... You're +very kind. She is quite clever at it; but then she's +had some private coaching from a gipsy, don't you +know.... What are you going to do with yourself +this afternoon?... Oh, I'm going to the People's +Palace to see the finals played off for the Skittles +Championship; bound to be a closish thing; rather +excitin', don't you know.... Ah, Duchess, you've +been in form to-day, I see, five cocoa-nuts! Can I +relieve you of some of them?... Thanks, they <i>are</i> +rather tiresome to carry; if you <i>could</i> find my carriage +and tell the footman to keep his eye on them. +[<i>&c.</i>, <i>&c.</i>]</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Lady Rosehugh</span> (<i>to <span class="smcap">Mr. Luke Walmer</span>, on the +way home</i>). You know I <i>do</i> think it's <i>such</i> a cheering +sign of the times, Society getting simpler in its tastes, +and sharing the pleasures of the Dear People, and all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[ 81]</a></span> +that; it must tend to bring all classes more <i>together</i>, +don't you know!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Luke Walmer.</span> Perhaps. Only I was thinking, +I don't remember seeing any of the Dear People +<i>about</i>.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Lady Rosehugh.</span> No; somebody was telling me +they had taken to playing Polo on bicycles in Hyde +Park. So extraordinary of them—such a pity they +haven't some higher form of amusement, you know!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[ 82]</a></span></p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[ 83]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/3star.png" width="450" height="143" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>AN IDEAL INTERVIEWER.</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>Den of Latest Lion.</i></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Latest Lion</span> (<i>perusing card with no visible +signs of gratification</i>). Confound it! don't +remember telling the Editor of <i>Park Lane</i> I'd +let myself be interviewed. Suppose I must have, +though. (<i>Aloud to <span class="smcap">Servant</span>, who is waiting.</i>) You +can show the Gentleman up.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Servant</span> (<i>returning</i>). Mr. Walsingham Jermyn!</p> + +<blockquote><p class="right">[<i>A youthful Gentleman is shown in; he wears a +pink-striped shirt-front, an enormous buttonhole, +and a woolly frock-coat, and is altogether +most expensively and fashionably attired, which, +however, does not prevent him from appearing +somewhat out of countenance after taking a seat.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p>The L. L. (<i>encouragingly</i>). I presume, Mr. Jermyn, +you're here to ask me some questions about the future +of the British East African Company, and the duty +of the Government in the matter?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[ 86]</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Jermyn</span> (<i>gratefully</i>). Er—yes, that's what I've +come about, don't you know—that sort of thing. +Fact is (<i>with a burst of confidence</i>), this isn't exactly +my line—I've been rather let in for this. You see, +I've not been by way of doin' this long—but what's a +fellow to do when he's stony-broke? Got to do +<i>somethin'</i>, don't you know. So I thought I'd go in +for journalism—I don't mean the drudgery of it, +leader-writin' and that—but the light part of it, +<i>Society</i>, you know. But the other day, man who +does the interviews for <i>Park Lane</i> (that's the paper +I'm on) jacked up all of a sudden, and my Editor said +I'd better take on his work for a bit, and see what +I made of it. I wasn't particular. You see, I've +always been rather a dead hand at drawin' fellows +out, leadin' them on, you know, and all that, so I +knew it would come easy enough to me, for all you've +got to do is to sit tight and let the other chap—I +mean to say, the man you're interviewin'—do all the +talking, while you—I mean to say, myself—keep, +keeps—hullo, I'm getting my grammar a bit mixed; +however, it don't signify—<i>I</i> keep quiet and use my +eyes and ears like blazes. Talking of grammar, I +thought when I first started that I should get in a +regular hat over the grammar, and the spellin', +and that—<i>you</i> write, don't you, when you're not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[ 87]</a></span> +travellin'? So you know what a grind it is to spell +right. But I soon found they kept a Johnny at the +office with nothing to do but put all your mistakes +right for you, so, soon as I knew that, I went ahead +gaily.</p> + +<p>The L. L. Exactly, and now, perhaps, you will +let me know what particular information you +require?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. J.</span> Oh, <i>you</i> know the sort of thing the public +likes—they'll want to know what sort of diggings +you've got, how you dress when you're at home, and +all that, how you write your books, now—you do +write books, don't you? Thought so. Well, that's +what the public likes. You see, your name's a good +deal up just now—no humbug, it <i>is</i> though! Between +ourselves, you know, I think the whole business is the +balliest kind of rot, but they've got to have it, so +there you are, don't you see. I don't pretend to be +a well-read sort of fellow, never was particularly fond +of readin' and that; no time for it, and besides, I've +always said <i>Books</i> don't teach you knowledge of the +world. I know the world fairly well—but I didn't +learn it from books—ah, you agree with me there—<i>you</i> +know what skittles all that talk is about education +and that. Well, as I was sayin', I don't read much, +I see the <i>Field</i> every week, and a clinkin' good paper<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[ 88]</a></span> +it is, tells you everythin' worth knowin', and I read +the <i>Pink Un</i>, too. Do you know any of the fellows +on it? Man I know is a great friend of one of them, +he's going to introduce me some day, I like knowin' +literary chaps, don't you? You've been about a +good deal, haven't you? I expect you must have +seen a lot, travellin' as you do. I've done a little +travellin' myself, been to Monte Carlo, you know, +and the Channel Islands—<i>you</i> ever been to the +Channel Islands? Oh, you ought to go, it's a very +cheery place. Talkin' of Monte Carlo, I had a +rattlin' good time at the tables there; took out a +hundred quid, determined I would have a downright +good flutter, and Jove! I made that hundred last me +over five days, and came away in nothing but my +lawn-tennis flannels. That's what I <i>call</i> a flutter, +don't you know! Er—beastly weather we're havin'! +You have pretty good weather where you've been? +A young brother of mine has been out for a year in +Texas—he said <i>he</i>'d very good weather—of course +that's some way off where <i>you</i>'ve come from—Central +Africa, isn't it? Talkin' of my brother, what do you +think the young ass did?—went out there with a +thousand pounds, and paid it all down to some +sportsmen who took him to see some stock they said +belonged to them—of course he found out after<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[ 89]</a></span> +they'd off'd it that they didn't own a white mouse +among 'em! But then, Dick's one of those chaps, +you know, that think themselves so uncommon +knowing, they <i>can't</i> be had. I always told him he'd +be taken in some day if he let his tongue wag so +much—too fond of hearing himself talk, don't you +know, great mistake for a young fellow; sure to say +somethin' you'd better have let alone. I suppose +you're getting rather sick of all these banquets, +receptions, and that? They do you very well, certainly. +I went to one of these Company dinners +some time ago, and they did me as well as I've ever +been done in my life, but when you've got to sit still +afterwards and listen to some chap who's been somewhere +and done somethin' jawin' about it by the hour +together without a check, why, it's not <i>good</i> enough, +I'm hanged if it is! Well, I'm afraid I can't stay any +longer—my time's valuable now, don't you know. I +daresay yours is, too. I'm awfully glad to have had +a chat with you, and all that. I expect you could tell +me a lot more interestin' things, only of course you've +got to keep the best of 'em to put in your book—you +<i>are</i> writin' a book or somethin', ain't you? Such +heaps of fellows are writin' books nowadays, the +wonder is how any of 'em get read. I shall try and +get a look at yours, though, if I come across it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[ 90]</a></span> +anywhere; hope you'll put some amusin' things in,—nigger +stories and that, don't make it too bally +scientific, you know. Directly I get back, I shall sit +down, slick off, and write off all you've told me. I +shan't want any notes, I can carry it all in my head, +and of course I shan't put in anything you'd rather I +didn't, don't you know.</p> + +<p>The L. L. (<i>solemnly</i>). Mr. Jermyn, I place implicit +confidence in your discretion. I have no doubt +whatever that your head, Sir, is more than capable +of containing such remarks as I have found it +necessary to make in the course of our interview. I +like your system of extracting information, Sir, very +much. Good morning.</p> + +<p>Mr. J. (<i>outside</i>). Nice pleasant-spoken fellow—trifle +long-winded, though! Gad, I was so busy +listenin' I forgot to notice what his rooms were like +or anythin'! How would it do to go back? No, too +much of a grind. Daresay I can manage to fox up +somethin'. I shall tell the Chief what he said about +my system. Chief don't quite know what I <i>can</i> do +yet—this will open his eyes a bit.</p> + +<blockquote><p class="right">[<i>And it does.</i></p></blockquote> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[ 91]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/3star.png" width="450" height="143" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>SATURDAY NIGHT IN THE EDGWARE ROAD.</h2> + +<blockquote><i>For over half-a-mile the pavement on the East side of the road is +thronged with promenaders, and the curbstone lined with stalls and +barrows, and hawkers of various wares. Marketing housewives +with covered baskets oscillate undecidedly from stalls to shops, and +put off purchasing to the last possible moment. Maids-of-all-work +perambulate arm-in-arm, exchanging airy badinage with youths +of their acquaintance, though the latter seem to prefer the society +of their own sex. A man with a switchback skittle-board plays +gloomy games by himself to an unspeculative group of small boys. +The tradesmen stand outside their shops and conduct their business +with a happy blend of the methods of a travelling showman and +a clown.</i></blockquote> + +<span class="smcap">Burlesque Butcher.</span> Now then, all o' +<i>you</i> there! Buy, buy, buy! Just give yer +minds to spendin' yer money! (<i>In a tone +of artless wonder.</i>) Where <i>does</i> the Butcher git this +<i>luverly</i> meat? What can I do fur <i>you</i> now, Marm? +(<i>Triumphantly, after selling the scrag-end of a neck of +mutton.</i>) <i>Now</i> we're busy! + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[ 94]</a></span> + +<span class="smcap">Farcical Fishmonger</span> (<i>with two Comic Assistants</i>). +Ahar! (<i>To crowd.</i>) Come 'ere, you silly young +snorkers! I've the quali<i>tee</i>! I've the quali<i>tay</i>! +<i>Keep</i> takin' money! + +<span class="smcap">First Comic Assistant.</span> Ahye! Foppence a +pound nice plaice! Kippers two fur three 'apence. +<i>We'</i>re the Perfeshnul Curers! What are yer all +goin' to <i>do</i>? Sort 'em out cheap! + +<span class="smcap">Second C. A.</span> I don't mind! What care I? +(<i>Bursting into song.</i>) "'Ow, she rowled me 'ed, and +rumbled in the 'ay!" On me word, she did, ladies! + +<p class="right">[<i>He executes a double shuffle, and knocks over several boxes of bloaters in the gaiety of his heart.</i></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">A Hawker of Penny Memorandum Books</span> (<i>to +an audience of small boys</i>). Those among you 'oo +are not mechanics, decidedly you 'ave mechanical +<i>hideers</i>!</p> + +<blockquote><p class="right">[<i>He enlarges upon the convenience of having a notebook +in which to jot down any inspirations of +this kind; but his hearers do not appear to +agree with him.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p><span class="smcap">A Lugubrious Vendor.</span> One penny for six +comic pypers. Hevery one different!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">A Rude Boy.</span> You ain't bin <i>readin'</i> o' any on +'em, 'ave yer, guv'nor?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[ 95]</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">A Crockery Merchant</span> (<i>as he unpacks a variety of +vases of appalling hideousness</i>). <i>I</i> don't care—it's self-sacrifice +to give away! Understand, you ain't buyin' +<i>common</i> things, you're buyin' suthin' <i>good</i>! It 'appens +to be my buthday to-night, so I'm goin' to let you +people 'ave the benefit of the doubt. Come on 'ere. +I don't ask you to b'lieve <i>me</i>—on'y to jedge fur +yerselves. I'm not 'ere to tell you no fairy tales; +and the reason why I'm in a position to orfer up +these vawses—all richly gilt, and decorated in three +colours, the most expensive ever made—the reason +I'm able to sell them so cheap as I'm doin' is this—(<i>he +lowers his voice mysteriously</i>)—'arf the stuff I 'ave +'ere we git <i>in very funny ways</i>!</p> + +<blockquote><p class="right">[<i>This ingeniously suggestive hint enhances the +natural charm of his ware to such a degree +that the vases are bought up briskly, as calculated +to brighten the humblest home.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p><span class="smcap">A Sanctimonious Young Man</span> (<i>with a tongue too +large for his mouth, who has just succeeded in collecting a +circle round him</i>). I am only 'ere to-night, my friends, +as a paid servant—for the purpose of deciding a +wager. Some o' you may have noticed an advertisement +lately in the <i>Daily Telegrawf</i>, asking for men to +stand on Southwark Bridge and orfer arf-suverings +for a penny apiece. You are equally well aware that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[ 96]</a></span> +it is illegal to orfer the Queen's coinage for money: +and that is <i>not</i> my intention this evening. <i>But</i> I +'ave 'ere several pieces of gold, guaranteed to be of +the exact weight of arf a suvering, and 'all-marked, +which, in order to decide the wager I 'ave spoken of, +I shall now perceed to charge you the sum of one +penny for, and no more. I am not allowed to sell +<i>more</i> than one to each person——</p> + +<blockquote><p class="right">[<i>Here a constable comes up, and the decision of the +wager is postponed until a more favourable +opportunity.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p><span class="smcap">First "General"</span> (<i>looking into a draper's window</i>). +Look at them coloured felt 'ats—all shades, and on'y +sixpence three-fardens!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Second "G."</span> They <i>are</i> reasonable; but I've +'eard as felt 'ats is gone out of fashion now.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">First "G."</span> Don't you believe it, Sarah. Why, +my married sister bought one on'y last week!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Coster</span> (<i>to an old lady who has repudiated a bunch +of onions after a prolonged scrutiny</i>). Frorsty? So +would <i>you</i> be if <i>your</i> onion 'ad bin layin' out in the +fields all night as long as these 'ave!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">First Itinerant Physician</span> (<i>as he screws up fragments +of candy in pieces of newspaper</i>). That is Frog +in your Froat what I'm doin' up now. I arsk you +to try it. It's given to me to give away, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[ 97]</a></span> +I'm goin' to <i>give</i> it away—you understand?—that's +all. And now I'm going to tork to you about +suthink else. You see this small bottle what I 'old +up. I tell you there's 'undreds layin' in bed at +this present moment as 'ud give a shillin' fur one +of these—and I offer it to you at one penny! +It corrects all nerve-pains connected with the 'ed, +cures earache, toothache, neuralgy, noomonia, 'art-complaint, +fits, an' syhatica. Each bottle is charged +with helectricity, forming a complete galvanic-battery. +Hall <i>you</i> 'ave to do is to place the bottle +to one o' your nawstrils, first closing the other with +your finger. You will find it compels you to sniff. +The moment you <i>tyke</i> that sniff, you'll find the +worter comin' into your heyes—and that's the helectricity. +You'll say, "<i>I</i> always 'eard helectricity was +a <i>fluid</i>." (<i>With withering scorn.</i>) Very <i>likely</i>! You +<i>'ave</i>? An' <i>why</i>? Be-cawse o' the hignirant notions +prevailin' about scientific affairs! Hevery one o' +these bottles contains a battery, and to each purchaser +I myke 'im a present—a <i>present</i>, mind yer—of +Frog in 'is Froat!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Susan Jane</span> (<i>to <span class="smcap">Lizerann</span>, before a stall where +"Novelettes, three a penny," are to be procured by the +literary</i>). Shall we 'ave a penn'orth, an' you go +'alves along o' me?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[ 98]</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Lizerann.</span> Not <i>me</i>. I ain't got no time to go +improvin' o' <i>my</i> mind, whatever <i>you</i> 'ave!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">A Vendor of "'Ore'ound Tablets"</span> (<i>he is a +voluble young man, with considerable lung-power, and +a tendency to regard his cough lozenges as not only +physical but moral specifics</i>). I'm on'y a young feller, +as you see, and yet 'ere I <i>am</i>, with my four burnin' +lamps, and a lassoo-soot as belonged to my Uncle +Bill, doin' <i>wunnerful</i> well. Why, I've took over two +pound in coppers a'ready! Mind you, I don't +deceive you; you may all on you do as well as +me; on'y you'll 'ave to get two good ref'rences fust, +<i>and</i> belong to a temp'rance society, like I do. This +is the badge as I've got on me at this minnit. I +ain't always bin like I am now. I started business +four year ago, and was doin' wunnerful well, too, till +I got among 'orse-copers an' dealers and went on the +booze, and lost the lot. Then I turned up the drink +and got a berth sellin' these 'ere Wangoo Tablets—and +now I've got a neat little missus, and a nice +'ome, goin' on wunnerful comfortable. Never a +week passes but what I buy myself something. +Last week it was a pair o' noo socks. Soon as +the sun peeps out and the doo dries up, I'm orf to +Yarmouth. And what's the reason? I've <i>enjoyed</i> +myself there. My Uncle Bill, as lives at Lowestoft,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[ 99]</a></span> +and keeps six fine 'orses and a light waggon, <i>he's</i> +doin' wunnerful well, and he'd take me into partnership +to-morrow, he would. But no—I'm 'appier as +I am. What's the reason I kin go on torkin' to you +like this night after night, without injury to my +voice? Shall I tell yer? Because, every night o' +my life, afore I go to bed, I take four o' these +Wangoo Tablets—compounded o' the purest 'erbs. +You take them to the nearest doctor's and arsk 'im +to analyse an' test them as he <i>will</i>, and you 'ear +what <i>he</i> says of them! Take one o' them tablets—after +your pipe; after your cigaw; after your +cigarette. You won't want no more drink, you'll +find them make you come 'ome reglar every evening, +and be able to buy a noo 'at every week. You've +ony to persevere for a bit with these 'ere lawzengers +to be like I am myself, doin' <i>wunnerful</i> +well! You see this young feller 'ere? (<i>Indicating +a sheepish head in a pot-hat, which is visible over the +back of his stall.</i>) Born and bred in Kenada, <i>'e</i> +was. And quite <i>right</i>! Bin over 'ere six year, so, +o' course he speaks the lengwidge. And <i>quite</i> right. +Now I'm no Amerikin myself, but they're a wunnerful +clever people, the Amerikins are, allays inventin' +or suthink o' that there. And you're at liberty to go +and arsk 'im for yourselves whether this is a real<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[ 100]</a></span> +Amerikin invention or not—as he'll tell yer it <i>is</i>—and +quite right, too! An' it stands to reason as +<i>he</i> orter know, seein' he introdooced it 'imself and +doin' wunnerful well with it ever since. I ain't +come 'ere to <i>rob</i> yer. Lady come and give me a +two-shillin' piece just now. I give it her back. +<i>She</i> didn't know—thort it was a penny, till I told +her. Well, that just shows you what these 'ere +Wangoo 'Ore'ound Tablets <i>are</i>!</p> + +<blockquote><p class="right">[<i>After this practical illustration of their efficacy, +he pauses for oratorical effect, and a hard-worked-looking +matron purchases three packets, +in the apparent hope that a similar halo of +the best horehound will shortly irradiate the +head of her household.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p><span class="smcap">Lizerann</span> (<i>to <span class="smcap">Susan Jane</span>, as they walk homewards</i>). +On'y fancy—the other evenin', as I was +walkin' along this very pavement, a cab-'orse come +up beyind me, unbeknown like, and put 'is 'ed over +my shoulder and breathed right in my ear!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Susan Jane</span> (<i>awestruck</i>). You <i>must</i> ha' bin a bad +gell!</p> + +<blockquote><p class="right">[<i><span class="smcap">Lizerann</span> is clearly disquieted by so mystical an +interpretation, even while she denies having +done anything deserving of a supernatural +rebuke.</i></p></blockquote><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[ 101]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/3star.png" width="450" height="143" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>THE "MODEL HUSBAND" +CONTEST.</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>Scene the First—At the <span class="smcap">Galahad-Green's</span>.</i></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. G.-G.</span> Galahad!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. G.-G.</span> (<i>meekly</i>). My love?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. G.-G.</span> I see that the proprietors of +<i>All Sorts</i> are going to follow the American example, +and offer a prize of £20 to the wife who makes out +the best case for her husband as a Model. It's just +as well, perhaps, that you should know that I've +made up my mind to enter <i>you</i>!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. G.-G.</span> (<i>gratified</i>). My dear Cornelia! really, +I'd no idea you had such a——</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. G.-G.</span> Nonsense! The drawing-room carpet +is a perfect disgrace, and, as you can't, or won't, +provide the money in any <i>other</i> way, why——Would +you like to hear what I've said about you?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. G.-G.</span> Well, if you're sure it wouldn't be +troubling you too much, I <i>should</i>, my dear.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[ 104]</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. G.-G.</span> Then sit where I can see you, and +listen. (<i>She reads.</i>) "Irreproachable in all that pertains +to morality"—(and it would be a bad day +indeed for you, Galahad, if I ever had cause to think +<i>otherwise</i>!)—"morality; scrupulously dainty and neat +in his person"—(ah, you may well blush, Galahad, but +fortunately, they won't want me to <i>produce</i> you!)—"he +imports into our happy home the delicate refinement +of a <i>preux chevalier</i> of the olden time." (Will +you kindly take your dirty boots off the steel fender!) +"We rule our little kingdom with a joint +and equal sway, to which jealousy and friction are +alike unknown; he, considerate and indulgent to +my womanly weakness"—(You need not stare at +me in that perfectly idiotic fashion!)—"I, looking +to him for the wise and tender support which has +never yet been denied. The close and daily scrutiny +of many years has discovered"—(What are you +shaking like <i>that</i> for?)—"discovered no single weakness; +no taint or flaw of character; no irritating +trick of speech or habit." (How often have I +told you that I will <i>not</i> have the handle of that +paper-knife sucked? Put it down; do!) "His +conversation—sparkling but ever spiritual—renders +our modest meals veritable feasts of fancy and flows +of soul.... <i>Well</i>, Galahad?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[ 105]</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. G.-G.</span> Nothing, my dear; nothing. It struck +me as, well,—a trifle <i>flowery</i>, that last passage, that's +all!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. G.-G.</span> (<i>severely</i>). If I cannot expect to win +the prize without descending to floweriness, whose +fault is <i>that</i>, I should like to know? If you can't +make sensible observations, you had better not speak +at all. (<i>Continuing.</i>) "Over and over again, gathering +me in his strong, loving arms, and pressing +fervent kisses upon my forehead, he has cried, +'Why am I not a Monarch that so I could place +a diadem upon that brow? With such a Consort +am I not doubly crowned?'" Have you anything +to say to <i>that</i>, Galahad?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. G.-G.</span> Only, my love, that I—I don't seem +to remember having made that particular remark.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. G.-G.</span> Then make it <i>now</i>. I'm sure I wish +to be as accurate as I <i>can</i>.</p> + +<blockquote><p class="right">[<i><span class="smcap">Mr. G.-G.</span> makes the remark—but without fervour.</i></p></blockquote> + + +<p><i>Scene the Second—At the <span class="smcap">Monarch-Jones'</span>.</i></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. M.-J.</span> Twenty quid would come in precious +handy just now, after all I've dropped lately, and I +mean to pouch that prize if I can—so just you sit +down, Grizzle, and write out what I tell you; do +you hear?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[ 106]</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. M.-J.</span> (<i>timidly</i>). But, Monarch, dear, would +that be quite <i>fair</i>? No, don't be angry, I didn't +mean that—I'll write whatever you please!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. M.-J.</span> You'd <i>better</i>, that's all! Are you +ready? I must screw myself up another peg +before I begin. (<i>He screws.</i>) Now, then. (<i>Stands +over her and dictates.</i>) "To the polished urbanity +of a perfect gentleman he unites the kindly charity +of a true Christian." (Why the devil don't you +learn to write decently, eh?) "Liberal, and even +lavish, in all his dealings, he is yet a stern foe to +every kind of excess"—(Hold on a bit, I must have +another nip after that)—"every kind of excess. Our +married life is one long dream of blissful contentment, +in which each contends with the other in +loving self-sacrifice." (Haven't you corked all that +down <i>yet</i>!) "Such cares and anxieties as he has +he conceals from me with scrupulous consideration +as long as possible"—(Gad, I should be a fool if +I <i>didn't</i>!)—"while I am ever sure of finding in him +a patient and sympathetic listener to all my trifling +worries and difficulties."—(<i>Two</i> f's in difficulties, +you little fool—can't you even <i>spell</i>?) "Many a +time, falling on his knees at my feet, he has rapturously +exclaimed, his accents broken by manly +emotion, 'Oh, that I were more worthy of such a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[ 107]</a></span> +pearl among women! With such a helpmate, I +am indeed to be envied!'" That <i>ought</i> to do the +trick. If I don't romp in after that!—--(<i>Observing +that <span class="smcap">Mrs. M.-J.'s</span> shoulders are convulsed.</i>) What the +dooce are you giggling at <i>now</i>?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. M.-J.</span> I—I wasn't giggling, Monarch dear, +only——</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. M.-J.</span> Only <i>what</i>?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. M.-J.</span> Only crying!</p> + + +<p><i>The Sequel.</i></p> + +<p>"The judges appointed by the spirited proprietors +of <i>All Sorts</i> to decide the 'Model Husband +Contest'—which was established on lines similar to +one recently inaugurated by one of our New York +contemporaries—have now issued their award. +Two competitors have sent in certificates which +have been found equally deserving of the prize; +viz., Mrs. Cornelia Galahad-Green, Graemair Villa, +Peckham, and Mrs. Griselda Monarch-Jones, Aspen +Lodge, Lordship Lane. The sum of twenty pounds +will consequently be divided between these two +ladies, to whom, with their respective spouses, we +beg to tender our cordial felicitations."—(<i>Extract +from Daily Paper, some six months hence.</i>)<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[ 108]</a></span></p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[ 109]</a></span></p> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/3star.png" width="450" height="143" alt="" title="" /></div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[ 111]</a></span> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>THE COURIER OF THE HAGUE.</h2> + + +<p>He is an elderly amiable little Dutchman in a +soft felt hat; his name is <span class="smcap">Bosch</span>, and he +is taking me about. <i>Why</i> I engaged him +I don't quite know—unless from a general sense of +helplessness in Holland, and a craving for any kind +of companionship. Now I have got him, I feel rather +more helpless than ever—a sort of composite of +<span class="smcap">Sandford</span> and <span class="smcap">Merton</span>, with a didactic, but frequently +incomprehensible Dutch <span class="smcap">Barlow</span>. My +<span class="smcap">Sandford</span> half would like to exhibit an intelligent +curiosity, but is generally suppressed by <span class="smcap">Merton</span>, +who has a morbid horror of useful information. +Not that <span class="smcap">Bosch</span> is remarkably erudite, but nevertheless +he contrives to reduce me to a state of +imbecility, which I catch myself noting with a +pained surprise. There is a statue in the Plein, +and the <span class="smcap">Sandford</span> element in me finds a satisfaction +in recognising it aloud as William the Silent.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[ 112]</a></span> +It is—but, as my <span class="smcap">Merton</span> part thinks, a fellow +<i>would</i> be a fool if he didn't recognise William +after a few hours in Holland—his images, in one +form or another, are tolerably numerous. Still +<span class="smcap">Bosch</span> is gratified. "Yass, dot is ole Volliam," +he says, approvingly, as to a precocious infant just +beginning to take notice. "Lokeer," he says, "you +see dot Apoteek?" He indicates a chemist's shop +opposite, with nothing remarkable about it externally, +except a Turk's head with his tongue out over the +door.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I (speaking for <span class="smcap">Sandford</span> and <span class="smcap">Merton</span>) see +it—has it some historical interest—did Volliam get +medicine there, or what?"</p> + +<p>"Woll, dis mornin dare vas two sairvans dere, and +de von cot two blaces out of de odder's haid, and +afderwarts he go opstairs and vas hang himself mit +a pedbost."</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Bosch</span> evidently rather proud of this as illustrating +the liveliness of The Hague.</p> + +<p>"Was he mad?"</p> + +<p>"Yass, he vas mard, mit a vife and seeks childrens."</p> + +<p>"No, but was he out of his senses?"</p> + +<p>"I tink it was oud of Omsterdam he vas com," +says <span class="smcap">Bosch</span>.</p> + +<p>"But how did it happen?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[ 113]</a></span> +"Wol-sare, de broprietor vas die, and leaf de +successor de pusiness, and he dells him in von mons +he will go, begause he nod egsamin to be a Chimigal—so +he do it, and dey dake him to de hosbital, and +I tink <i>he</i> vas die too by now!" adds BOSCH, cheerfully.</p> + +<p>Very sad affair evidently—but a little complicated. +<span class="smcap">Sandford</span> would like to get to the bottom of it, but +<span class="smcap">Merton</span> convinced there is <i>no</i> bottom. So, between +us, subject allowed to drop.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Sandford</span> (now in the ascendant again) notices, +as the clever boy, inscription on house-front, "Hier +woonden Groen Van Prinsterer, 1838-76."</p> + +<p>"I suppose that means Van Prinsterer lived here, +Bosch?"</p> + +<p>"Yass, dot vas it."</p> + +<p>"And who was he?"</p> + +<p>"He vas—wol, he vos a Member of de Barliaments."</p> + +<p>"Was he celebrated?"</p> + +<p>"Celebrated? oh, yaas!"</p> + +<p>"What did he <i>do</i>?" (I think <span class="smcap">Merton</span> gets +this in.)</p> + +<p>"Do?" says <span class="smcap">Bosch</span>, quite indignantly, "he nefer +do <i>nodings</i>!"</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Bosch</span> takes me into the Fishmarket, when he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[ 114]</a></span> +directs my attention to a couple of very sooty live +storks, who are pecking about at the refuse.</p> + +<p>"Dose pirts are shtorks; hier dey vas oblige to keep +alvays two shtorks for de arms of de Haag. Vhen +de yong shtorks porn, de old vons vas kill."</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Sandford</span> shocked—<span class="smcap">Merton</span> sceptical.</p> + +<p>"Keel dem? Oh, yaas, do anytings mit dem +ven dey vas old," says <span class="smcap">Bosch</span>, and adds:—"Ve haf +de breference mit de shtorks, eh?"</p> + +<p>What <i>is</i> he driving at?</p> + +<p>"Yaas—ven <i>ve</i> vas old ve vas nod kill."</p> + +<p>This reminds <span class="smcap">Bosch</span>—<span class="smcap">Barlow</span>-like—of an anecdote.</p> + +<p>"Dere vas a vrent to me," he begins, "he com +and say to me, 'Bosch, I am god so shtout and my +bark is so dick, I can go no more on my lacks—vat +vas I do?' To him I say, 'Wol, I dell you vat I +do mit you—I dake you at de booshair to be cot op; +I tink you vas make vary goot shdeak-meat!"</p> + +<p>Wonder whether this is a typical sample of <span class="smcap">Bosch's</span> +<i>badinage</i>.</p> + +<p>"What did he say to that, Bosch?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, he vas vair moch loff, a-course!" says +<span class="smcap">Bosch</span>, with the natural complacency of a successful +humorist.</p> + +<p>We go into the Old Prison, and see some horrible<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[ 115]</a></span> +implements of torture, which seem to exhilarate +<span class="smcap">Bosch</span>.</p> + +<p>"Lokeer!" he says, "Dis vas a pinition" (<span class="smcap">Bosch</span> +for "punishment") "mit a can. Dey lie de man +down and vasten his foots, and efery dime he vas +shdrook mit de can, he jomp op and hit his vorehaid.... +Hier dey lie down de beoples on de +back, and pull dis shdring queeck, and all dese tings +go roundt, and preak deir bones. Ven de pinition +was feenish you vas det." He shows where the +Water-torture was practised. "Nottice 'ow de vater +vas vork a 'ole in de tile," he chuckles, "I tink de +tile vas vary hardt det, eh?" Then he points out a +pole with a spiked prong. "Tief-catcher—put 'em +in de tief's nack—and get 'im!" Before a grim-looking +cauldron he halts appreciatively. "You +know vat dat vas for?" he says. "Dat vas for de +blode-foots; put 'em in dere, yaas, and light de vire +onderneat."</p> + +<p>No idea what "<i>blode-foots</i>" may be, but from the +relish in <span class="smcap">Bosch's</span> tone, evidently something very +unpleasant, so don't press him for explanations. +We go upstairs, and see some dark and very +mouldy dungeons, which <span class="smcap">Bosch</span> is very anxious +that I should enter. Make him go in <i>first</i>, for the +surroundings seem to have excited his sense of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[ 116]</a></span> +the humorous to such a degree, that he might be +unable to resist locking me in, and leaving me, if I +gave him a chance.</p> + +<p>Outside at last, thank goodness! The Groote +Kerk, according to <span class="smcap">Bosch</span>, "is not vort de see," so +we don't see it. <span class="smcap">Sandford</span> has a sneaking impression +that I ought to go in, but <span class="smcap">Merton</span> glad to be let off. +We go to see the pictures at the Mauritshuis instead. +<span class="smcap">Bosch</span> exchanges greetings with the attendants in +Dutch. "Got <i>another</i> of 'em in tow, you see—and +collar-work, <i>I</i> can tell you!" would be a free translation, +I suspect, of his remarks. Must say that, in a +Picture-gallery, <span class="smcap">Bosch</span> is a superfluous luxury. He +<i>does</i> take my ignorance just a trifle too much for +granted. He <i>might</i> give me credit for knowing the +story of Adam and Eve, at all events! "De Sairpan +gif Eva de opple, an' Eva gif him to Adam," <span class="smcap">Bosch</span> +carefully informs me, before a "<i>Paradise</i>," by Rubens +and Brueghel.</p> + +<p>This rouses my <span class="smcap">Merton</span> half to inquire what +Adam did with it.</p> + +<p>"Oh, <i>he</i> ead him too!" says <span class="smcap">Bosch</span> in perfect +good faith.</p> + +<p>I do wish, too, he wouldn't lead me up to Paul +Potter's "<i>Bull</i>," and ask me enthusiastically if it +isn't "real meat." I shouldn't mind it so much<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[ 117]</a></span> +if there were not several English people about, +without couriers—but there <i>are</i>. My only revenge +is (as <span class="smcap">Merton</span>) to carefully pick out the unsigned +canvases and ask <span class="smcap">Bosch</span> who painted them; whereupon +<span class="smcap">Bosch</span> endeavours furtively to make out the +label on the frames, and then informs me in +desperation, "it vas '<i>School</i>,'—yass, <i>he</i> baint him!" +<span class="smcap">Bosch</span> kindly explains the subject of every picture +in detail. He tells me a Droochsloot represents a +"balsham pedder." I suppose I look bewildered, +for he adds—"oppen air tance mit a village." +"Hier dey vas haf a tispute; dis man say de ham +vas more value as de cheese—dere is de cheese, +and dere is de ham." "Hier is an old man dot +marry a yong vife, and two tevils com in, and de +old man he ron avay." "Hier he dress him in +voman, and de vife is vrighten." "Hier is Jan +Steen himself as a medicine, and he veel de yong +voman's polse, and say dere is nodings de madder, +and the modder ask him to trink a glass of vine." +"Hier is de beach at Skavening—now dey puild +houses on de dunes—bot de beach is schdill dere."</p> + +<p>Such are <span class="smcap">Bosch's</span> valuable and instructive comments, +to which, as representing <span class="smcap">Sandford</span> and +<span class="smcap">Merton</span>, I listen with depressed docility. All the +same, can't help coming to the conclusion that Art is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[ 118]</a></span> +<i>not</i> <span class="smcap">Bosch's</span> strong point. Shall come here again—alone. +We go on to the Municipal Museum, where +he shows me what <i>he</i> considers the treasures of the +collection—a glass goblet, engraved "mit dails of +tobaggo bipes," and the pipes themselves; a painting +of a rose, "mit ade beople's faces in de leafs;" +and a drawing of "two pirts mit only von foots."</p> + +<p>Outside again. <span class="smcap">Bosch</span> shows me a house.</p> + +<p>"Lokeer. In dot house leef an oldt lady all mit +herself and ade sairvans. She com from Friesland, +yassir."</p> + +<p>Really, I think <span class="smcap">Bosch</span> is going to be interesting—at +last. There is a sly twinkle in his eye, denoting +some story of a scandalous but infinitely humorous +nature.</p> + +<p>"Well, Bosch, go on—what about the old lady?" +I ask eagerly, as <span class="smcap">Merton</span>.</p> + +<p>"Wol, Sir," says <span class="smcap">Bosch</span>, "she nefer go +noveres."...</p> + +<p>That's <i>all</i>! "A devilish interesting story, <i>Sumph</i>, +indeed!" to quote Mr. Wagg.</p> + +<p>But, as <span class="smcap">Bosch</span> frequently reminds me, "It vas +pedder, you see, as a schendlemans like you go apout +mit me; I dell you tings dot vas not in de guide-books." +Which I am not in a position to deny.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[ 119]</a></span></p> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/3star.png" width="450" height="143" alt="" title="" /></div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[ 121]</a></span> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>FEELING THEIR WAY.</h2> + +<h3>(<span class="smcap">A Study in the Art of Genteel Conversation.</span>)</h3> + + +<p><i>The Drawing-room of a Margate Hotel. <span class="smcap">Time</span>—Evening. +<span class="smcap">Mrs. Ardleigh</span> (of Balham), and <span class="smcap">Mrs. Allbutt</span> (of Brondesbury), +are discovered in the midst of a conversation, in which +each is anxious both to impress the other, and ascertain how far +she is a person to be cultivated. At present, they have not got +beyond the discovery of a common bond in Cookery.</i></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Allbutt.</span> You have the yolks of two +eggs, I must tell you; squeeze the juice of +half a lemon into it, and, when you boil the +butter in the pan, make a paste of it with <i>dry</i> flour.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Ardleigh.</span> It sounds delicious—but you +never can trust a Cook to carry out instructions +exactly.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. All.</span> I never <i>do</i>. Whenever I want to +have anything specially nice for my husband, I make +a point of seeing to it myself. He appreciates it. +Now <i>some</i> men, if you cook for them, never notice +whether it's you or the Cook. My husband <i>does</i>.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[ 122]</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Ard.</span> I wonder how you find time to do it. +I'm sure <i>I</i> should never——</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. All.</span> Oh, it takes time, of course—but +what does that matter when you've nothing to +do? Did I mention just a small pinch of Cayenne +pepper?—because that's a <i>great</i> improvement!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Ard.</span> I tell you what I like Cayenne pepper +with, better than anything—and that's eggs.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. All.</span> (<i>with elegant languor</i>). I hardly ever +eat an egg. Oysters, now, I'm <i>very</i> fond of—<i>fried</i>, +that is.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Ard.</span> They're very nice done in the real +shells. Or on scollops. We have silver—or rather—(<i>with +a magnanimous impulse to tone down her splendour</i>), +silver-plated ones.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. All.</span> How funny—so have we! (<i>Both +women feel an increase of liking for one another.</i>) I like +them cooked in milk, too.</p> + +<blockquote><p class="right">[<i>The first barrier being satisfactorily passed, they +proceed, as usual, to the subject of ailments.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Ard.</span> My doctor <i>does</i> do me good, I must +say—he never lets me get ill. He just sees your +liver's all right, and then he feeds you up.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. All.</span> That's like <i>my</i> doctor; he always tells +me, if he didn't keep on constantly building me up, I +should go all to pieces in no time. That's how I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[ 123]</a></span> +come to be here. I always run down at the end of +every Season.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Ard.</span> (<i>feeling that <span class="smcap">Mrs. Allbutt</span> can't be +"anybody very particular" after all</i>). What—to +Margate? Fancy! Don't you find you get tired +of it? <i>I</i> should.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. All.</span> (<i>with dignity</i>). I didn't say I always +went to Margate. On the contrary, I have never +been here before, and shouldn't be here now, if my +doctor hadn't told me it was my only chance.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Ard.</span> (<i>reassured</i>). I only came down here on +my little girl's account. One of those nasty croupy +coughs, you know, and hoops with it. But she's +almost well already. I will say it's a wonderful air. +Still, the worst of Margate is, one isn't likely to meet +a soul one knows!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. All.</span> Well, that's the charm of it—to me. +One has enough of that during the Season.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Ard.</span> (<i>recognising the superiority of this view</i>). +Indeed one has. What a whirl it has been to +be sure!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. All.</span> The Season? Why, I never remember +one with so little doing. Most of the best houses +closed—hardly a single really smart party—one or +two weddings—and that's positively all!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Ard.</span> (<i>slightly crushed, in spite of a conviction</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[ 124]</a></span> +<i>that—socially speaking—Balham has been rather more +brilliant than usual this year</i>). Yes, that's very true. +I suppose the Elections have put a stop to most +things?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. All.</span> There never was much going on. <i>I</i> +should rather have said it was Marlborough House +being shut up that made everything so dull from the +first.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Ard.</span> Ah, that <i>does</i> make such a difference, +doesn't it? (<i>She feels she must make an effort to recover +lost ground.</i>) I fully expected to be at Homburg this +year.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. All.</span> Then you would have met Lady +Neuraline Menthol. She <i>was</i> ordered there, I happen +to know.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Ard.</span> Really, you don't say so? Lady +Neuraline! Well, that's the first <i>I've</i> heard of it. +(<i>It is also the first time she has heard of her, but she +trusts to be spared so humiliating an admission.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. All.</span> It's a fact, I can assure you. You +know her, perhaps?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Ard.</span> (<i>who would dearly like to say she does, if +she only dared</i>). Well, I can hardly say I exactly +<i>know</i> her. I know <i>of</i> her. I've met her about, and +so on. (<i>She tells herself this is quite as likely to be true +as not.</i>)<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[ 125]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/p125.png" width="500" height="600" alt=""Dear, dear! not a county family!"" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"Dear, dear! not a county family!"</span> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[ 127]</a></span></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. All.</span> (<i>who of course does not know Lady +Neuraline either</i>). Ah, she is a most delightful +person—requires <i>knowing</i>, don't you know.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Ard.</span> So many in her position do, don't +they? (<i>So far as she is concerned—they all do.</i>) +You'd think it was haughtiness—but it's really only +<i>manner</i>.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. All.</span> (<i>feeling that she can go ahead with safety +now</i>). I have never found anything of <i>that</i> sort in +Lady Neuraline myself (<i>which is perfectly true.</i>) She's +rather odd and flighty, but <i>quite</i> a dear. By the +way, <i>how</i> sad it is about those poor dear Chutneys—the +Countess, don't you know!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Ard.</span> Ah (<i>as if she knew all the rest of the +family</i>), I don't know <i>her</i> at all.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. All.</span> Such a sweet woman—but the trouble +she's had with her eldest boy, Lord Mango! He +married quite beneath him, you know, some girl +from the provinces—not a county-family girl even.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Ard.</span> (<i>shocked</i>). Dear, dear! <i>not</i> a county +family!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. All.</span> No; somebody quite common—I +forget the name, but it was either Gherkin or Onion, +or something of that sort. I was told they had been +in Chili a good while. Poor Mango never had much +taste, or he would never have got mixed up with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[ 128]</a></span> +such a set. Anyway, he's got himself into a terrible +pickle. I hear Capsicums is actually to be sold to +pay his debts.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. All.</span> You don't say so! Capsicums! +Gracious!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. All.</span> Yes, <i>isn't</i> it a pity! Such a lovely +old place as it was, too—<i>the</i> most comfortable house +to stay at in all England; so beautifully <i>warm</i>! +But it's dreadful to think of how the aristocracy +are taking to marry out of their own set. Look at +the Duke of Dragnet—married a Miss Duckweed—goodness +only knows where he picked her up! but +he got entangled somehow, and now his people are +trying to get rid of her. I see so many of these +cases. Well, I'm afraid I must wish you good +evening—it's my time for retiring. (<i>Patronisingly.</i>) +I've quite enjoyed the conversation—such a pleasure +in a place like this to come across a genial companion!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Ard.</span> (<i>fluttered and flattered</i>). I'm sure you're +exceedingly kind to say so, and I can say the same +for myself. I hope we may become better acquainted. +(<i>To herself, after <span class="smcap">Mrs. Allbutt</span> has departed.</i>) I've +quite taken to that woman—she's so thoroughly the +lady, and moves in very high society, too. You can +tell that from the way she talks. What's that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[ 129]</a></span> +paper on the table? (<i>She picks up a journal in a +coloured wrapper.</i>) "<i>Society Snippets, the Organ of the +Upper Ten. One Penny.</i>" The very thing I wanted. +It's such a comfort to know who's who. (<i>She opens +it and reads sundry paragraphs headed "Through the +Keyhole."</i>) Now how funny this is! Here's the +very same thing about the dulness of the Season that +she said. That shows she must be really in it. And +a note about Lady Neuraline being about to recruit +at Homburg. And another about her reputation or +eccentricity, and her "sweetness to the select few +privileged to be her intimates." And here's all +about Lord Mango, and what a pleasant house +Capsicums is, and his marriage, and the Duke of +Dragnet's, too. Her information was very correct, +I must say! (<i>A light begins to break in upon her.</i>) I +wonder whether——but there—people of her sort +wouldn't require to read the papers for such things.</p> + +<blockquote><p class="right">[<i>Here the door opens, and <span class="smcap">Mrs. Allbutt</span> appears, +in some embarrassment.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. All.</span> (<i>scrutinising the tables</i>). Oh, it's nothing. +I thought I'd left something of mine here; it was +only a paper—I see I was mistaken, don't trouble.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Ard.</span> (<i>producing Society Snippets</i>). I expect +it will be this. (<i><span class="smcap">Mrs. Allbutt's</span> face reveals her +ownership.</i>) I took it up, not knowing it was yours.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[ 130]</a></span> +(<i>Meaningly</i>.) It has some highly interesting information, +I see.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. All.</span> (<i>slightly demoralised</i>). Oh, has it? I—I've +not had time to glance at it yet. Pray don't +let me deprive you of it. I dare say there's very +little in it I don't know already.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Ard.</span> So I should have thought. (<i>To herself, +after <span class="smcap">Mrs. Allbutt</span> has retired in disorder.</i>) +Fancy that woman trying to take me in like that, +and no more in Society than I am—if so much! +However, I've found her out before going too far—luckily. +And I've a good mind to take in this <i>Society +Snippets</i> myself—it certainly does improve one's +conversation. She won't have it <i>all</i> her own way +<i>next</i> time!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[ 131]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/3star.png" width="450" height="143" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>A TESTIMONIAL MANQUÉ.</h2> + +<h3>(<span class="smcap">A Sketch from the Suburbs.</span>)</h3> + + +<p><i><span class="smcap">The Argument.</span>—Mr. Hotspur Porpentine, a distinguished +resident in the rising suburb of Jerrymere, has recently been +awarded fourteen days' imprisonment, without the option of a +fine, for assaulting a ticket-collector, who had offered him the +indignity of requiring him to show his season-ticket at the barrier. +The scene is a Second-Class Compartment, in which four of +Mr. Porpentine's neighbours are discussing the affair during their +return from the City.</i></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Cockcroft</span> (<i>warmly</i>). I say, Sir—and +I'm sure all here will bear me out—that such +a sentence was a scandalous abuse of justice. +As a near neighbour, and an intimate friend of +Porpentine's, I don't 'esitate to assert that he has +done nothing whatever to forfeit our esteem. He's +a quick-tempered man, as we're all aware, and to +be asked by some meddlesome official to show his +season, after travelling on the line constantly for +years, and leaving it at home that morning—why—<i>I</i> +don't blame him if he <i>did</i> use his umbrella!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[ 134]</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Balch</span> (<i>sympathetically</i>). Nor I. Porpentine's +a man I've always had a very 'igh respect for ever +since I came into this neighbourhood. I've always +found him a good feller, and a good neighbour.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Filkins</span> (<i>deferentially</i>). I can't claim to be +as intimate with him as some here; but, if it isn't +putting myself too far forward to say so, I very +cordially beg to say ditto to those sentiments.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Sibbering</span> (<i>who has never "taken to" Porpentine</i>). +Well, he's had a sharp lesson,—there's no +denying that.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Cockcr.</span> Precisely, and it occurs to me that +when he—ah—returns to public life, it would be a +kind thing, and a graceful thing, and a thing he +would—ah—appreciate in the spirit it was intended, +if we were to present him with some little token of +our sympathy and unabated esteem—what do you +fellers think?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Filk.</span> A most excellent suggestion, if my +friend here will allow me to say so. I, for one, shall +be proud to contribute to so worthy an object.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Balch.</span> I don't see why we shouldn't present +him with an address—'ave it illuminated, and framed +and glazed; sort of thing he could 'ang up and 'and +down to his children after him as an <i>heirloom</i>, +yi-know.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[ 135]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 546px;"> +<img src="images/p135.png" width="546" height="600" alt=""Well, he's had a sharp lesson,—there's no denying that."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"Well, he's had a sharp lesson,—there's no denying that."</span> +</div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[ 137]</a></span></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Sibb.</span> I don't like to throw cold water on +any proposition, but if you want <i>my</i> opinion, I must +say I see no necessity for making a public thing out +of it in that way.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Cockcr.</span> I'm with Sibbering there. The +less fuss there is about it, the better Porpentine'll be +pleased. My idea is to give him something of daily +use—a <i>useful</i> thing, yi-know.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Balch.</span> Useful <i>or</i> ornamental. Why not his +own portrait? There's many an artist who would +do him in oils, and guarantee a likeness, frame +included, for a five-pound note.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Sibb.</span> If it's to be like Porpentine, it certainly +won't be <i>ornamental</i>, whatever else it is.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Filk.</span> It can't be denied that he is remarkably +plain in the face. We'd better, as our friend +Mr. Cockcroft here proposes, make it something of +daily use—a good serviceable silk umbrella now—that's +<i>always</i> appropriate.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Sibb.</span> To make up for the one he broke over +the collector's head, eh?—that's <i>appropriate</i> enough!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Cockcr.</span> No, no; you mean well, Filkins, +but you must see yourself, on reflection, that there +would be a certain want of—ah—good taste in +giving him a thing like that under the circumstances. +I should suggest something like a hatstand—a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[ 138]</a></span> +handsome one, of course. I happen to know that +he has nothing in the passage at present but a row +of pegs.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Sibb.</span> I should have thought he'd been taken +down enough pegs already.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Filk.</span> (<i>who resents the imputation upon his taste</i>). +I can't say what the width of Mr. Porpentine's +passage may be, never having been privileged with +an invitation to pass the threshold, but unless it's +wider than ours is, he couldn't get a hatstand in if +he tried, and if my friend Cockcroft will excuse the +remark, I see no sense—to say nothing of good taste, +about which perhaps I mayn't be qualified to pass +an opinion—in giving him an article he's got no +room for.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Cockcr.</span> (<i>with warmth</i>). There's room enough +in Porpentine's passage for a whole host of hatstands, +if that's all, and I know what I'm speaking about. +I've been in and out there often enough. I'm—ah—a +regular tame cat in that house. But if you're +against the 'atstand, I say no more—we'll waive it. +How would it do if we gave him a nice comfortable +easy-chair—something he could sit in of an evening, +yi-know?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Sibb.</span> A touchy chap like Porpentine would +be sure to fancy we thought he wanted something<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[ 139]</a></span> +soft after a hard bench and a plank bed—you can't +go and give him <i>furniture</i>!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Cockcr.</span> (<i>with dignity</i>). There's a way of +doing all things. I wasn't proposing to go and chuck +the chair <i>at</i> him—he's a sensitive feller in many +respects, and he'd feel <i>that</i>, I grant you. He can't +object to a little present of that sort just from four +friends like ourselves.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Balch</span> (<i>with a falling countenance</i>). Oh! I +thought it was to be a general affair, limited to a +small sum, so that all who liked could join in. I'd +no notion you meant to keep it such a private matter +as all that.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Filk.</span> Nor I. And, knowing Mr. Porpentine +so slightly as I do, he might consider it presumption +in me, making myself so prominent in the matter—or +else I'm sure——</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Cockcr.</span> There's no occasion for anyone to +be prominent, except myself. You leave it entirely +in my 'ands. I'll have the chair taken up some +evening to Porpentine's house on a 'andcart, and +drop in, and just lead up to it carelessly, if you +understand me, then go out and wheel the chair in, +make him try it—and there you <i>are</i>.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Balch.</span> There <i>you</i> are, right enough; but I +don't see where <i>we</i> come in, exactly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[ 140]</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Fillk.</span> If it's to be confined to just us four, +I certingly think we ought <i>all</i> to be present at the +presentation.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Cockcr.</span> That would be just the very thing +to put a man like Porpentine out—a crowd dropping +in on him like that! I know his ways, and, seeing +I'm providing the chair——</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Balch</span> (<i>relieved</i>). <i>You</i> are? That's different, +of course; but I thought you said that we four——</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Cockcr.</span> I'm coming to that. As the prime +mover, and a particular friend of Porpentine's, it's +only right and fair I should bear the chief burden. +There's an easy-chair I have at home that only +wants re-covering to be as good as new, and all you +fellers need do is to pay for 'aving it nicely done up +in velvet, or what not, and we'll call it quits.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Balch.</span> I daresay; but I like to know what +I'm letting myself in for; and there's upholsterers +who'll charge as much for doing up a chair as would +furnish a room.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Filk.</span> I—I shouldn't feel justified, with my +family, and, as, comparatively speaking, a recent +resident, in going beyond a certain limit, and unless +the estimate could be kep' down to a moderate sum, +I really——-</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Sibb.</span> (<i>unmasking</i>). After all, you know, I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[ 141]</a></span> +don't see why we should go to any expense over a +stuck-up, cross-grained chap like Porpentine. It's +well-known he hasn't a good word to say for us +Jerrymere folks, and considers himself above the lot +of us!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Balch</span> and <span class="smcap">Mr. Filk</span>. I'm bound to say +there's a good deal in what Sibbering says. Porpentine's +never shown himself what <i>I</i> should call sociable.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Cockcr.</span> I've never found him anything but +pleasant myself, whatever he may be to others. I'm +not denying he's an <i>exclusive</i> man, and a <i>fastidious</i> +man, but he's been 'arshly treated, and <i>I</i> should have +thought this was an occasion—if ever there was +one—for putting any private feelings aside, and +rallying round him to show our respect and +sympathy. But of course if you're going to let +petty jealousies of this sort get the better of you, +and leave me to do the 'ole thing myself, <i>I've</i> no +objection. I daresay he'll value it all the more +coming from me.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Sibb.</span> Well, he <i>ought</i> to, after the shameful +way he's spoken of you to a friend of mine in the +City, who shall be nameless. You mayn't know, +and if not, it's only right I should mention it, that +he complained bitterly of having to change his +regular train on your account, and said (I'm only<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[ 142]</a></span> +repeating his words, mind you), that Jerrymere was +entirely populated by bores, but you were the worst +of the lot, and your jabber twice a day was more +than he <i>could</i> stand. He mayn't have <i>meant</i> anything +by it, but it was decidedly uncalled for.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Cockcr.</span> (<i>reddening</i>). I 'ope I'm above being +affected by the opinion any man may express of my +conversation—especially a cantankerous feller, who +can't keep his temper under decent control. A feller +who goes and breaks his umbrella over an unoffending +official's 'ead like that, and gets, very properly, locked +up for it! Jerrymere society isn't good enough for +him, it seems. He won't be troubled with much of +it in future—<i>I</i> can assure him! Upon my word, +now I come to think of it, I'm not sure he shouldn't +be called upon for an explanation of how he came +to be travelling without a ticket; it looks very much +to me as if he'd been systematically defrauding the +Company!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Filk.</span> Well, I didn't like to say so before; +but that's been <i>my</i> view all along!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Balch.</span> And mine.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Sibb.</span> Now perhaps you understand why +we'd rather leave it to you to give him the +arm-chair.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Cockcr.</span> I give a man an arm-chair for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[ 143]</a></span> +bringing disgrace on the 'ole of Jerrymere! I'd +sooner break it up for firewood! Whoever it was +that first started all this tomfoolery about a testimonial, +I'm not going to 'ave <i>my</i> name associated +with it, and if you'll take <i>my</i> advice, you'll drop +it once and for all, for it's only making yourselves +ridiculous!</p> + +<blockquote><p class="right">[<i>His companions, observing that he is in a somewhat +excited condition, consider it advisable to +change the subject.</i></p></blockquote> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/3star.png" width="450" height="143" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>THE MODEL DEMOCRACY.</h2> + +<p>"I think you left directions that you were to +be thawed in 199— precisely?" said the +stranger politely. "Allow me to introduce +myself—<span class="smcap">Number Seven Million and Six</span>. If you +feel equal to the effort, and would care to see the +vast improvements in our social condition since the +close of the benighted Nineteenth Century, I shall +be pleased to conduct you."</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Punch</span> then began to realise that he had had +himself frozen by a patent process just a hundred +years ago, and that he had returned to animation +in time for the close of the marvellous Twentieth +Century; so he prepared, in much curiosity and +excitement, to accompany his guide.</p> + +<p>"By the way," observed the latter, "you must +not be annoyed if your—hem—habiliments, which we +are unaccustomed to nowadays, should attract some +attention."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[ 148]</a></span></p> + +<p>Singularly enough, <span class="smcap">Mr. Punch</span> had just begun to +feel a certain embarrassment at the prospect of being +seen in Piccadilly or Regent Street in the company +of a person attired in grey cellular pyjamas, a drab +blanket, and a glazed pot hat. However, on reaching +the street, he found that every man he met was +similarly clad, while his own costume—which, in his +original century, would only have been remarkable +for its unimpeachable taste—was, in this, the subject +of universal and invidious comment.</p> + +<p>"You'll have your regulation pot hat and pyjamas +served out to you in time!" said <span class="smcap">Mr. Seven Million +and Six</span> encouragingly. "Then no one will say +anything to you. In these days we resent anything +that tends to confer an artificial distinction on any +man. Surnames, for example, which occasionally +suggested superiority of birth, have long been +abolished, and official numbers substituted. You +seem to be looking for something you do not see?" +he added, noting a certain blankness and disappointment +in <span class="smcap">Mr. Punch's</span> expressive countenance.</p> + +<p>"I was only wondering why I saw no signs of any +new and marvellous inventions at present," said +<span class="smcap">Mr. Punch.</span> "I rather expected to see the air full +of electric trains, manageable balloons, or coveys +of citizens darting about on mechanical pinions.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[ 149]</a></span> +But I see none, and even more people go on foot +than in my own time."</p> + +<p>"Inventions, I take it," was the reply, "only +served to enrich the Capitalist, and save time or +labour. Now we have no Capitalists and no riches, +and no reason for hurrying anywhere, while it would +be absurd and useless to lessen the amount of +manual labour when, even as it is, there is scarcely +enough to keep everyone employed for six hours a +day."</p> + +<p>"Why are all the women I see dressed exactly +alike in navy-blue woollen frocks and coal-scuttle +bonnets?" <span class="smcap">Mr. Punch</span> inquired presently. "Surely +they can't <i>all</i> be members of the Sal——"</p> + +<p>"A uniform costume was decreed by plebiscite +some years ago," replied his mentor, promptly. +"Any real equality amongst women was found hopeless +so long as some were able to render themselves +exceptionally attractive by a distinctive toilette."</p> + +<p>"What!" exclaimed <span class="smcap">Mr. Punch</span>, "did all the +pretty women consent to such a sacrifice?"</p> + +<p>"They were in a very decided minority, even then," +said <span class="smcap">Mr. Seven Million and Six</span>; "and it is not +our way to think much of minorities. At present, +owing no doubt to an enactment which penalised +every pretty woman by compelling her to wear blue<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[ 150]</a></span> +goggles and a respirator, feminine beauty is practically +extinct."</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Punch</span> could not restrain a sigh. They were +now entering a somewhat gloomy thoroughfare, between +massive blocks of buildings, with large doors +and innumerable small windows, which towered into +the sky on either hand.</p> + +<p>"I seem to miss the shop-fronts," he said aloud, +"with their plate-glass, and all their glitter and +luxury. What has become of them all?"</p> + +<p>"Such necessaries as the citizen requires," said +his companion, "are procured at the Public Storehouses, +which you see around you, by the simple +method of presenting a ticket. The luxuries you +refer to were only procurable by the rich, and +nobody is rich now. If you will come with me, I +will take you over one of the State Dwelling-houses, +and show you one of the suites of rooms. Every +citizen has a room; or, if married, a couple of rooms, +exactly the same shape and size as those of his +fellows.... Beautifully clean, you see!" he remarked, +complacently, as he threw open one of the +doors. "Neat whitewashed walls, plain deal furniture, +nice holland blinds—what more can any +reasonable citizen want in the way of comfort?"</p> + +<p>"There used to be a celebrated poet in my time,"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[ 151]</a></span> +said <span class="smcap">Mr. Punch</span>, with some hesitation, "who designed +and sold very beautiful upholstery—tapestry, +wall-papers, curtains, and so on. I fancy <i>he</i> held +Socialistic views. But I see no trace of his work +<i>here</i>."</p> + +<p>"I think I know whom you refer to," was the +reply. "The community would doubtless have been +glad of his Company's services if they would only have +contracted to supply every citizen with precisely the +same pattern and quality of their manufactures at, +say, a pork-pie a yard. But, for some reason, the +firm could not see their way to it, and the industry +declined; which is not to be regretted, for it certainly +tended to foster individualism."</p> + +<p>"It is curious," said <span class="smcap">Mr. Punch</span>, when they were +outside again, "that I have not as yet seen a single +policeman."</p> + +<p>"Not at all curious. We <i>have</i> none. Crime +simply proceeded from the galling sense of social +inequality. Consequently, as soon as that was +removed, Justice, with all its machinery, became +an anachronism."</p> + +<p>"I think," said <span class="smcap">Mr. Punch</span>, presently, "I should +like to take a stroll in Hyde Park."</p> + +<p>"That," said his guide, "has not been possible +for at least fifty years. All the parks are now cut<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[ 152]</a></span> +up into three-acre allotments, where every able-bodied +citizen does an hour's compulsory spade-work +once a fortnight. A most admirable reform, as you +will agree!"</p> + +<p>"Capital!" gasped <span class="smcap">Mr. Punch</span>, with an anticipatory +pain in his back. "Then I am curious to +see what strides have been made by your modern +painters. Could you take me to a picture-gallery?"</p> + +<p>"There are <i>no</i> modern painters. It is perhaps a +pity—but quite unavoidable. It was an obvious +injustice that, when all citizens had to perform their +share of more or less distasteful manual labour, +there should be any one class that earned a living by +work in which they took a positive pleasure. So that +every artist had to do his six hours' stone-breaking +or brick-making; or what not, as an antecedent +condition of being permitted to paint at all, and +naturally the State declined to provide him with +paints and brushes at the expense of the community. +A few artists persisted for a while, from sheer love of +the thing; but as no picture fetched more than +a pound of sausages, and the average price was a bowl +of porridge, they found it expedient to turn to some +more useful occupation. And it is undeniable that +they contribute more to the resources of the commonwealth +by wielding a trowel or a broom than by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[ 153]</a></span> +messing about with brushes and paint. As a +concession to hereditary instinct, however, their +descendants are still set apart as State white-washers."</p> + +<p>"And the drama?" <span class="smcap">Mr. Punch</span> inquired next. +"How is <i>that</i> getting on? Has the New Dramatist +made his appearance at last?"</p> + +<p>"On the contrary, I am glad to say he has disappeared—let +us hope for ever. For, the essence +of Drama, as I understand, was Emotion—Passion, +Jealousy, Marital and Parental relations, and so on. +Now that marriages are the subject of State +regulation, and extend only for a limited period, +Passion, of course is obsolete; Jealousy, too, is +recognised as merely Selfishness in disguise, and +we have grown too altruistic to desire the exclusive +possession of anything. While as the offspring of +every union are removed at birth to a communal +<i>crèche</i>, and brought up and educated by the State, +there are no longer any opportunities for filial or +parental affection."</p> + +<p>"Then I presume Fiction is equally——?"</p> + +<p>"Just so. Fiction depended on Contrast. When +everybody is on precisely the same level, the novelist +is, happily, unnecessary. What are you looking +for <i>now</i>?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[ 154]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I was wondering if I could buy an evening paper +anywhere," said <span class="smcap">Mr. Punch</span>, wistfully. "But +perhaps Journalism is also——?"</p> + +<p>"Of course. Everyone is so contentedly and +peacefully absorbed in contributing his share of work +to the State, that he has no desire to read about the +doings of other persons, even if there was anything +of interest to be told, which there isn't. We produce +just sufficient for our own wants, so there is no +commerce; we have no Army or Navy, since +we don't desire to conquer, and are not worth conquering. +No Politics, because we govern ourselves +by our own consent and co-operation; no Science, +as inventors only benefited capital at the expense of +labour; and, this being so, what <i>is</i> there to put into +a newspaper, if we had one?"</p> + +<p>"Haven't you even a—a <i>humorous</i> paper?" said +<span class="smcap">Mr. Punch</span>. "I used to do a little in that way +once."</p> + +<p>"You had better not do it <i>here</i>. Humour, I +believe, consisted in representing Humanity under +ridiculous aspects. <i>We</i>'re Humanity, and we don't +see any fun in being laughed at. None of your +humour here, mind!"</p> + +<p>"But the citizens have a certain amount of leisure, +I suppose," said <span class="smcap">Mr. Punch</span>. "How <i>do</i> they amuse<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[ 155]</a></span> +themselves? For I can discover no libraries, no +circuses, nor concert-rooms, nor anything!"</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 417px;"> +<img src="images/p155.png" width="417" height="600" alt=""None of your humour here, mind!"" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"None of your humour here, mind!"</span> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[ 157]</a></span></p> +<p>"It was seen to be invidious to furnish any +entertainment at the public expense which did not +give equal amusement to all, and so the idea was +gradually dropped. When our citizens have finished +their daily task, they find their relaxation, in the +intervals of eating and sleeping, in the harmless and +soothing practice of chewing gum. They can all +do <i>that</i>, and the State provides each with a weekly +supply for the purpose. Now tell me—is there +anything <i>more</i> I can do for you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," murmured <span class="smcap">Mr. Punch</span>; "if you would be +so very kind as to freeze me again for five hundred +years or so, I should be exceedingly obliged. I don't +feel quite at home in <i>this</i> century!"</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/3star.png" width="450" height="143" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>BY PARLIAMENTARY.</h2> + + +<p class="center"><i>On the Platform.</i></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">A Lady of Family.</span> Oh, yes, I do travel +third-class sometimes, my dear. I consider +it a duty to try to know something of the +lower orders.</p> + +<blockquote><p class="right">[<i>Looks out for an empty third-class compartment.</i></p></blockquote> + +<blockquote><p><i>In the Carriage.</i>—<i>The seats are now occupied: the <span class="smcap">Lady of +Family</span> is in one corner, next to a <span class="smcap">Chatty Woman</span> with a basket, +and opposite to an <span class="smcap">Eccentric-Looking Man</span> with a flighty +manner.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Eccentric Man</span> (<i>to the <span class="smcap">Lady of Family</span></i>). +Sorry to disturb you, Mum, but you're a-setting on +one o' my 'am sandwiches.</p> + +<p>The <i>L. of F.</i>???!!!</p> + +<p>The E. M. (<i>considerately</i>). Don't trouble yourself, +Mum, it's of no intrinsic value. I on'y put it there +to keep my seat.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[ 162]</a></span></p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Chatty W.</span> (<i>to the <span class="smcap">L. of F.</span></i>). I think I've seen +you about Shinglebeach, 'ave I not?</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">L. of F.</span> It is very possible. I have been +staying with some friends in the neighbourhood.</p> + +<p>The C. W. It's a nice cheerful place is Shinglebeach; +but (<i>confidentially</i>) don't you think it's a very +singler thing that in a place like that—a fash'nable +place, too—there shouldn't be a single 'am an' beef +shop?</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">L. of F.</span> (<i>making a desperate effort to throw +herself into the question</i>). What a very extraordinary +thing to be sure. Dear, <i>dear</i> me! No ham and +beef shop!</p> + +<p>The C. W. It's so indeed, Mum; and what's more, +as I daresay you have noticed for yourself, if you +'appen to want a snack o' fried fish ever so, there isn't +a place you could go to—leastways, at a moment's +notice. Now, 'ow do you explain such a thing as +that?</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">L. of F.</span> (<i>faintly</i>). I'm afraid I can't suggest +any explanation.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">A Sententious Man.</span> Fried fish is very sustaining.</p> + +<blockquote><p class="right">[<i>Relapses into silence for remainder of journey.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Eccentric Man</span>. Talking of sustaining, I +remember, when we was kids, my father ud bring us<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[ 163]</a></span> +home two pennorth o' ches'nuts, and we 'ad 'em +boiled, and they'd last us days. (<i>Sentimentally.</i>) He +was a kind man, my father (<i>to the <span class="smcap">L. of F.</span>, who bows +constrainedly</i>), though you wouldn't ha' thought it, to +look at him. I don't know, mind yer, that he wasn't +fond of his bit o' booze—(<i>the <span class="smcap">L. of F.</span> looks out of +window</i>)—like the best of us. I'm goin' up to prove +his will now, I am—if you don't believe me, 'ere's the +probate. (<i>Hands that document round for inspection.</i>) +That's all reg'lar enough, I 'ope. (<i>To the <span class="smcap">L. of F.</span></i>) +Don't give it back before you've done with it—I'm in +no 'urry, and there's good reading in it. (<i>Points out +certain favourite passages with a very dirty forefinger.</i>) +Begin there—<i>that's</i> my name.</p> + +<blockquote><p class="right">[<i>The <span class="smcap">L. of F.</span> peruses the will with as great +a show of interest as she can bring herself to +assume.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Eccentric Man</span>. D'ye see that big 'andsome +building over there? That's the County Lunatic +Asylum—where my poor wife is shut up. I went to +see her last week, I did. (<i>Relates his visit in detail to +the <span class="smcap">L. of F.</span>, who listens unwillingly.</i>) It's wonderful +how many of our family have been in that asylum +from first to last. I 'ad a aunt who died cracky; and +my old mother, she's very peculiar at times. There's +days when I feel as if I was a little orf my own 'ed, so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[ 164]</a></span> +if I say anything at all out of the way, you'll know +what it is.</p> + +<p class="right">[<i><span class="smcap">L. of F.</span> changes carriages at the next station. In +the second carriage are two Men of seafaring +appearance, and a young Man who is parting +from his <span class="smcap">Fiancée</span> as the <span class="smcap">L. of F.</span> takes her seat.</i></p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Fiancé</span>. Excuse me one moment, Ma'am.</p> + +<p>(<i>Leans across the <span class="smcap">L. of F.</span> and out of the window.</i>) Well, +good-bye, my girl; take care of yourself.</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Fiancée</span> (<i>with a hysterical giggle.</i>) Oh, I'll +take care o' <i>my</i> self.</p> + +<blockquote><p class="right">[<i>Looks at the roof of the carriage.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p><span class="smcap">He</span> (<i>with meaning</i>). No more pickled onions, eh?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">She.</span> What a one you are to remember things! +(<i>After a pause.</i>) Give my love to Joe.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">He.</span> All right. Well, Jenny, just one, for the last. +(<i>They embrace loudly, after which the <span class="smcap">F.</span> resumes his seat +with an expression of mingled sentiment and complacency.</i>) +Oh (<i>to <span class="smcap">L. of F.</span></i>), if you don't mind my stepping across +you again, Mum. Jenny, if you see Dick between +this and Friday, just tell him as——</p> + +<blockquote><p class="right">[<i>Prolonged whispers; sounds of renewed kisses; final +parting as train starts with a jerk, which throws +the <span class="smcap">Finacé</span> upon the <span class="smcap">L. of F.'s</span> lap. After the +train is started a gleam of peculiar significance +is observable in the eyes of one of the Seafaring</i></p></blockquote><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[ 165]</a></span></p> +<blockquote><p><i>Men, who is reclining in an easy attitude on the +seat. His companion responds with a grin of +intelligence, and produces a large black bottle +from the rack. They drink, and hand the bottle +to the <span class="smcap">Fiancé</span>.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p>The F. Thankee, I don't mind if I do. Here's +wishing you——</p> + +<blockquote><p class="right">[<i>Remainder of sentiment drowned in sound of glug-glug-glug; +is about to hand back bottle when +the first <span class="smcap">Seafarer</span> intimates that he is to pass +it on. The <span class="smcap">L. of F.</span> recoils in horror.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p><span class="smcap">Both Seafarers.</span> It's <i>wine</i>, Mum!</p> + +<blockquote><p class="right">[<i>Tableau. The <span class="smcap">Lady of Family</span> realises that the +study of third-class humanity has its drawbacks.</i></p></blockquote> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/3star.png" width="450" height="143" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>THE FARMING OF THE FUTURE;</h2> +<h3><span class="smcap">Or, What British Agriculture is Coming to.</span></h3> + +<p class="center"><i>A Car on the Electric Light Railway. <span class="smcap">Time.</span>—Twentieth +Century.</i></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">First Farmer</span> (<i>recognising Second Farmer</i>). +Why, 'tis Muster Fretwail, surelie! didn't see +it was you afore. And how be things gettin' +along with <i>you</i>, Sir, eh?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Farmer Fretwail</span> (<i>lugubriously</i>). 'Mong the +middlin's, Muster Lackaday; 'mong the middlin's! +Nothen doin' just now—nothen 't all!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Third Farmer</span> (<i>enviously</i>). Well, <i>you</i> hevn't no +call fur to cry out, neighbour. I see you've got +a likely lot o' noo 'oardins comin' up all along your +part o' the line. I wish mine wur arf as furrard, I +know thet!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">F. Fretwail.</span> Ah, them "Keep yer 'air on"'s, +<i>you</i> mean, Ryemouth. I don't deny as they was +lookin' tidy enough a week back. But just as I was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[ 170]</a></span> +makin' ready fur to paint up "Try it on a Billiard +Ball," blamed if this yere frost didn't set in, and +now theer's everything at a standstill, wi' the brushes +froze 'ard in the pots!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">F. Ryemouth.</span> 'Tis the same down with me. +Theer's a acre o' "Bunyan's Easy Boots" as must +hev a noo coat, and I cann't get nothen done to 'en +till the weather's a bit more hopen like. Don' keer +<i>'ow</i> soon we hev a change, myself, I don't!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">F. Lackaday.</span> Nor yet me, so long as we don't +'ave no gales with it. Theer was my height acre +pasture as I planted only las' Candlemas wi' "Roopy's +Lung Tonics"—wunnerful fine and tall they was, +too—and ivery one on 'en blowed down the next +week!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">F. Fretwail.</span> Well I 'ope theer wun't be no rain, +neither, come to that. I know I had all the P's of my +"Piffler's Persuasive Pillules" fresh gold-leaved at +Michaelmas, and it come on wet directly arter I +done it, and reg'lar washed the gilt out o' sight an' +knowledge, it did. Theer ain't no standin' up agen +rain!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">F. Ryemouth.</span> I dunno as I wouldn't as lief hev +rain as sun. My "Hanti-Freckle Salves" all blistered +up and peeled afore the summer was 'ardly begun +a'most.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[ 171]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 414px;"> +<img src="images/p171.png" width="414" height="600" alt=""I cann't get nothen done to 'en till the weather's a bit +more hopen like."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"I cann't get nothen done to 'en till the weather's a bit +more hopen like."</span> +</div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[ 172]</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[ 173]</a></span></p><p><span class="smcap">F. Lackaday.</span> 'Tis a turr'ble hard climate to +make 'ead against, is ourn. I've 'eard tell as some +farmers are takin' to they enamelled hiron affairs, +same as they used to hev when I wur a lad. I mind +theer wur a crop o' "Read Comic Cagmag" as +lingered on years arter the paper itself. Not as I +hold with enamelling, myself—'tain't what I call +'igh farmin'—takes too much outer the land in +<i>my</i> 'pinion.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">F. Fretwail.</span> Aye, aye. "Rotation o' boards." +Say, "Spooner's Sulphur Syrup" fur a spring crop, +follered with some kind o' soap or candles, and p'raps +cough lozengers, or hembrocation, or bakin' powder, +if the soil will bear it, arterwards—that's the system +<i>I</i> wur reared on, and there ain't no better, 'pend +upon it!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">F. Ryemouth.</span> I tell 'ee what 'tis; it's time we +'ad some protection agen these yere furrin advartisements. +I was travellin' along the Great Northern +t'other day, an' I see theer wos two or three o' them +French boards nigh in ivery field, a downright shame +and disgrace I call it, disfigurin' the look of the +country and makin' it that ontidy—let alone drivin' +honest British boards off the land. Government +ought to put a stop to it; that's what <i>I</i> say!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">F. Lackaday.</span> They Parliment chaps don't keer<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[ 174]</a></span> +<i>what</i> becomes of us poor farmers, they don't. Look +at last General Election time. They might ha' given +our boards a turn; but not they. Most o' they +candidates did all their 'tisin' with rubbishy flags and +balloons—made in Japan, Sir, every blamed one o' +them! And they wonder British Agriculture don't +prosper more!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">F. Ryemouth.</span> Speaking o' queer ways o' hadvertisin', +hev any of ye set eyes on that farm o' young +Fullacrank's? Danged if ever <i>I</i> see sech tomfool +notions as he's took up with in all <i>my</i> born days.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">F. Fretwail.</span> Why, what hev he been up to +<i>now</i>, eh?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">F. Ryemouth.</span> Well, I thought I shud ha' bust +myself larfin' when I see it fust. Theer ain't not a +board nor a sky sign; no, nor yet a 'oarding, on the +'ole of his land!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">F. Lackaday.</span> Then how do he expect to get a +profit out of it?—that's what <i>I</i> want to year.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">F. Ryemouth.</span> You'll 'ardly credit it, neighbours, +but he's been buryin' some o' they furrin grains, +hoats and barley, an' I dunno what not, in little holes +about his fields, so as to make the words, "Use +Faddler's Non-Farinaceous Food"—and the best of +it is the darned young fool expecks as 'ow it'll all +sprout come next Aperl—he do indeed, friends!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[ 175]</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">F. Fretwail.</span> Flying in the face o' Providence, +I calls it. He must ha' gone clean out of his +senses!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">F. Lackaday.</span> Stark starin' mad. I never heerd +tell o' such extravagance. Why, as likely as not, +'twill all die off o' the land afore the year's out—and +wheer wull he be <i>then</i>?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">F. Ryemouth.</span> Azactly what I said to 'en myself. +"You tek my word for it," I sez, "'twun't never come +to no good. The nateral crop for these yere British +Hiles," I told 'en, "is good honest Henglish hoak an' +canvas," I sez, "and 'tain't the action of no sensible +man, nor yet no Christian," sez I, "to go a-drillin' +'oles and a-droppin' in houtlandish seeds from Canada +an' Roosha, which the sile wasn't never intended to +bear!"</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Farmers Fretwell</span> and <span class="smcap">Lackaday</span>. Rightly +spoke, neighbour Ryemouth, 'twas a true word! But +theer'll be a jedgment on sech new-fangled doin's, +and, what's moor, you and I will live fur to see it +afore we're very much older!</p> + +<blockquote><p class="right">[<i>They all shake their heads solemnly as scene closes in.</i></p></blockquote> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/3star.png" width="450" height="143" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>A DIALOGUE ON ART.</h2> + +<h3>(<span class="smcap">A Study in Spirits and Waters.</span>)</h3> + + +<p><i>The Smoke-room of a Provincial Hotel. <span class="smcap">Time</span>—Towards +midnight. <span class="smcap">Characters</span>—<span class="smcap">Mr. Luceslipp-Bletheron</span>, a +middle-aged Art Patron and Dilettante. He has arrived at his +third tumbler of whiskey and water, and the stage at which a +man alludes freely before strangers to his "poor dear father." +<span class="smcap">Mr. Milboard</span>, a Painter, on a sketching tour. He is enduring +<span class="smcap">Mr. L.-B.</span> with a patience which will last for just one more +pipe. <span class="smcap">First Commercial</span>, who considers Mr. <span class="smcap">L.-B.</span> a highly +agreeable and well-informed gentleman, and is anxious to be included +in his audience. <span class="smcap">Second Commercial</span>, who doesn't intend to join +in the conversation until he feels he can do so with crushing effect.</i></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Luceslipp-bletheron.</span> Yes, I +assure you, I never come acrosh a David Cox +but I say to myself, "<i>There</i>'sh a Bit!" (<i>Here +he fixes his eye-glass, sips whiskey and water, and looks +at <span class="smcap">Mr. Milboard</span> as if he expected him to express +admiration at this evidence of penetration. The only +tribute he extorts, however, is a grunt.</i>) Now, we've a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[ 180]</a></span> +Cornelius Janssen at home. Itsh only hishtory is—my +dear father bought it. He was an artist himself, +painted a bit, travelled man, an' all that short o' +thing. Well, <i>he</i> picked it up for ten pounds!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">First Commercial</span> (<i>deferentially</i>). Did he reelly +now? A Johnson for ten pounds! Did he get a +warranty with it, Sir?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. L.-B.</span> (<i>after bringing the eye-glass to bear on the +intruder for a second</i>). Then I've a Mieris—at leasht, +<i>shome</i> clever f'ler painted it, and it'sh a pleashure to +look at it, and you can't get over <i>that</i>, can you?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Milboard.</span> I don't intend to <i>try</i> to get over it.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. L.-B.</span> You're qui' right. Now I'm the lasht +man in the world to shwagger; shtill, I'm goin' to +ashk you to lemme have my lil' shwagger now. I +happened to be at Rome shor' time ago, and I met +Middleman there. We had our lil' chat together and +what not—he'sh no pershonal friend o' mine. Well; +I picked up a lil' drawing by a Roman chap; worth +nothing more than what I got it for, or <i>anything</i>, as +you may shay. Middleman had the whole run of this +chap's studio. I saw this drawing—didn't care mush +about it—but thought it wash a gem, and gave the +modesh shum of a hundred an' fifty <i>lire</i> for it. +Put it in my portmanteau between a couple o' +shirts—<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[ 181]</a></span>—</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">First Comm.</span> (<i>still pining for notice</i>). When you +say shirts, Sir, I presume you mean <i>clean</i> ones?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. L.-B.</span> No man with the shlightest feelin' or +reverence for Art would <i>put</i> sush a queshtion! (<i>The +<span class="smcap">First Comm.</span> collapses.</i>) Between a couple of—(<i>underlining +the word</i>) Shirts, and brought it home. Now +I'm comin' to my point. One afternoon after my +return, I wash walking down Bond Street, when I +saw a sketch exhibited in a window by the shame +f'ler. I went in and shaid, "What are you asking +for thish? Mind I don' wanter <i>buy</i> it; ashk me any +price yer like!" And they shaid forty guineash.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Milb.</span> Apparently they availed themselves +of your permission, and <i>did</i> ask you any price they +liked.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. L.-B.</span> No doubt; but wait till I've <i>done</i>. I +saw another—a finished drawing not qui' so good +as mine, there. Then I shaid to them quietly, +"Now, look <i>here</i>, why don' you go an' buy 'em for +yourshelves in the artist's own shtudio?" It shtruck +me as sho odd, a man like Middleman, being there, +and having the pick, shouldn' buy <i>more</i> of 'em!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Milb.</span> Wasn't worth his while; he can't +buy <i>everything</i>!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. L.-B.</span> (<i>after considering this impartially with +some more whiskey</i>). No; your ansher is a very <i>good</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[ 182]</a></span> +one, and a very <i>fair</i> one. He <i>can't</i> buy everything. +I <i>did</i> pick, however, an' I gorrit. I said to him, +"How mush?" an' he tol' me, and there wash an +end of it, do you shee?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Milb.</span> It's the ordinary course of business, +isn't it?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. L.-B.</span> Egshackly. But how few <i>do</i> it! +Now, I'll tell you 'nother shtory 'bout my poo' dear +father. He came 'pon a sculpture in a curioshity +shop; it wash very dirty and used up, but my dear +father saw it was worth shpotting, and a thing to +<i>be</i> shpotted, and sho he put hish <i>finger</i> on it!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">First Comm.</span> (<i>undaunted by past failure</i>). And +was it antique, Sir?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. L.-B.</span> That'sh more'n I can tell you; it +wash very dirty, at any rate, and he only gave fifty +guineash for it. Wasn't a <i>great</i> shum——</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">First Comm.</span> (<i>encouraged by his affability</i>). No, +indeed; a mere nothing, so to speak, Sir!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. L.-B.</span> (<i>annoyed</i>). Will you have the goodnesh +to lemme finish what I was telling thish gentleman? +When my poo' father got that busht home, it was +the mos' perfect likenesh o' Napoleon!</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[ 183]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 596px;"> +<img src="images/p183.png" width="596" height="600" alt=""They haven't the patiensh for it."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"They haven't the <i>patiensh</i> for it."</span> +</div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[ 184]</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[ 185]</a></span></p><p><span class="smcap">Mr. Milb.</span> Ha! puts me in mind of the old story +of the man who picked up a dingy panel somewhere +or other, took it home, cleaned it, and found a +genuine Morland; went on cleaning and discovered +an undoubted Rembrandt; cleaned <i>that</i>, and came +to a Crivelli; couldn't stop, kept on cleaning, +and was rewarded by a portrait of George the +Fourth!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">First Comm.</span> (<i>deeply impressed</i>). And all of them +genuine? How <i>very</i> extraordinary, to be sure!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. L.-B.</span> (<i>wagging his head sapiently</i>). I could +tell you shtranger things than <i>that</i>. But as I was +shaying, here was this busht of Napoleon, by some +French chap—which <i>you</i> would tell me was <i>against</i> it.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Milb.</span> Why? The French are the best +sculptors in the world.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. L.-B.</span> The Frensh! I can <i>not</i> bring myshelf +to believe that, if only for thish shimple reashon, +they haven't the <i>patiensh</i> for it.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">First Comm.</span> So <i>I</i> should have said. For my +own part—not knowing much <i>about</i> it, very likely—I +should have put the <i>Italians</i> first.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Milb.</span> If you are talking of all time——</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">First Comm.</span> (<i>feeling at last at his ease</i>). I should +say, even <i>now</i>. Why, there was a piece of statuary +in the Italian Exhibition at Earl's Court some years +back that took <i>my</i> fancy and took my <i>wife's</i> fancy +very much. It was a representation in marble of a +'en and chickens, all so natural, and with every<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[ 186]</a></span> +individual feather on the birds done to such a +nicety——!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Milb.</span> I was hardly referring to the skill +with which the Italians carve—ah—<i>poultry</i>.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. L.-B.</span> Ridic'lous! Great mishtake to talk +without unnershtanding shubject. (<i>The <span class="smcap">First Commercial</span> +retires from the room in disorder.</i>) One thing +I should like to ashk is thish. Why are sculptors +at present day so inferior to the antique? Ishn't the +human form divine ash noble and ash shymmetrical +ash formerly? Why can't they <i>reproduce</i> it then?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Milb.</span> You must first find your sculptor. +Providence doesn't see fit to create a Michael Angelo +or a Praxiteles every five minutes, any more than a +Shakspeare.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. L.-B.</span> (<i>wavering between piety and epigram</i>). +Thank the Lord for <i>that</i>! Now there'sh Florensh. +Shome of us who have had the <i>run</i> there—well, there +you see all the original thingsh—all the <i>originalsh</i>. +And yet, if you'll believe me (<i>dreamily</i>), with all my +love and charm for Art, gimme the Capitoline +Venush living and breathing in <i>flesh and blood</i>, Sir, +not in cold lifelesh marble!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Milb.</span> That of course is a matter of taste. +But we are talking about Art, not women.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. L.-B.</span> (<i>profoundly</i>). Unforsh'nately, women<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[ 187]</a></span> +are the <i>shubjects</i> of Art. You've got to find out your +client's shtyle of Art firsht, and then carry it out in +the besht possible manner.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Milb.</span> (<i>rising, and knocking his pipe out</i>). +Have I? But I'm going to bed now, so you'll +excuse me.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. L.-B.</span> (<i>detaining him</i>). But look here again. +Take the Louvre. (<i>As <span class="smcap">Mr. Milboard</span> disclaims any +desire to take it.</i>) Now, nobody talksh about the +Gallery <i>there</i>, and yet, if you only egshemp the +thingsh that are rude and vulgar, and go quietly +roun'——</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Second Commercial</span> (<i>who sees a Socratic opening +at last</i>). Might I ask you, Sir, to enumerate any +pictures there, that, in your opinion, are "rude and +vulgar"?</p> + +<blockquote><p class="right">[<i><span class="smcap">Mr. Milboard</span> avails himself of this diversion +to escape.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. L.-B.</span> In the Grand Gallery of the Louvre +there'sh an enormous amount of shtuff, as everybody +who'sh an artisht and a lover of Art knowsh. If I +had a friend who wash thinking of going to the +Louvre (<i>here he looks round vaguely for <span class="smcap">Mr. Milboard</span></i>), +I should shay to him, "Do you <i>care</i> about pictursh +at all? If you <i>don't</i>, don't borrer yourshelf 'bout it. +If you <i>do</i>, drop in shome day with Me, and I'll give<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[ 188]</a></span> +you a hint what to shee." (<i>As he cannot make out +what has become of <span class="smcap">Mr. Milboard</span>, he has to content +himself with the <span class="smcap">Second Commercial</span>.</i>) If you were +<i>my</i> boy, I should shay to you——</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Second Comm.</span> (<i>at the door</i>). Pardon me for +remarking that, if I was your boy, I should probably +prefer to take my own opinion. (<i>With dignified independence.</i>) +I never follow other persons' taste in Art!</p> + +<blockquote><p class="right">[<i>He goes out as the Smoke-room Page enters.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. L.-B.</span> (<i>hazily with half-closed eyes</i>). If you +wash <i>my</i> boy, I should shay to you, very quietly, very +sherioushly, and without 'tempting to dictate——(<i>Perceives +that he is addressing the Page.</i>) Jus' bring +me 'nother glash whiskey an' warrer.</p> + +<blockquote><p class="right">[<i>He is left sitting.</i></p></blockquote><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[ 189]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/3star.png" width="450" height="143" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>THE OLD LOVE AND THE NEW.</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">A Contrast.</span></h3> + + +<p><i>The Stables at Saddlesprings, the Wheelers' Country House +near Bykersall. <span class="smcap">Miss Diana's</span> Horse <span class="smcap">Bayard</span> discovered in his +Stall.</i></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Bayard</span> (<i>talking to himself, as is the habit of some +horses when alone</i>). I can't make it out. She's +here. All the family came down yesterday—I +heard the omnibus start for the station to +meet them. And yet she hasn't sent for me; hasn't +even been near me! She always used to rush in here +and kiss me on the nose the very first—She's ill—that's +it of course—sprained her fetlock or something. +If she was well, she'd have had me saddled as soon +as she'd had her morning feed, and we'd have gone for +a canter together somewhere.... I hope she'll get +well soon. I'm sick of being taken out by the stable-man; +he's so dull—no notion of conversation beyond +whistling! Now, Miss Diana would talk to me the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[ 192]</a></span> +whole way.... Perhaps her hands and seat might +have been——But what did <i>that</i> matter? I liked +to feel she was on my back, I liked the sound of her +pretty voice, and the touch of her hand when she +patted me after her ride.... (<i>He pricks his ears.</i>) +Why, that's her voice outside now! She's all right, +after all. She's coming in to see me!... I <i>knew</i> +she couldn't have forgotten!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Miss Diana's Voice</span> (<i>outside</i>). Yes, you might put +it in here for the present, Stubbs. I suppose it will +be quite safe?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Stubbs' Voice.</span> Safe enough, Miss, there's plenty +o' empty stalls this side. Nothing <i>in</i> 'ere just now, +except——</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Miss D.'s Voice.</span> Very well, then. Just wipe +some of the dust off the mud-guards, because I shall +want it again after lunch. And mind you don't +scratch the enamel taking it in.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Stubbs.</span> Very good, Miss. I'll be keerful.</p> + +<blockquote><p class="right">[<i><span class="smcap">Miss Diana's</span> steps die away upon the cobbles.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p><span class="smcap">Bayard</span> (<i>to himself</i>). She's gone—without even +asking after me! What has she been out in—a bath +chair? I'm sure she <i>must</i> be ill.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Stubbs</span> (<i>to the Bicycle, as he wheels it in</i>). 'Ere, +steady now, 'old up, can't ye? And keep that +blarsted near pedal o' yourn off o' <i>my</i> enamel.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[ 193]</a></span> +Blest if I wouldn't rather rub down arf a dozen +'unters nor one o' them yere bloomin' bi-cycles. +I know where I <i>am</i> with a 'orse; but these +'ere little, twisty, spidery wheels——Come <i>over</i>, +will ye. I'll lean ye up agen 'ere till I've 'ad my +dinner.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 457px;"> +<img src="images/p193.png" width="457" height="600" alt=""It must be a sort of animal, I suppose."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"It must be a sort of animal, I suppose."</span> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[ 195]</a></span></p> +<blockquote><p class="right">[<i>He places the machine against a partition next to +<span class="smcap">Bayard's</span> stall, and goes out.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p><span class="smcap">Bayard</span> (<i>to himself, as he inspects his neighbour with +the corner of his eye</i>). It's <i>not</i> a bath-chair; it's one +of these bicycles. It must be a sort of animal, +I suppose, or Stubbs wouldn't have spoken to it. +I should like to ask it one or two questions. (<i>He +gets his neck over the partition, and breathes gently through +his nostrils upon the handle-bars.</i>) Excuse me, but do +you understand horse-language at all?</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Bicycle</span> (<i>answering by a succession of saddle-creaks</i>). +Perfectly. I'm a kind of horse myself, +I believe, only greatly <i>improved</i>, of course. <i>Would</i> +you mind not breathing on my handle-bars like that? +It tarnishes the plating so. The saddle is the seat of +<i>my</i> intelligence, if you will kindly address your +remarks here.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Bayard.</span> I beg your pardon. I will in future. +I don't creak myself, but I've been closely connected +with saddles ever since I was a two-year-old, so I can<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[ 196]</a></span> +follow you fairly well. Didn't I hear my mistress's +voice outside just now?</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Bicycle</span>. No; <i>my</i> mistress's, Miss Diana's. +I'd just taken her out for a short spin—not far, only +fifteen miles or so.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Bayard.</span> Then, she—she's quite well?</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Bicycle</span>. Thanks, she's pedalling pretty +strong just now. I'm going out with her again this +afternoon.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Bayard.</span> Again! You will have had a hard day +of it altogether, then. But I suppose you'll get a day +or two's rest afterwards? I know <i>I</i> should want it.</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Bicycle</span>. Bless you, <i>I</i> never want rest. +Why, I've been forty miles with her, and come home +without clanking a link! <i>She</i> was knocked up, if you +like—couldn't go out for days!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Bayard.</span> Ah, she was never knocked up after +riding <i>me</i>!</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Bicycle</span>. Because—it's no fault of yours, of +course, but the way you've been constructed—you +couldn't go far enough to knock <i>anybody</i> up. And +she doesn't get tired now, either. I'm not the kind +of bicycle to boast; but I've often heard her say that +she much prefers her "bike" (she always calls me +her "bike"—very nice and friendly of her, isn't it?) +to any mere <i>horse</i>.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[ 197]</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Bayard.</span> To any mere horse! And does she—give +any reasons?</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Bicycle</span>. Lots. For one thing, she says +she feels so absolutely safe on me; she knows that, +whatever she meets, I shall never start, or shy, +or rear, or anything of that sort.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Bayard.</span> I don't remember playing any of those +tricks with her, however hard she pulled the curb.</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Bicycle</span>. Then she says she never has to +consider whether any distance will be too much for +me.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Bayard.</span> As for <i>that</i>——But the longer I was +out with her, the better I was pleased; she might +have brought me home as lame as a tree all round, +and <i>I</i> shouldn't have cared!</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Bicycle</span>. Perhaps not. But <i>she</i> would; +so inconvenient, you see. Now <i>my</i> strong point is, +I <i>can't</i> go lame—in good hands, of course, and she +knows exactly how to manage me, I will say that for +her!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Bayard.</span> Does she give you carrots or sugar after +a ride? she did <i>me</i>.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Bicycle</span> (<i>with a creak of contempt</i>). Now what +<i>do</i> you suppose I could do with sugar or a carrot +if I had it? No, a drop or two of oil now and then +is all I take in the way of sustenance. That's <i>another</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[ 198]</a></span> +point in my favour, I cost little or nothing to keep. +Now, your oats and hay and stuff, I daresay, cost +more in a year than I'm worth altogether!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Bayard.</span>. I must admit that you have the advantage +of me in cheapness. If I thought she grudged +me my oats——But I'm afraid I couldn't manage +on a drop or two of oil.</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Bicycle</span>. You'd want buckets of it to oil +<i>your</i> bearings. No, she wouldn't save by that! +(<i><span class="smcap">Stubbs</span> re-enters.</i>) Ah, here comes my man. I must +be going; got to take her over to Pineborough, rather +a bore this dusty weather, but when a lady's in the +case, eh?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Bayard.</span> There's a nasty hill going into Pineborough; +do be careful how you take her down it!</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Bicycle</span>. You forget, my friend, I'm not +a Boneshaker, I'm a Safety. Why, she'll just put +her feet up on the rests, fold her arms, and leave the +rest to me. She knows <i>I</i> can be trusted.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Bayard.</span> Just tell me this before you go. Does—she +doesn't pat you, or kiss you on your—er—handle-bar +after a run, does she?</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Bicycle</span> (<i>turning its front wheel to reply, as +<span class="smcap">Stubbs</span> wheels it out</i>). You don't imagine I should +stand any sentimental rot of that sort, do you? She +knows better than to try it on!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[ 199]</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Bayard</span> (<i>to himself</i>). I'm glad she doesn't kiss it. +I don't think I <i>could</i> have stood that!</p> + + +<p><i>Same Scene. Some Hours Later.</i></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Stubbs</span> (<i>enters, carrying a dilapidated machine with +crumpled handles, a twisted saddle, and a front wheel +distorted into an irregular pentagon</i>). Well, I 'ope as +'ow this'll sarve as a lesson to 'er, I dew; a marcy +she ain't broke her blessed little neck! (<i>To the +Bicycle.</i>) No need to be hover and above purtickler +'bout scratchin' your enamel <i>now</i>, any'ow! (<i>He +pitches it into a corner, and goes.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Bayard</span> (<i>after reconnoitring</i>). You don't mean to +say it's <i>you</i>!</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Bicycle</span>. Me? of course it's me! A nice +mess I'm in, too, entirely owing to her carelessness. +Never put the brake on down that infernal hill, lost +all control over me, and here I am, a wreck, Sir! +Why, I had to be driven home, by a grinning groom, +in a beastly dog-cart! Pleasant that!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Bayard.</span> But she—Miss Diana—was she hurt? +Not—not <i>seriously</i>, eh?</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Bicycle</span>. Oh, of course you don't care what +becomes of <i>me</i> so long as——<i>She's</i> all right enough—fell +in a ditch, luckily for her, <i>I</i> came down on +a heap of stones. It'll be weeks before I'm out +of the repairer's hands.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[ 200]</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Bayard</span> (<i>to himself</i>). I <i>oughtn't</i> to be glad; but I +am—I <i>am</i>! She's safe, and—and she'll come back +to me after this! (<i>To the Bicycle.</i>) Wasn't she +sorry for you?</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Bicycle</span>. Not she! These women have no +feeling in them. Why, what do you suppose she +said when they told me it would take weeks to tinker +me up?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Bayard</span> (<i>to himself—with joy</i>). I think I can guess! +(<i>To the Bicycle.</i>) What <i>did</i> she say?</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Bicycle</span> (<i>rattling with indignation</i>). Why, all +<i>she</i> said was: "How tiresome! I wonder if I can +hire a decent bike here without having to send +to town for one." There's gratitude for you! But +<i>you</i> can't enter into my feelings about it.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Bayard.</span> Pardon me—I fancy I can. And, after +all, your day will come, when the Vet has set you up +again. <i>Mine's</i> over for ever. (<i>To himself.</i>) Oh, why, +<i>why</i> wasn't I born a bicycle!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[ 201]</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[ 203]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/3star.png" width="450" height="143" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>A DOLL'S DIARY.</h2> + +<p><i>January 1.</i>—Just had a brilliant idea—<i>quite</i> +original. I don't believe even any human +person ever <i>thought</i> of such a thing, but then,—besides +being extremely beautiful and expensive, with +refined wax features and golden hair—I am a very +clever doll indeed. Frivolous, no doubt; heartless, +so they tell me—but the very reverse of a <i>fool</i>. I +flatter myself that if <i>anybody</i> understands the nature +of toys, especially <i>male</i> toys—but I am forgetting my +idea—which is this. I am going this year to write +down—the little girl I belong to has no idea I can +write, but I <i>can</i>—and better than <i>she</i> does, too!—to +write down every event of importance that happens, +<i>with the dates</i>. There! I fancy <i>that</i> is original enough. +It will be a valuable dollian document when it is +done, and <i>most</i> interesting to look back upon. Now +I must wait for something to happen.</p> + +<p><i>January 6.</i>—Went to Small Dance given by the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[ 204]</a></span> +Only Other Wax Doll (a dreadful old frump!) on the +Nursery Hearthrug. Room rather nicely illuminated +by coloured fire from grate, and a pyramid nightlight, +but floor poor. Didn't think much of the music—a +fur monkey at the Digitorium, and a woolly lamb +who brought his own bellows, make <i>rather</i> a feeble +orchestra. Still, on the whole, enjoyed myself. +Much admired. Several young Ninepins, who are +considered stuck-up, and keep a good deal to their +own set, begged to be introduced. Sat out one +dance with a Dice-box, who rattled away most +amusingly. I understand he is quite an authority +on games, and anything that falls from his mouth +is received with respect. He is a great sporting +character, too, and arranges all the meetings on the +Nursery Race-course, besides being much interested +in Backgammon. I <i>do</i> like a Toy to have <i>manly</i> +tastes!</p> + +<p>The Captain of a Wooden Marching Regiment +quartered in the neighbourhood was there in full +uniform, but not dancing. Told me they <i>didn't</i> in +his regiment. As his legs are made in one piece and +glued on to a yellow stand, inclined to think this was +not mere military swagger. He seemed considerably +struck with me. Made an impression, too, on a +rather elderly India-rubber Ball. Snubbed him, as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[ 205]</a></span> +one of the Ninepins told me he was considered "a +bit of a bounder."</p> + +<p>Some of the Composition Dolls, I could see, were +perfectly <i>stiff</i> with spite and envy. Spent a very +pleasant evening, not getting back to my drawer till +daylight. Too tired to write more.</p> + +<p><i>Mem.</i>—Not to sit out behind the coal-scuttle +another time!</p> + +<p><i>February 14.</i>—Amount of attention I receive really +quite embarrassing. The Ninepins are too <i>absurdly</i> +devoted. One of them (the nicest of all) told me to-day +he had never been so completely bowled over in +his whole existence! I manage to play them off +against each other, however. The India-rubber Ball, +too, is at my feet—and, naturally, I spurn him, but +he is so short-winded that nothing will induce him to +rise. Though naturally of an elastic temperament, +he has been a good deal cast down of late. I smile +on him occasionally—just to keep the Ball rolling; +but it is becoming a frightful bore.</p> + +<p><i>March.</i>—Have been presented with a charming +pony-carriage, with two piebald ponies that go by +clock work. I wish, though, I was not expected to +share it with a <i>live kitten</i>! The kitten has no idea +of repose, and spoils the effect of the turn-out. Try +not to seem aware of it—even when it claws my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[ 206]</a></span> +frock. Rather interested in a young Skipjack, whom +I see occasionally; he is quite good-looking, in a +common sort of way. I talk to him now and then—it +is something to do; and he is a new type, so +different from the Ninepins!</p> + +<p><i>April 1.</i>—Have just heard the Skipjack is engaged +to a plaster Dairy-maid. A little annoyed, because +he really seemed——Have been to see his <i>fiancée</i>, +a common-place creature, with red cheeks, and a +thick waist. Congratulate the Skipjack, with just a +<i>hint</i> that he might have looked higher. Afraid that +he misunderstood me, for he absolutely jumped.</p> + +<p><i>April 7.</i>—The Skipjack tells me he has <i>broken off +his engagement</i>; he seems to think I shall guess the +reason—but I don't, of <i>course</i>. Then he actually has +the impertinence to (I can scarcely pen the words +for indignation) to <i>propose</i>—to Me! I inform him, in +the most <i>unmistakable</i> terms, that he has presumed +on my good-nature, and that there are social barriers +between us, which no Skipjack can ever surmount. +He leaves me abruptly, after declaring that I have +broken the spring of his existence.</p> + +<p><i>April 8.</i>—Much shocked and annoyed. The Skipjack +found quite stiff and colourless this morning, in +the water-jug! Must have jumped in last night. So +<i>very</i> rash and silly of him! Am sure I gave him no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[ 207]</a></span> +encouragement—or <i>next</i> to none. Hear that the +Dairy-maid has gone off her head. Of course it will +be put down to <i>grief</i>; but we all know how easily +plaster heads get cracked. Feel really distressed +about it all, for the blame is sure to fall on <i>me</i>. +Those Composition Dolls will make a fine scandal +out of it!</p> + +<p><i>May.</i>—The Ninepins are getting very difficult to +manage; have to put them down as delicately as +possible; but I am afraid, poor fellows, they are +dreadfully upset. The Wooden Captain has challenged +the Dice-box to a duel—I fear, on <i>my</i> account. +However, as the officer's sword will not unglue, I +<i>hope</i> nothing will come of it. All this <i>most</i> worrying, +though, and gives me little <i>real</i> satisfaction. I find +myself sighing for more <i>difficult</i> conquests.</p> + +<p><i>June.</i>—Went to afternoon tea with the biggest +Dutch Doll. Rather a come-down, but now that +there is this coolness between the Composition set +and myself, I must go <i>somewhere</i>. I feel <i>so</i> bored at +times! Can see the ridiculous Dutch thing is trying +to <i>out-dress</i> me! She had a frock on that <i>must</i> have +cost at <i>least</i> fifty beads, and I don't believe it will <i>ever</i> +be paid for! Only made her look the bigger <i>guy,</i> +though! Tea-party a stupid affair. Make-believe +tea in pewter cups. Met the latest arrival, a really<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[ 208]</a></span> +nice-looking Gentleman Doll, introduced as "Mr. +Joseph." Very innocent face, without any moustache, +and the sweetest blue eyes (except mine) I think I +<i>ever</i> saw! Seemed rather shy, but pleasant. Asked +him to call.</p> + +<p><i>June 18.</i>—Mr. Joseph has not called <i>yet</i>. Very +strange! Suspect those horrid Composition Dolls +have been setting him against me. Met him by the +back-board and scolded him. He seemed confused. +By a little management, I got it all out of him. I +was right. He <i>has</i> been told about the Skipjack. +He has strict principles, and gave me to understand +that he would prefer to decline my acquaintance—which +was <i>like his impudence</i>! This is exciting, +though. I intend to overcome these scruples; I +mean him to be madly in love with me—then I +shall scornfully reject him, which will serve him +just <i>right</i>!</p> + +<p><i>July.</i>—My tactics have succeeded—<i>at last</i>! To-day +Joseph called, <i>ostensibly</i> to beg me to go and see the +unhappy Ball, who, it seems, is terribly collapsed, +reduced to a <i>mere bowl</i>, and so exhausted that he +cannot hold out much longer. However, in the +course of the interview, I soon made him oblivious +of the Ball. He fell at my feet. "Beautiful +Gloriana," he cried, "with all your many and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[ 209]</a></span> +glaring faults, I love you!" Then I carried out +the <i>rest</i> of my programme—it was a painful scene, +and I will only record that when he left me, he +was completely <i>un-dolled</i>! I feel almost sorry for +him—he had rather a nice face!</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/p209.png" width="600" height="407" alt=""I see him standing, on the very brink of the precipice."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"I see him standing, on the very brink of the precipice."</span> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[ 211]</a></span></p> +<p><i>July 4.</i>—I don't seem able to settle to anything. +After all, I think I will go and see the poor Ball. +It would comfort him, and I might see <i>him</i> there. +I will order the pony-carriage.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><i>August.</i>—What has happened to me? Where +have I been all this time? Let me collect myself, +and see how much I remember. My last clear +recollection is of being in my carriage on my way +to receive the departing Ball's last sigh.... Something +has started the clockwork. My ponies are +bolting, and I haven't the <i>slightest</i> control over them! +We are rushing along the smooth plain of the chest +of drawers, and rapidly nearing the edge. I try to +scream for help, but all I can utter is, "Papa!" and +"Mamma!" All at once I see <i>him</i> standing, calm +and collected, on the very brink of the precipice. +Is he strong enough to stop the ponies in their mad +clockwork career, and save me, <i>even yet</i>? <i>How</i> I +will love him if he does! An instant of sickening +suspense ... we are <i>over</i>!—falling down, down,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[ 212]</a></span> +down.... A crash, a whirr of clockwork, a rush of +bran to my head—and I know no more. What +follows is a dream—a horrible, confused nightmare—of +lying among a heap of limp bodies—some armless, +some legless, others (ah! the horror of it) <i>headless</i>! +I grope blindly for my own limbs—they are intact; +then I feel the place where I naturally expect to find +my head—it is <i>gone</i>!... The shock is too much—I +faint once more. And that is all.</p> + +<p>Thank goodness, it was only a dream—for here I +am, in the same old nursery again! Not <i>all</i> a +dream, either—or my pony-carriage would scarcely +present such a damaged appearance. The <i>accident</i> +was real. Then what—<i>what</i> has become of Joseph? +I <i>must</i> find him—I must make him understand that +I repent—that, for the future, I intend to be a +changed doll!</p> + +<p><i>September.</i>—Still searching for Joseph. No trace +of him. I seem to be a changed doll in more ways +than one. My former set knows me not. The Ninepins +do not stagger when I smile at them now; the +Dice-box gapes open-mouthed at my greeting. I +call upon the Composition Dolls—they are very +polite; but it is quite clear that they don't remember +me in the least! Alas! how soon one is forgotten +in the world of Toys! Have no heart to recall<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[ 213]</a></span> +myself to them. I go, for the first time since my +accident, to a convenient brass knob, in which I +would once gaze at my reflected features by the hour. +How indescribable are my sensations at the discovery +that I have a <i>totally new head</i>—a china one! I, who +used to look down on china dolls! It is a very +decent head, in its way; quite neat and inoffensive, +with smooth, shiny hair, which won't come down +like the golden locks I <i>once</i> had. I am glad—yes, +<i>glad</i> now—that Joseph has gone, and the home he +used to occupy is deserted, and shut up. If he were +here, <i>he</i> would not know me either. Now I can live +single all my remaining days, in memory of him, and +devote myself to doing good!</p> + +<p><i>October.</i>—Have entered on my new career. Am +organising a Mission for Lost Toys, and a Clothing +Club for Rag Dolls. To-day, while "slumming" in +the lumber-closet, found my old acquaintance, the +Dutch Doll in a <i>shocking</i> state of destitution—nothing +on her but a piece of <i>tattered tissue-paper</i>! To think +that my evil example and her own <i>senseless extravagance</i> +have brought her to <i>this</i>! Gave her one of my old +tea-gowns and a Sunday domino, but did not reveal +myself. Feeling very sad and lonely: think I shall +have to keep a mouse—I must have <i>something</i> to love +me!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[ 214]</a></span></p> + +<p><i>October 15.</i>—Someone has taken poor dear Joseph's +old house. I see a new doll, with a small but +worldly black moustache and a very bad countenance, +watching me as I pass the windows. Shall call and +leave a scripture brick. It may do him good.</p> + +<p><i>October 16.</i>—Have called.... <i>Never</i> heard worse +language from the lips of <i>any</i> doll! Came across +my old admirer, the Ball, who is better, though still +what I have heard the nursery governess describe as +an "<i>oblate spheroid</i>." Of course, he did not recognise +me.</p> + +<p><i>December.</i>—Have seen a good deal of the Doll +with the worldly moustache lately. From certain +symptoms, do not despair of reforming him—ultimately. +He seems softening. Yesterday he told +me he did not think he should live long. Yet he +has a splendid constitution—the best porcelain. He +is dreadfully cynical—seems so reckless about everything. +If I could only reclaim him—for Joseph's +sake!</p> + +<p>This afternoon I saw the yellow stand which the +Wooden Captain used to occupy. What memories +it recalled, ah me! Can he have disgraced himself +and been "broke"? And am <i>I</i> responsible?</p> + +<p><i>Christmas Eve.</i>—Am sitting in my corner, my +mouse curled comfortably at my feet, when the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[ 215]</a></span> +Walking Postman comes up with a letter—for <i>me</i>! +It is from the Wicked Doll! He is very ill—<i>dying</i>, +he thinks—and wishes to see me. How well I +remember that <i>other</i> message which Joseph—but +Joseph is taken, and the Ball still bounds! Well, +I will go. It will be something to tell my Diary.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><i>Christmas Day.</i>—Something <i>indeed</i>! How shall I +begin my wondrous <i>incredible</i> tale? I reached the +Doll's House, which looked gloomier and more +deserted than ever, with the sullen glow of the +dying fire reflected redly in its windows. The green +door stood open—I went in. "Ha, ha! <i>trapped</i>!" +cried a sneering voice behind me. It was the Wicked +Doll! His letter was a <i>ruse</i>—he was as well as I +was—and I—I was shut up there in that lonely +house, entirely at his mercy!... It was a frightful +position for any doll to be placed in; and yet, +looking back on it now, I don't think I minded it +so <i>very</i> much.</p> + +<p>"Listen!" he said, in response to my agonized +entreaties. "Long, long ago, when I was young and +innocent, a beautiful but heartless being bewitched +me, kid and bran! I told my love—she mocked +at me. Since then I have sworn, though she has +escaped me, to avenge myself by sacrificing the life<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[ 216]</a></span> +of the first doll I could entice into my power. <i>You</i> +are that doll. You must die!"... "I am quite +prepared," I told him—"do your worst!" which +seemed to confuse him very much. "I will," he +said, "presently—presently; there is no hurry. You +see," he explained, in a tone almost of apology, +"in endeavouring to save her life (it was my last +good action) I got my head smashed, and received +the substitute I now wear, which, as you will observe, +is that of an unmitigated villain. And it's no use +having a head like that if you don't live <i>up</i> to it—<i>is</i> +it, now? So—as I think I observed before—prepare +for the worst!" "Don't talk about it any +more—<i>do</i> it!" I said, and I breathed Joseph's name +softly. But the Wicked Doll did nothing at all. +I began to feel safer—it was so obvious that he +hadn't the faintest notion <i>what</i> to do. "She treated +me abominably," he said feebly; "<i>any</i> doll would +have been annoyed at the heartless way in which +Gloriana——"</p> + +<p>I could contain my feelings no longer.</p> + +<p>"Joseph!" I gasped (I had lost all fear of him), +"you ridiculous old goose, don't you <i>know</i> me? <i>I</i> +am Gloriana, and I have found you at last!" And +with that I flung myself into his arms, and told +him everything. I think he was more relieved than<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[ 217]</a></span> +anything. "So <i>you</i> are Gloriana!" he said. "It's +dreadfully bewildering; but, to tell you the honest +truth, I can't keep up this villainy business any +longer. I haven't been brought up to it, and I +don't understand how it's done. So I tell you what +we'll do. If you'll leave off living up to <i>your</i> new +head, I won't try to live up to <i>mine</i>!" And so we +settled it.</p> + +<p><i>Postscript. December 31.</i>—We are to be married +to-morrow. The Dutch Doll is to be my bridesmaid, +and the Wooden Captain (who was only away on +sick leave, after all) is coming up to be best man. +I have seen the poor old Ball, and told him there +will always be a corner for him in our new home. +I am very, <i>very</i> happy. To think that Joseph should +still care for his poor Gloriana, altered and homely +as her once lovely features have now become! But +Joseph (who is leaning over my shoulder and reading +every word I write) stops me here to assure me that +I am lovelier than ever in <i>his</i> eyes. And really—I +don't know—perhaps I <i>am</i>. And in <i>other</i> persons' +eyes, too, if it comes to that. I certainly don't +intend to give up society just because I happen to +be <i>married</i>!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[ 219]</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[ 221]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/3star.png" width="450" height="143" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>ELEVATING THE MASSES.</h2> + +<h3>(<span class="smcap">A Purely Imaginary Sketch.</span>)</h3> + + +<p><i><span class="smcap">Argument</span>—<span class="smcap">Mrs. Flittermouse</span>, having got up a party to +assist her in giving an Entertainment at the East End, has called +a meeting for the purpose of settling the items in the programme.</i></p> + +<p><i><span class="smcap">Mrs. Flittermouse's</span> Drawing-room in Park Lane. Everybody +discovered drinking tea, and chatting on matters totally +unconnected with Philanthropy.</i></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Flittermouse</span> (<i>imploringly</i>). Now, +<i>please</i>, everybody, <i>do</i> attend! It's quite impossible +to settle anything while you're all +talking about something else. (<i>Apologies, protests, +constrained silence.</i>) Selina, dear, what do you think +it would be best to begin with?</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Dowager Lady Dampier</span>. My dear Fritilla, +I have no suggestion to offer. You know my opinion +about the whole thing. The people don't want to be +elevated, and—if they did—entertaining them is not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[ 222]</a></span> +the proper means to set about it. But I don't wish +to discourage you.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Flitt.</span> Oh, but I think we could do so <i>much</i> +to give them a taste for more rational and refined +amusements, poor things, to wean them from the +coarse pleasures which are all they have at present. +Only we must really decide what each of us is going +to do.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Perse-Weaver.</span> A violin solo is always +popular. And my daughter Cecilia will be delighted +to play for you. She has been taught by the +best——</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Cecelia.</span> Oh, Mother, I couldn't, really! I've never +played in public. I <i>know</i> I should break down!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Lady Damp.</span> In that case, my dear, it would be +certainly unwise on your part to attempt it.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. P.-W.</span> Nonsense, Cecilia, nonsense. You +<i>won't</i> break down, and it wouldn't matter in the least +if you did. <i>They</i> wouldn't notice anything. And +it will be such excellent practice for you to get +accustomed to a platform, too. Of <i>course</i> she will +play for you, dear Mrs. Flittermouse!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Flitt.</span> It will be <i>so</i> good of you, Miss +Weaver. And it won't be like playing to a <i>real</i> +audience, you know—poor people are so easily pleased, +poor dears. Then I will put that down to begin with.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[ 223]</a></span> +(<i>She makes a note.</i>) Now we must have something +quite different for the next—a reading or something.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Lady Honor Hyndleggs.</span> A—nothin' <i>humorous</i>, +I hope. I do think we ought to avoid anythin' like +descendin' to their level, don't you know.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Lovegroove.</span> Might try something out of +<i>Pickwick</i>. "<i>Bob Sawyer's Party</i>," you know. Can't +go far wrong with anything out of Dickens.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Miss Diova Rose.</span> Can't endure him myself. All +his characters are so fearfully common; still—(<i>tolerantly</i>) +I daresay it might amuse—a—that class of +persons.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs Flitt.</span> I must say I agree with Lady Honor. +We should try and aim as high as possible—and well, +I think <i>not</i> Dickens, dear Mr. Lovegroove. <i>Tennyson</i> +might do perhaps; he's written some charmin' +pieces.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Lovegr.</span> Well, fact is, I don't go in for +poetry much myself. But I'll read anythin' of his +you think I'm equal to.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Flitt.</span> Why—a—really, it's so long since I—and +I'm afraid I haven't one of his poems in the +house. I suppose they are down at Barn-end. But +I could send to Cutt and Hawthorn's. I daresay <i>they</i> +would have a copy somewhere.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Miss Sibson-Gabler.</span> Surely Tennyson is rather<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[ 224]</a></span> +—a—retrograde? Why not read them something to +set them <i>thinking</i>? It would be an interesting experiment +to try the effect of that marvellous Last Scene +in the <i>Doll's House</i>. I'd love to read it. It would be +like a breath of fresh air to them!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. P.-W.</span> Oh, I've seen that at the Langham +Hall. You remember, Cecilia, my taking you there? +And Corney Grain played <i>Noah</i>. To be sure—we +were <i>quite</i> amused by it all.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Miss S.-G.</span> (<i>coldly</i>). This is <i>not</i> amusing—it's a play +of Ibsen's.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Flitt.</span> Is that the man who wrote the piece +at the Criterion—what is it, <i>The Toy Shop</i>? Wyndham +acted in it.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Lady Damp.</span> No, no; Ibsen is the person there's +been all this fuss about in the papers—he goes in for +unconventionality and all that. I may be wrong, but +I think it is <i>such</i> a mistake to have anything unconventional +in an Entertainment for the People.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Flitt.</span> But if he's being <i>talked</i> about, dear +Lady Dampier, people might like to know something +about him. But perhaps we'd better leave Ibsen +open, then. Now, what shall we have next?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Miss Skipworth.</span> I tell you what would fetch them—a +skirt-dance. I'll dance for you—like a shot. It +would be no end of fun doin' it on a regular platform,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[ 225]</a></span> +and I've been studyin' Flossie Frillington, at the +Inanity, till I've caught her style exactly.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 398px;"> +<img src="images/p225.png" width="398" height="600" alt=""To-night is ours!"" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"To-night is ours!"</span> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[ 227]</a></span></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Kempton.</span> Oh, I say, you can give her a stone +and a beatin' any day, give you my word you can. +She doesn't put anythin' like the go into it you do.</p> + +<blockquote><p class="right">[<i><span class="smcap">Miss S.</span> accepts this tribute with complacency.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Flitt.</span> A skirt-dance will be the very thing. +It's sure to please the people we shall bring over for +it—and of course they'll be in the front rows. Yes, +I must put <i>that</i> down. We ought to have a song +next. Mrs. Tuberose, you promised to come and sing +for us—you will, won't you?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Tuberose.</span> Delighted! I rather thought of +doing a dear little song Stephan Otis has just brought +out. It's called "<i>Forbidden Fruit</i>," and he wrote it +expressly for me. It goes like this.</p> + +<blockquote><p class="right">[<i>She sits down at the piano, and sings, with infinite +expression and tenderness.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p> +"Only the moon espies our bliss,<br /> +Through the conscious clusters of clematis,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shedding star-sweet showers.</span><br /> +To-morrow the world will have gone amiss—<br /> +Now I gaze in your eyes, love, I thrill to your kiss—<br /> +So let us remember naught but this:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That To-night is ours!</span><br /> +Yes, this passionate, perilous, exquisite night—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is Ours!"</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[ 228]</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Several Voices.</span> Charmin'.... Otis puts so +much real feeling into all his songs ... quite a little +gem! &c., &c.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Lady Damp.</span> I should have thought myself that it +was rather advanced—for an East-End audience—</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Tuberose</span> (<i>nettled</i>). Really, dear Lady +Dampier, if people see nothing to object in it <i>here</i>, I +don't see why they should be more particular at the +East-End!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Flitt.</span> Oh, no,—and as if it matters what +the <i>words</i> are in the song. I daresay if one heard +<i>their</i> songs——Now we want another song—something +as different as possible.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Gardinier.</span> Heard a capital song at the +"Pav." the other night—something about a Cock-eyed +Kipper. Just suit my voice. I could easily get +the words and music, and do that for you—if you +like.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Several Voices.</span> A Cock-eyed Kipper! It sounds +too killing! Oh, we <i>must</i> have that!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Lady Damp.</span> Might I ask what kind of creature +a—a "Cock-eyed Kipper" may be?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Gard.</span> Oh, well, I suppose it's a sort of a +dried herring—with a squint, don't you know.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Lady Damp.</span> I see no humour in making light of +a personal deformity, I must say.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[ 229]</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Gard.</span> Oh, don't you? <i>They</i> will—it'll go +with a scream there!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Miss Diova Rose.</span> Yes, poor dears—and we +mustn't mind being just a little vulgar for once—to +cheer them up.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Lady Honor.</span> I have been to the Pavilion and the +Tivoli myself, and I heard nothing to object to. I +know I was much more amused than I ever am at +theatres—<i>they</i> bore me to death.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Bagotrix.</span> We might finish up with <i>Mrs. +Jarley's Waxworks</i>, you know. Some of you can be +the figures, and I'll come on in a bonnet and shawl +as <i>Mrs. Jarley</i>, and wind you up and describe you. +I've done it at lots of places in the country; brought +in personal allusions and all that sort of thing, and +made everybody roar.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Lady Damp.</span> But will the East-Enders understand +your personal allusions?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Bag.</span> Well, you see, the people in the front +rows will, which is all <i>I</i> want.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Lady Honor</span> (<i>suspiciously</i>). Isn't <i>Mrs. Jarley</i> out +of <i>Pickwick</i>, though? That's Dickens, surely!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Bag.</span> (<i>reassuringly</i>). Nothing but the name, +Lady Honor. I make up all the patter myself, so +that'll be all right—just good-natured chaff, you +know; if anybody's offended—as I've known them +to be—it's no fault of mine.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[ 230]</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Flitt.</span> Oh, I'm sure you will make it funny,—and +about getting someone to preside—I suppose +we ought to ask the Vicar of the nearest church?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Lady Honor.</span> Wouldn't it be better to get somebody—a—more +in Society, don't you know?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Flitt.</span> And he might offer to pay for hiring +the Hall, and the other expenses. I never thought +of that. I'll see whom I can get. Really I think it +ought to be great fun, and we shall have the satisfaction +of feeling we are doing real good, which is +such a comfort!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[ 231]</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[ 233]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/3star.png" width="450" height="143" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>BOOKMAKERS ON THE BEACH.</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">A Sketch at a Sea-side Race Meeting.</span></h3> + +<p><i>The Sands at Baymouth, where some pony and horse races +are being run. By the Grand Stand, and under the wall of +the esplanade, about a dozen bookmakers, perched on old packing-cases, +are clamouring with their customary energy. The public, +however, for some reason seems unusually deaf to their blandishments +and disinclined for speculation, and the bookmakers, after +shouting themselves hoarse with little or no result, are beginning +to feel discouraged.</i></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Bookmakers</span> (<i>antiphonally</i>). Evens on the +field! Three to one bar one! Five to one +bar two! Six to one bar one! Even money +<i>Beeswing</i>! Six to one <i>Popgun</i>! Come on 'ere. +Two to one on the field! What do you want +to <i>do</i>?</p> + +<blockquote><p class="right">[<i>The public apparently want to look another way.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p><span class="smcap">First Bookmaker</span> (<i>to <span class="smcap">Second Bookmaker</span></i>). Not +much 'ere to-day! Shawn't get no roast baked and +biled this journey, eh?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[ 234]</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Second B.</span> (<i>with deep disgust</i>). They ain't <i>got</i> no +money! Baymouth's going down. Why, this might +be a bloomin' Sunday-school treat! Blest if I +believe they know what we're 'ere <i>for</i>!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Third B.</span> (<i>after pausing to refresh himself, sardonically +to <span class="smcap">Fourth Bookmaker</span></i>). De-lightful weather, +William!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">William</span> (<i>in a similar tone of irony</i>). What a +glorious day, Percy! Sech a treat to see all the +people enjoyin' theirselves without any o' the silly +speculation yer <i>do</i> find sometimes on occasions like +this! (<i>He accepts the bottle his friend passes, and +drinks.</i>) 'Ere's better luck to all!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Fifth B.</span> (<i>pathetically</i>). Don't leave your little +Freddy out! (<i>They don't leave their little <span class="smcap">Freddy</span> out.</i>) +Cheer up, William, there's 'appier days in store; +there'll be Jersey comin' soon. We'll be orf to the +sunny south! (<i>To a stranger who comes up to him.</i>) +Why, Uncle, you don't say it's you! How <i>well</i> +you're looking! Shake 'ands and 'ave a bit on, +jest for ole sake's sake! (<i>The stranger proceeds to +introduce himself as the Secretary, and to demand a fee.</i>) +What! pay you five shillins for standin' 'ere wastin' +my time and voice like this? Not me! Why, I +ain't took two blessed sorcepans since I bin 'ere! +(<i>The Secretary remains firm.</i>) I won't do it, my boy.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[ 235]</a></span> +Not on <i>prinserple</i>, I won't. I wouldn't give you five +shillins not if your tongue was 'anging down on to +your boots—so there! (<i>The Secretary does not attempt +so violent an appeal to his better nature, but calls a police-inspector.</i>) +'Ere, I'd sooner git down and chuck the +show altogether; jest to mark my contempt for such +goings on! (<i>He descends from his box; takes down his +sign, unscrews his pole, folds up his professional triptych, +and departs in a state of virtuous indignation only to be +expressed by extreme profanity, while the Secretary proceeds +unmoved to collect payments from the others; who +eventually compromise the claims for half-a-crown.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Sam Satchell</span> (<i>"from Southampton"</i>). Now +then, you gentlemen and aristocratic tradesmen, +where <i>are</i> you all? Don't any o' you know <i>anything</i>? +Come on 'ere. (<i>He stops an elderly rustic.</i>) +You've got a fancy, I can see! (<i>The rustic denies the +impeachment, grinning.</i>) Git along with yer, yer +artful ole puss, then, and don't keep gentlemen away +as wants to bet! (<i>To a Yeomanry trooper.</i>) Come +along, my ole soldier-boy, give it a name! (<i>His +old soldier-boy declines to give it any name, and +passes on.</i>) Call yerself a warrior bold, and afraid +o' riskin' 'alf-a-crown! Why, yer Queen and +country orter be ashamed o' yer! (<i>As a young +farmer in riding-gaiters comes up, with the evident</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[ 236]</a></span> +<i>intention of business.</i>) Ah, <i>you</i> don't forget the old +firm, I see.... What, four to one not good enough +for you? You won't get no better odds, go where +you <i>like</i>! I suppose you expeck me to make you +a present o' the money? (<i>The farmer moves on.</i>) +I dunno what's <i>come</i> to 'em all. <i>I</i> never see nothing +like it in all <i>my</i> life!</p> + + +<p><i>In the Grand Stand.</i></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">A Glib Person</span>, <i>in a tall hat</i> (<i>as he picks his way +up and down the benches, the occupants of which treat +him with intolerant indifference</i>). I'm not a bookmaker, +ladies and gentlemen; don't have that +impression of me for a moment! I'm simply an +amateur, and an independent gentleman o' means, +like any of yourselves. You all know more than <i>I</i> +do. I don't come 'ere with any intention o' winning +your money—far from it. I'm wishful to settle and +live among you. I may eventually put up as your +member; and, if so, when I take my place in Parliament +I shall be in a position to testify that the +Baymouth people are extremely cautious as to the +manner in which they invest their money on 'orse-racing'! +Yes, I'm 'ere on beyarf of the Sporting +League, just to prove how free a meeting like this +is from the evils o' gambling. I don't come 'ere to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[ 237]</a></span> +<i>rob</i> yer. I want yer all to win. I like to see yer +bright and shining faces around me; I like the +friverolity and reckereation and the conviverality of +the thing, that's all. I'll tell yer how it is. I've a +rich ole aunt, and she puts fifty pound into my 'ands, +and sez, "Jacky," she sez, "I love those dear Baymouth +people, and I want you to take this 'ere +money and lay it out among 'em in moieties, and +make 'em rich and 'appy." You can see for yourselves. +I've no tickets and no parryfernalia, excep' +this little pocket-book, where I enter any bets you +honour me with. Come, Miss win a pair o' those +three-and-sixpenny gloves at Chickerell's, the ex-Mayor's, +to oblige <i>me</i>! Did I tread on your corn, +Sir? I assure you it was the last thing I +intended.... "You knew I'd do it afore I'd +done?"... Well, Sir, if you've sech a gift o' +seeing into futoority as that, why not make something +out of it now? Three to one bar one. +<i>Kitty I'm</i> barring. Thank <i>you</i>, Sir; 'alf-a-crown +to seven and six on <i>Sportsman</i>. I tell you candidly—you've +got the winner. The favourite won't win. +Now, then, all you others, where's your Baymouth +pluck? I orfered you thirty to one <i>Beeswing</i> last +race; and you wouldn't take it. And <i>Beeswing</i> won, +and you lost the chance o' making yer fortunes.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[ 238]</a></span> +Don't blame <i>me</i> if the same thing 'appens again. +I'm on'y bettin', as I told you, for my own amusement, +and to get rid o' the money! (<i>&c.</i>, <i>&c.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Sam Satchell</span> (<i>whom the apathy of the public +has apparently reduced to a state of defiant buffoonery</i>). +Even money <i>Daredevil</i>, you rascals! And why the +blazes don't ye take it? Come on. I'll take two +little bits o' twos that <i>Kitty</i> don't win! Four to +one against ole bread-and-butter <i>Tommy</i>, over there +in the corner! Eleven and a 'alf to three quarters +to two against <i>Kitty</i>. "What har the Wild Waves +say-hay-ing?" Two <i>Kitties</i> to three <i>Daredevils</i> +against a bloomin' goat-chaise? On the Baymouth +Durby I'm bettin'!</p> + + +<p><i>At the Close of the Last Race—Three horses have started; +the favourite has led to the turn and then bolted up the +shingle, but, as the tide has come in and almost covered the course, +and the other two horses by declining to face the water have let him +in again, he wins after an exciting finish, up to the girths in sea-water; +and such bookmakers as have succeeded in obtaining +patronage are paying up with as much cheerfulness as they can +command.</i></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">First Bookmaker</span> (<i>to eager backer</i>). "Wait a bit, +my boy, wait <i>a bit</i>, the number hasn't gone up yet, +my son. Where's your ticket—forty-two? (<i>His +Clerk refers to book.</i>) That's <i>Squibbs</i>. I pay over +<i>winners</i>—not losers. (<i>To the public.</i>) Come along<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[ 239]</a></span> +and fetch your money, the bullion's 'ere! (<i>To +another backer.</i>) What was yours—threes? ("Fours +<i>I</i>'ve got," <i>from his Clerk.</i>) Why don't yer arst for +what you're entitled to, instead o' makin' me arst my +clurk what your bet was? There's your money—take +it and go."</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 435px;"> +<img src="images/p239.png" width="435" height="600" alt=""Why the blazes don't ye take it?"" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"Why the blazes don't ye take it?"</span> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[ 241]</a></span></p> +<blockquote><p class="right">[<i>The backer departs wealthier but abashed.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p><span class="smcap">Second B.</span> I'm payin' over that 'ard-run race, +gentlemen, men and 'orses exhorsted! I'm payin' +over <i>Susan</i>—dear ole Susey-hanner! who wants their +money? The Bank o' England's 'ere, gentlemen, +Mr. Frankie Fairprice and his ole friend, who's +always by his side and never looses 'im!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Third B.</span> (<i>who has had to borrow largely from his +brethren to meet his engagements</i>). Are you all done +now? (<i>To the crowd.</i>) Then I'll wish yer good +afternoon, thank ye all for yer comp'ny, but you've +bin bloomin' bad fun to-day, and you don't ketch me +playin' Patience on a monument at any more o' yer +blanky sand 'oppin' 'andicaps, that's all!</p> + +<blockquote><p class="right">[<i>However, the local newspapers report next day +that "A number of the sporting fraternity were +in attendance to do business and apparently +carried on a brisk and profitable trade"—which +only shows how difficult it is for the casual +observer to form an accurate opinion.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[ 243]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/3star.png" width="450" height="143" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>'IGHER UP!</h2> + +<h3>(<span class="smcap">A Sketch Outside an Omnibus.</span>)</h3> + + +<p><i>The Omnibus is on its progress from Piccadilly to the Bank; +the weather is raw and unpleasant, and the occupants of the +garden-seats on the roof of the vehicle are—for once in a way—mostly +men.</i></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">First Passenger</span> (<i>to <span class="smcap">Second</span>, an acquaintance</i>). +I see young Bashaway the other day. +(<i>Significantly.</i>) Jest been to see his father, +so he told me.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Second Passenger</span> (<i>with interest</i>). <i>'Ad</i> he though? +And 'ow did he <i>find</i> him?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">First P.</span> Fustrate, young Jim said; didn't know +when he'd seen him lookin' better—(<i>with sentiment</i>)—quite +like his old self!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Second P.</span> (<i>heartily</i>). That <i>is</i> good 'earin', that is! +(<i>Reflectively.</i>) Seems <i>rum</i>, though, come to think +of it.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[ 246]</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">First P.</span> 'Ow d'yer <i>mean</i>—rum? It's no more +than what yer'd expect, bein' where he is. Look at +the <i>air</i> o' the place—there ain't a 'elthier situation +all round London, to my mind!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Second P.</span> No, that's right enough; and, from +all I 'ear, the food's well cooked and served reg'lar, +if it <i>is</i> plain.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">First P.</span> Ah, and Bill <i>enjoys</i> his meals now, he +does—the work gives him a appetite, and it's years, +to my certain knowledge, since he done a stroke, +and o' course he ain't allowed no drink——</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Second P.</span> And <i>that's</i> enough, of itself, to be the +savin' of 'im, the way he was!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">First P.</span> Then, yer see, there's the reg'lar hours, +and the freedom from worry, and the like, and +nothink on his mind, and the place with every +sanitary improvement and that—why, he owns his +own self it's bin the makin' of 'im. And from +what young Jim was a tellin' me, it appears that +if Bill goes on gittin' good-conduck marks at the +rate he's doin', there'll be a nice little sum doo +to 'im when he's done his time at Wormwood +Scrubs.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Second P.</span> (<i>sympathetically</i>). Well, and that makes +suthin' to look forward to, don't it, when he <i>does</i> git +let out. Talkin' o' that, you've known 'im longer 'n<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[ 247]</a></span> +what I 'ave. Do you 'appen to know what it was +as he got inter trouble <i>for</i>?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">First P.</span> (<i>with the consciousness of superior delicacy</i>). +Lor' bless yer, I never thought o' arskin' 'im the +question.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Second P.</span> (<i>with feeble self-assertion under this +implied rebuke</i>). Well, it all depends on 'ow yer <i>put</i> +a question o' that sort.</p> + +<blockquote><p class="right">[<i>He is silent for the remainder of the journey.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p><span class="smcap">A Chatty Passenger</span> (<i>to a <span class="smcap">Contradictious +Passenger</span>, as the 'bus passes Trafalgar Square</i>). +Pretty these 'ere fountains look, with the water +playin', don't they?</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Contradicious Passenger</span>. The fountings +are well enough, if it wasn't fur the water—norsty +messy stuff, I call it.</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Chatty P.</span> (<i>abandoning the fountains</i>). It's +wonderful what an amount o' traffic there is in the +Strand, ain't it?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Contrad. P.</span> Nothink to what it was forty years +ago!</p> + +<blockquote><p class="right">[<i>His neighbour, not feeling in a position to deny it, +subsides.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Driver</span> (<i>to a <span class="smcap">Passenger with a Badge</span>, +immediately behind him</i>). 'Ow is it you're orf yer +keb to-day, Bob? Taking a day orf, or what?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[ 248]</a></span></p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Passenger with a Badge</span>. Not much. +Goin' up to Bow Street to gimmy evidence in a +collision case—that's all.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Driver</span> (<i>dubiously</i>). Bow Street! Ain't that +rorther shovin' yer 'ed in the lion's mouth, eh?</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">P. with a B.</span> (<i>with virtuous serenity</i>). Not +<i>it</i>! What ha' they got agen me all the time I bin +licensed? Only three drunks and a loiter!</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Chatty P.</span> (<i>returning to the charge</i>). Orful +state the roads are in with all this mud! I s'pose +that's the London County Council, eh?</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Contrad. P.</span> London Kayounty Kayouncil! +No, it ain't—nothink o' the sort! I'll <i>tell</i> yer 'oo +it is, if yer want to know; it's Gladstone!</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Chatty P.</span> (<i>mildly surprised, but glad to have +discovered common ground</i>). I see you're a Conservative—like +myself.</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Contrad. P.</span> That's jest where you're +<i>wrong</i>! I ain't no Conservative, nor yet I don't +want none o' Gladstone neither. I'm a Radikil, +<i>I</i> am. John Burns and Ben Tillett—that's <i>my</i> +lot!</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Chatty P.</span> (<i>reluctantly relinquishing politics</i>). +Ah, well, every man's got a right to form his own +opinions, ain't he?</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Contrad. P.</span> No, he <i>ain't</i>—not if he goes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[ 249]</a></span> +and forms <i>wrong</i> 'uns! (<i>A pause.</i>) 'Ave yer got +the time about yer?</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Chatty P.</span> (<i>accepting this as a sign of +softening</i>). I'm sorry to say I come out without my +watch this morning, or else——But there's plenty +o' clocks about as'll tell yer.</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Contrad. P.</span> (<i>with intense disdain</i>). Clocks! +You don't ketch <i>me</i> trusting no clocks—with no +two of 'em alike!</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Chatty P.</span> (<i>as they pass a well-known watchmaker's</i>). +Well, 'ow about that clock with the +figgers? Won't <i>that</i> do yer? They set it to +Grinnidge time every hour, so it's bound to be +right!</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Contrad. P.</span> (<i>as descends</i>). There yer <i>are</i>! +Think I'd put my faith in a clock as 'as to be set +right every hour? 'Tain't <i>likely</i>! Good-day to +yer!</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Chatty P.</span> So long! (<i>To himself.</i>) A +pleasant feller enough, I dessay, if you leave the +subjec' to <i>'im</i>!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Driver</span> (<i>to smart <span class="smcap">Hansom Cabman</span></i>). Now then, +outer the way with that 'ere 'Ackney keb o' yours!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Hansom Cabman</span> (<i>with hauteur</i>). As it 'appens, +it <i>ain't</i> a 'Ackney cab—it's a private kerridge, +this is!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[ 250]</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Driver.</span> Ah, I might ha' known <i>you</i> was a +hammytoor by yer silly hasslike method o' conducting +yer business! [<i>Drives on triumphant.</i></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">A Political Passenger</span> (<i>with a panacea—to a +<span class="smcap">"Knowledgable" Passenger</span></i>). No, I don't want +no 'Ome Rule, nor yet no Parish Counsels, nor +nothink o' <i>that</i>. What <i>I</i> wanter see interdooced +'ere is Tereenial Porliments.</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Knowledgable Passenger</span> (<i>with respect</i>). +Tereenial Parliments? I don't know as I've 'eard +o' <i>them</i>.</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Pol. P.</span> Ain't yer? Well, they're what we +<i>want</i>. Why, they've 'ad 'em in America, they've +ad 'em in Ostralia, they've 'ad 'em in Orstria; and +everywhere, mind yer, <i>everywhere</i> they've been in +operation they've turned out a success!</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Kn. P.</span> Then it's 'igh time <i>we</i> 'ad 'em. +<i>What</i> is it they're called, again?</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Pol. P.</span> Tee-reen-ial Porliments. It stands +to <i>reason</i> they work well. There they <i>are</i>, a settin' +eight months in the year fur seven year on end—somethink's +<i>bound</i> to come of it! I'd like to see +any o' <i>our</i> lot settin' like that! It's a pity we +don't take more pattern by America in our law-makin'.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[ 251]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 457px;"> +<img src="images/p251.png" width="457" height="600" alt=""Thash where 'tis, yer come on me too late!"" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"Thash where 'tis, yer come on me too late!"</span> +</div><p> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[ 252]</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[ 253]</a></span></p><p>The <span class="smcap">Kn. P.</span> Except in our criminal law. Why, +I've 'eard there's States out there where a man +may go and commit a crime, d'ye see, and once he +gits across the boundary from one State into another—like +as it might be a line across this 'ere street +like, d'ye see—once he's over that, they can't do +nothink to 'im!</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Pol. P.</span> (<i>thoughtfully</i>). Ah, that wouldn't +never do '<i>ere</i>, that wouldn't!</p> + +<blockquote><p class="right">[<i>The <span class="smcap">Conductor</span> comes up to collect fares.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p><span class="smcap">Conductor</span> (<i>to a <span class="smcap">Sleepy Passenger</span> in a corner</i>). +Now then, fare, please?</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Sleepy Passenger</span> (<i>with manly regret</i>). I +ain't gorrit, ole pal. If yer'd asht me jes' two +minutes afore I gorrup, I could ha' done it for yer, +but I took jes' anorrer glash an' blued th' lot. No +man can say I don' part s'long's I gorrer <i>money</i>; +no freehandeder man anywheresh'n wharri am; but +yer come on me too late. (<i>Shaking his head reproachfully.</i>) +Thash where 'tis, yer come on me too late!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Cond.</span> 'Ere, I ain't goin' to stand no nonsense! +If yer 'aven't got the money, git down orf o' my +bus, and quick, too!</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Sl. P.</span> Ged <i>down</i>? An' <i>quick</i>! You wouldn' +tor' li' that if you'd sheen wharrer bloomin' 'ard job +I 'ad to get <i>up</i>! [<i>He resumes his slumber.</i></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Cond.</span> (<i>passing on, softened</i>). I can't go and break<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[ 254]</a></span> +the beggar's neck for tuppence, and he's got it +somewhere about him, as likely as not. (<i>To a +<span class="smcap">Litigious Passenger</span>.</i>) Tuppence is the fare, Sir, +if <i>you</i> please.</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Litigious Passenger</span>. One penny is the +legal fare, and all I intend to pay. I know the law!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Cond.</span> And so do I. It's wrote up tuppence +inside the bus. If yer ain't going to pay more, +yer'd better git down; ye've 'ad over your penn'orth +a'ready!</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Litig. P.</span> (<i>with spirit</i>). I decline to get down. +I insist on being taken to the Bank for my penny.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Cond.</span> Oh, <i>do</i> yer? We'll see about that.</p> + +<blockquote><p class="right">[<i>He stops the 'bus and calls a <span class="smcap">Constable</span>, to whom +he briefly explains the situation.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p><span class="smcap">Constable</span> (<i>pacifically, from below, to the <span class="smcap">Litig. P.</span></i>). +Come, Sir, don't block the traffic, like this 'ere! +Either pay the man his fare or get down—one of +the two.</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Litig. P.</span> (<i>from the roof</i>). I have a legal +right to remain here if I like!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Const.</span> That may be, Sir; but if you do, this +man can summons you that's all.</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Litig. P.</span> (<i>warming with the joy of battle</i>). +That's just what I <i>want</i> him to do! Can't I <i>make</i> +him summon me?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[ 255]</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Cond.</span> (<i>disgusted</i>). 'Ere, 'ang it all! <i>do</i> yer think +I'm goin' to cart you 'arf over London fur a penny, +and throw yer in the luxury of a lawsoot? 'Ere's +yer penny back, and I give yer the ride free, +<i>there</i>!</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Litig. P.</span> (<i>accepting the penny, and descending +with dignity</i>). Very well; and let me tell you this, +it was just as well you gave way when you did, for +I was quite prepared to carry the case to the House +of Lords!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Cond.</span> Ah! and I s'pose yer think yer'd git <i>there</i> +for a penny?</p> + +<blockquote><p class="right">[<i>The Omnibus goes on before the <span class="smcap">Litigious Person</span> +has time to think over such an obvious repartee +as asking the <span class="smcap">Constable</span> to take the man's +number.</i></p></blockquote> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[ 257]</a></span> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/3star.png" width="450" height="143" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>AT A HIGHLAND CATTLE AUCTION.</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>A Yard. In the open space between the rows of pens the +<span class="smcap">Auctioneer</span> is trying to dispose of some horses which are trotted +out one by one in the usual fashion.</i></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Auctioneer</span> (<i>spectacled, red-bearded, +canny, slightly Arcadian touch imparted by straw +hat, and a sprig of heather in his button-hole</i>). +What'll I say for this, noo? (<i>A horse of a meditative +mien is just brought in.</i>) Here's a beast, and a very +good beast, from Lochaber! (<i>The bystanders remain +unmoved.</i>) He was bred by Meester MacFarlane, o' +Drumtappit, and ye'll all ha' haird on him as the +biggest breeder in these pairts. (<i>Heads are shaken, +so much as to intimate that this particular animal does +not do Mr. MacFarlane justice.</i>) Trot him up an' +doon a bit, boy, and show his action—stan' away +back there! <i>(With affected concern</i>.) Don't curb him +so tight—be careful now, or ye'll do meeschief to +yourself an' others! (<i>As the horse trots past them,</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[ 260]</a></span> +<i>several critics slap it disrespectfully on the hind-quarters—a +liberty which it bears with meekness.</i>) There's a +pace for ye—he's a guid woorker, a gran' beast—hoo +much shall we say for him? (<i>Nobody seems able +to express his appreciation of the grand beast in figures.</i>) +Just to stairt ye then—twenty poon! (<i>Even the +animal himself appears slightly staggered by this sum; +bystanders are quietly derisive; <span class="smcap">Auctioneer</span> climbs +rapidly down without interruption till he reaches six +pounds, when he receives his first bid.</i>) Sex poon' is +bed for 'm—is there ony advance on sex poon? +(<i>Someone in the background:—"Fefteen shellin'!"</i>) +Sex-fefteen—noo, Meester McRobbie, wull ye no +luik this way? (<i><span class="smcap">Mr. McR.</span> responds by a decided +negative.</i>) Ye won't? Ah, I never got ony guid +from ye—'cept when I didn't meet ye. (<i>This piece +of Scotch "wut" raises a laugh at <span class="smcap">Mr.McR.'s</span> expense, +but does not affect the bidding, which still languishes.</i>) +Then, he's going at sex-fefteen—for the last time. +Whaur's my bedder at sex-fefteen? (<i>Repentance or +modesty prevents the bidder from coming forward, and the +<span class="smcap">Auctioneer</span> continues, more in grief than anger.</i>) Eh, +this is too bad noo—I'll thank no man for making +me a bed, 'cept those that are meant in airnest. +No one bed onything for a beast like this! Then +I hae to tell ye ye've not bed near up to the resairve<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[ 261]</a></span> +price on it. (<i>Suddenly becomes weary of the animal.</i>) +Tak' it awa'. (<i>The next horse is led in.</i>) Now, here's +a beast that's well-known, I'm thenkin'. (<i>The +general expression signifies that its reputation is not +altogether to its credit.</i>) There's a well-bred mare—open +up, and let her show hersel'. (<i>The mare is +shown, but fails to excite competition.</i>) Ah, ye'll ony +buy screws to-day, an' not the nice things at a'—tak' +her away. (<i>The mare is taken out ignominiously; +<span class="smcap">Auctioneer</span>, followed by crowd, leads the way to where a +pony and trap are standing harnessed.</i>) Noo, I'm gaun +to pit up the pony an' van—just show them hoo she +goes in hairness, boy. (<i>To intrusive collie.</i>) Out of +the way, dug, in case ye get your feet smashed. +(<i>Trap starts off, and is driven out of sight.</i>) Whaur's +the laddie gaun ta? Thenks he'll show himsel' at +Nairn, maybe! Ah, here she comes. (<i>Trap returns +at a modest pace.</i>) Stan' back, noo, all of ye; give +her room. I'll sell the mare first, and a beauty she +is—what shell we say? Ten poons—and she's a +nice one! Well, stairt her at five, she may get up. +(<i>Bidding gets up to ten pounds, where it stops.</i>) Then +she goes at ten, and I'm very glad she's gaun to a +gude auld friend o' mine—Meester McKenzie, o' +Glenbannock. Wull ye say five mair, and take the +hairness, Meester McKenzie? It's <i>richt</i> hairness!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[ 262]</a></span> +(<i><span class="smcap">Mr. McK.</span> declines to be tempted.</i>) Well, I'm sorry +ye wull na, I'd ha liked (<i>sentimentally, as if it had been +the dream of his life</i>) for the mare an' the hairness to +go togither and no to pairt them—but as 'tis, it +canna be helped. We'll pass on to the pegs, if you +please. (<i>Passes to a row of pens containing pigs, and +mounts some planks placed along the top.</i>) Now, these +are some proper pegs. (<i>A rush is made for the rails +enclosing the pigs, which instantly become self-conscious +and redouble their grunts.</i>) Noo, laddies, laddies, it's +no fair o' ye taking up a' the room i' that way. I'm +quite sure there's a lot o' ye in front that's no buying +pegs—ye hanna the luik o' pairsons that buy pegs. +Stan' by for shame, and don't keep them that comes +to buy, where they canna see sae much as a tail. +Hoo much apiece for these palefaced pegs? Ye've +an awfu' guid view o' them there, Mr. Ferguson,—-luik +this way once again for forrty and threepence. +(<i>Persuasively.</i>) It'll soun' better wi' the threepence. +Gaun' for forty an' three. (<i>The owner of the pigs calls +out "No!"</i>) I thocht I made a law here that people +having pegs should gie me the resairve at the time—see +what ye do now, Peter MacPhairson, make a +fule of the buyers and a fule o' mysel'!—but (<i>with +tolerant contempt</i>) Peter is not a strong man, we +must no be haird on Peter. (<i>Roar from crowd;</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[ 263]</a></span> +<i>disappearance of <span class="smcap">Mr. MacPh.</span></i>) I'll cancel no more +sales that way, however, as I eentimate to ye once +for a'.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">'Arry</span> (<i>on tour from Town—to his admiring friend</i>). +I say, Charley, what d'yer bet I don't talk to some +of these chaps in their own lingo?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Charley.</span> What a fellow you are! Mind what +you are about, that's all.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">'Arry</span> (<i>going up to an elderly person in the only Scotch +cap visible</i>). Hech, Sair, but yon's a braw bonnie +wee bit piggie fur a body to tak' a richt gude wullie +waucht wi' gin ye meet him comin' thro' the rye!</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Person in the Scotch Cap</span> (<i>who happens to +be a retired Colonel in a Highland Regiment, who is +somewhat careless in his attire</i>). I think you will find +that sort of thing better appreciated after you've +got home.</p> + +<blockquote><p class="right">[<i><span class="smcap">'Arry</span> returns to <span class="smcap">Charley</span>, feeling much smaller +than he allows his friend to perceive.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[ 265]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/3star.png" width="450" height="143" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>THE COUNTRY OF COCKAIGNE.</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">A Monologue—With a Moral.</span></h3> + + +<p class="center"><i>An airless Court in a London back Street. <span class="smcap">Time</span>—August.</i></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Jimmy</span> (<i>aged eight, to Florrie, aged seven</i>). No, I +ain't comin' to the Reckereation Groun', not +jess yit, I carn't.... I'm goin' ter wyte about +'ere till the lidy comes.... Why, 'er as is comin' +to see my Muvver 'bout sendin' me fur a fortnight in +the kerntry.... Yus, where I was larst year.... +It's settled as I'm ter go agine—leastways as <i>good</i> as +settled. My Farver 'e've sent in a happlication to +the K'mitty, and Teacher 'e sez 'e kin reckermend +me, an' Mr. and Mrs. Delves—them as 'ad the cottidge +where I went afore—they've arst fur to 'ave me +agin—so you see, Florrie, it's all <i>right</i>. On'y I carn't +settle to nuffink afore I know when I'm goin', an' +about the trine an' that. Yer 'ave to roide in a trine<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[ 268]</a></span> +to git to the kerntry, yer know.... Wot, ain't yer +never bin there?... Yer'd wanter fawst enough +if yer knoo what it was loike.... There's grorss +there, an' trees an' that.... Na-ow, a <i>lot</i> better 'n +the Reckereation Groun'—that's all mide outer old +grivestones as the deaders 'as done wiv. There's 'ills +an' bushes an' 'edges where yer can pick flowers.... +There ain't no perlice to <i>git</i> yer locked up.... +An' everyfink smells so lovelly, kinder 'elthy like—it +mikes yer feel 'ungry.... Not like sassages an' inions +azackly—'tain't that sorter smell.... On'y 'ere and +there, an' yer'd 'ardly tell they <i>was</i> shops, they +kerry 'em on that quoiet.... Yer wouldn' call it poky +if yer was there. Mr. Delves 'e <i>was</i> a kind man, 'e +was; mide me a whistle out a sickermore brornch, +'e did; and Mrs. Delves, she lemme help her feed +the chickings.... They 'ad a garding beyind, an' +there'd bin rasberries an' gooseberries a growin' on +bushes—strite, there 'ad—I ain't tellin' yer no lies—on'y +they was all gone by then. An' they 'ad a dog—Rover +<i>'is</i> nime was—'e was a koind dog, lemme lay +insoide of 'is kennel orfen, 'e would.... I'd like ter +'ave a run over thet Common agen, too. I dessay +as I shell—p'reps the d'y arter to-morrer.... +There's a pond on it, an' geese, an' they comes at +yer a stritching out their necks an' a-'issin' thet<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[ 269]</a></span> +sevidge.... Na-ow, yer've on'y got ter walk up to +'em, an' they goes orf, purtendin' they took yer fur +somebody else, an' wasn't meanin' no offence. I +ain't afride o' no geese, I ain't—nor yet Lily wasn't +neither. We sor a pig 'aving a ring put froo 'is +nose one day. 'E 'ollered out like 'e was bein' +killed—but 'e wasn't. An' there was a blecksmiff's, +where they put the 'orse's shoes on red 'ot, 'an the +'orse 'e never took no notice. Me and Lily used ter +go fur long walks, all under trees. Once she showed +me a squill—"squerl" <i>she</i> kep' a-calling of it, till +I tole 'er 'ow—an' it run up a tree zigzag, and +jumped on to another ever so fur. That was when +we was pickin' nuts. We went a blackberryin', too, +one day.... Na-ow, there warn't nobody dead. +An' Lily ... Lily Delves 'er nime was, b'longed +to them I was stoppin' wiv.... I didn't notice +partickler.... Older nor you, an' bigger, and lots +redder 'bout the cheeks.... She wasn't a bad +sort—fur a gal.... I dunno; I liked <i>all</i> on 'em.... +Well, there was Farmer Furrows, 'e was very +familiar, said as 'ow I might go inter 'is horchard +and pick the happles up as was layin' there jest fur +the askin'. An' Bob Rumble, 'im as druv Mr. +Kennister the grocer's cart, 'e used ter gimme a +roide along of 'im when 'e was tikin' round porcels<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[ 270]</a></span> +an' that. We'd go along lanes that 'igh yer couldn't +see nuffink fur leaves; and once 'e druv along a +Pork with tremenjus big trees in it, an' stagses +walkin' about underneath with grite big 'orns.... +Suthink like 'im as is drawed outside the public +round the corner—on'y they warn't none o' them +gold. I 'speck them gold ones is furrin'.... An' +the grub—we 'ad beekstike pudd'n o' Sundays, an' +as much bread an' treacle every day as ever I could +eat, and I <i>was</i> 'ungry when I was in the kerntry.... +An' when I come away Mrs. Delves, she gethered me +a big noseguy fur to tike 'ome to Muvver—kissantimums, +merrigoles, an' dyliers, all sorts there was—an' +Murver she put 'em in a jug, and soon as ever +I shet my eyes an' sniffed, I could see that garding +and Rover and Lily as <i>pline</i>—but they went bad, +an' 'ad to be froed aw'y at larst. I shall see 'em all +agine very soon now, though, won't thet be proime, +eh?... Whatsy? 'Ere, Florrie, you ain't <i>croying</i>, +are yer?... Why don't yer arsk yer Farver if 'e +won't let <i>you</i> go.... Oh, I thought as yer <i>wanted</i> +to go. Then what <i>are</i> yer——?... No, I ain't +gled to git aw'y from you.... A-course I shell be +gled to see 'er; but that ain't why, it's jest——You +ain't never bin in the kerntry, or you'd know +'ow I'm feelin'.... There's the lidy comin' now.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[ 271]</a></span> +I must cut across an' 'ear what she sez to Muvver. +Don' tike on—'tain't o'ny fur a fortnight, anyway.... +Look 'ere, I got suthink' for yer, Florrie, bought it +orf a man what 'ad a tray on 'em—it's a wornut, +d'ye see? Now open it—ain't them two little +choiner dolls noice, eh?... I'd rorther you 'ad +it nor 'er, strite, I would!... I'll be back in a +minnit.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 436px;"> +<img src="images/p271.png" width="436" height="600" alt=""'Ere, Florrie, you ain't croying, are yer?"" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"'Ere, Florrie, you ain't <i>croying</i>, are yer?"</span> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[ 273]</a></span></p><p><i>After an Interval of Twenty-four Hours.</i></p> + +<p>No, <i>I</i> ain't bin nowhere particular.... Settled? +yus, it's all settled 'bout me goin' ter the kerntry.... +To-morrer? no, I ain't goin' <i>to-morrer</i>.... +Nex' week? not as I <i>knows</i> on.... You wanter +know sech a <i>lot</i>, you do!... If I <i>do</i> tell yer, you'll +on'y go an' larf.... Well, I ain't goin' at all—<i>now</i> +I 'ope you're pleased.... What's the good o' bein' +<i>sorry</i>?... Oh, I don't keer much, I don't.... +Set down on this step alonger me, then, and don't +you go saying nuffink, or I'll stop tellin' of yer.... +You remember me goin' in yes'day arternoon to 'ear +what the lidy said? Well, when I got in, I 'eard 'er +s'y, "Yus, it'll be a great disappintment for '<i>im</i>, +pore boy," she sez, "arter lookin' forward to it an' +all; but it can't be 'elped." And Muvver, she sez, +"'Is Farver'll be sorry, too; it done Jimmy ser +much good larst time. 'E can't pay not more nor<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[ 274]</a></span> +'arf-a-crownd a week towards it, but he can manage +that, bein' in work jess now." But the lidy sez, +"It's this w'y," she sez, "it costis us neelly arf a +suffering over what the parint pays fur each child, +and we ain't got the fun's fur to send more 'n a few, +cos the Public don' suscroibe ser much as they might," +she sez. "An' so this year we're on'y sending children +as is delikit, an' reelly <i>wants</i> a chinge." So yer see, +I ain't a goin'. I dunno as I'm delikit; but I <i>do</i> +want the kerntry <i>orful</i> bad, I do. I wish I never +'adn't bin there at all 'cos then preps I shouldn' +mind. An' yit I'm gled I bin, too. I dreamt about +it larst night, Florrie, I did. I was a-settin' on this +'ere step, sime as I am now, an' it was 'ot an' +stoiflin', like it is; an' all of a suddink I see Mr. +Kennister's' cart wiv the grey 'orse turn into our +court an' pull up hoppersite, an' Bob Rumble 'e was +a-driving on it. An' 'e sez, "Jump up!" 'e sez, "an' +I'll tike yer back to Mr. Delves's cottidge." And I +sez, "May Florrie come too?" An' 'e sez, "Yus, +both on yer." So up we gits, and we was droivin' +along the lanes, and I was showin' yer the squills an' +the stagses, an' jes as we come to the turn where +yer kin see the cottidge—— Well, I don' remember +no more on it. But it was a noice dream so far as I +got wiv it, an' if I 'adn't never bin there, I couldn'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[ 275]</a></span> +ha' dreamt it, <i>could</i> I, eh? An', like as not, I'll +dream the rest on it anuvver night.... An' you +must try an' dream your share, too, Florrie. It'll be +a'most like bein' in the kerntry in a sort o' w'y fur +both on us, won't it?</p> + + +<p><span class="smcap">The Moral.</span></p> + +<p>(<i>The Offices of the Children's Country Holidays Fund +are at 10, Buckingham Street, Strand, and contributions +should be made payable to the Hon. Treasurer.</i>)</p> + + +<p class="center">THE END.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[ 276]</a></span></p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[ 277]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<p class="center">In Crown 8vo, cloth, price 5s.</p> +<h3>PUPPETS AT LARGE.</h3> +<p class="center">By F. ANSTEY, Author of "Vice Versa," &c.</p> +<p class="center">Scenes and Sketches reprinted from "<span class="smcap">Punch</span>" with 16 page Illustrations by +<span class="smcap">J. B. Partridge</span>.</p> +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<p class="center">In Crown 8vo, cloth, price 5s.</p> +<h3>UNDER THE ROSE.</h3> +<p class="center">A STORY IN SCENES.</p> +<p class="center">By F. ANSTEY, Author of "Vice Versa," &c.</p> +<p class="center">Reprinted from "<span class="smcap">Punch</span>" with 15 Illustrations by <span class="smcap">J. B. Partridge</span>.</p> +<blockquote><p class="center">"Will provoke many a hearty laugh. From first to last the fun is legitimate."—<i>Morning +Post.</i></p> +<p class="center">"The fun of it never flags for a moment."—<i>St. James' Gazette.</i></p></blockquote> +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<p class="center">In Crown 8vo, cloth, price 3s. 6d.</p> +<h3><span class="smcap">Mr. Punch's</span> YOUNG RECITER.</h3> +<p class="center">WITH INTRODUCTIONS, REMARKS, AND STAGE-DIRECTIONS.</p> +<p class="center">By F. ANSTEY, Author of "Vice Versa," &c.</p> +<p class="center">Reprinted from "<span class="smcap">Punch</span>" with Additions, and with 34 "<span class="smcap">Punch</span>" Illustrations.</p> +<blockquote><p class="center">"Very well written, and any modern humorist might be proud of them."—<i>Athenĉum.</i></p></blockquote> +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<p class="center">In Crown 8vo, cloth, price 4s. 6d.</p> +<h3><span class="smcap">Mr. Punch's</span> MODEL MUSIC-HALL</h3> +<p class="center">SONGS AND DRAMAS.</p> +<p class="center">By F. ANSTEY, Author of "Mr. Punch's Young Reciter."</p> +<p class="center">Collected, Improved, and Re-arranged from "<span class="smcap">Punch</span>" with 13 full-page and a +number of other Illustrations.</p> +<blockquote><p class="center">"This volume has caused us more laughter than anything else Mr. Anstey has +written since 'Vice Versa.' Some of the songs and dances are screamingly funny."—<i>Review of Reviews.</i></p></blockquote> +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<p class="center">In Crown 8vo, cloth, price 4s. 6d.</p> +<h3><span class="smcap">Mr. Punch's</span> PRIZE NOVELS.</h3> +<p class="center">By R. C. LEHMANN</p> +<p class="center">With 24 Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Edward Reed</span>.</p> +<blockquote><p class="center">"Some things here reprinted are nearly of the best of their kind. We should not +like to take the authors' opinions, for your author almost always laughs on the wrong +side of his mouth at caricatures of his work. But if the authors do not like it, their +readers will; and even of the authors themselves we may trust that some will see the +joke."—<i>Manchester Guardian.</i></p></blockquote> +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<p class="center">BRADBURY, AGNEW, & <span class="smcap">Co.</span> <span class="smcap">Ld.</span>, 8, 9, 10, <span class="smcap">Bouverie Street</span>, E.C.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[ 278]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<p class="center"><i>THE COUNTRY GENTLEMAN'S LIBRARY EDITION.</i></p> +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<p>Embellished with nearly 1,000 of <span class="smcap">John Leech's</span> best Sketches on Wood, and 100 +Hand-coloured Steel Engravings by <span class="smcap">John Leech</span> and <span class="smcap">H. K. Browne</span>. In six medium +8vo volumes, large margin, cloth extra, price £4 4<i>s.</i>; and in half morocco, with +panelled hunting adornments, gilt and finished, price £5 12<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i></p> + +<h3>"HANDLEY CROSS" SERIES OF +SPORTING NOVELS.</h3> + +<p>This inimitable series of volumes is absolutely unique, there being nothing +approaching to them in all the wide range of modern or ancient literature. Written +by Mr. Surtees, a well-known country gentleman, who was passionately devoted to +the healthy sport of fox-hunting, and gifted with a keen spirit of manly humour of a +Rabelaisian tinge, they abound with incidents redolent of mirth and jollity. The +artist, Mr. Leech, was himself also an enthusiast in the sport, and has reflected in his +illustrations, with instinctive appreciation, the rollicking abandon of the author's +stories.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>These volumes can be had separately as under:—</i></p> + +<h4>HANDLEY CROSS;</h4> +<p class="center">or, Mr. Jorrock's<br /> +Hunt. Many Sketches on Wood,<br /> +and 17 Steel Engravings. Price 16<i>s.</i></p> + +<h4>ASK MAMMA;</h4> +<p class="center">or, The Richest<br /> +Commoner In England. Many<br /> +Sketches on Wood, and 13 Steel<br /> +Engravings. Price 14<i>s.</i></p> + +<h4>SPONGE'S SPORTING TOUR.</h4> +<p class="center">Many<br /> +Sketches on Wood, and 13 Steel<br /> +Engravings. Price 14<i>s.</i></p> + +<h4>PLAIN OR RINGLETS?</h4> +<p class="center">Many<br /> +Sketches on Wood, and 13 Steel<br /> +Engravings. Price 14<i>s.</i></p> + +<h4>MR. FACEY ROMFORD'S HOUNDS.</h4> +<p class="center">24 Steel Engravings. Price 14<i>s.</i></p> + +<h4>HAWBUCK GRANGE;</h4> +<p class="center"> or, The Sporting<br /> +Adventures of Thomas Scott,<br /> +Esquire. With 8 Steel Engravings<br /> +by <span class="smcap">H. K. Browne</span> (Phiz). Price<br /> +12<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i></p> +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<h3>HUNTING STORIES <span class="smcap">BY</span> "WANDERER."</h3> +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Uniform with the</span> "HANDLEY CROSS SERIES." Medium 8vo.</p> + +<h4>FAIR DIANA.</h4> +<p class="center"> With 22 Coloured Illustrations<br /> +and 70 Sketches in the Text.<br /> +By <span class="smcap">G. Bowers</span>. Price 12<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i></p> +<h4>ACROSS COUNTRY.</h4> +<p class="center">With 22 Coloured<br /> +Illustrations and numerous Sketches.<br /> +By <span class="smcap">G. Bowers</span>. Price 12<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i></p> +<h4>A LOOSE REIN.</h4> +<p class="center">With 22 Coloured Illustrations and numerous Sketches in the<br /> +Text. By <span class="smcap">G. Bowers</span>. Price 12<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i></p> +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<h3>G. BOWERS' ILLUSTRATIONS.</h3> +<h4>A MONTH IN THE MIDLANDS:</h4> +<p class="center">"a<br /> +Book for the Shires." Half-hunting<br /> +cloth, Coloured Plates. By<br /> +<span class="smcap">G. Bowers</span>. Price 12<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i></p> +<h4>HOLLY BUSH HALL;</h4> +<p class="center">or, "Open<br /> +House" in an "Open Country."<br /> +Half-hunting cloth, Coloured Plates.<br /> +By <span class="smcap">G. Bowers</span>. Price 15<i>s.</i></p> +<h4>NOTES FROM A HUNTING BOX.</h4> +<p class="center">Oblong folio, half-hunting cloth, with Illustrations<br /> +by G. Bowers. Price 15<i>s.</i></p> +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<p class="center">BRADBURY, AGNEW, & CO. <span class="smcap">Ld.</span>, 8, 9, 10, <span class="smcap">Bouverie Street</span>, E.C.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[ 279]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<h4>The "Jorrocks" Edition</h4> +<h5>OF THE</h5> +<h3><span class="smcap">Handley Cross +Sporting Novels.</span></h3> +<p class="center">6 Volumes, Large Crown 8vo, with Illustrations, price 36s.</p> + +<p>Of the Books which have attained to the position of being perennial favourites +with the audience to whom they appeal—living as if no rivalry could dislodge +them—a foremost place has long been held by the <span class="smcap">Handley Cross</span> +series of volumes, which are now just as much the favourite reading of those +who are interested in the exploits of the hunting-field, as they have been since +their first publication.</p> + +<p>The fictitious heroes, whose doings and sayings inspire these favourite +volumes, provide a nomenclature which is as much imbedded in the +phraseology of sport as those of Thackeray or Dickens are in our national +literature. In what hunting circles may it not be said that the names of +<span class="smcap">Jorrocks</span> and <span class="smcap">Soapey Sponge</span> and <span class="smcap">Facey Romford</span> are "familiar in their +mouths as household words"?</p> + +<p>The <span class="smcap">Handley Cross</span> Sporting Novels have hitherto, by the form of their +production, formed the enduring ornament of a Country Gentleman's Library, +and, by reason of their price, have been somewhat beyond the attainment of +that extensive and constantly enlarging section who have learned to take delight +in the out-of-door amusements which brighten rural life.</p> + +<p>Everyone whose delight in a "finest run across country that ever was seen," +and whose ambition is "to be in at the finish," may now have as his abiding +companions on his own book-case within reach of his easy-chair, the histories of +<span class="smcap">Jorrocks</span> and <span class="smcap">Sponge</span> and <span class="smcap">Romford</span>, and others of the famous creation, in a +handsome and handy form; having the pages brightened by a selection from +the original illustrations to give an added vividness to the exhilarating raciness +of the author's humour.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>The volumes are sold separately as under:—</i></p> + +<h4>HANDLEY CROSS;</h4> +<p class="center">or, Mr. Jorrock's<br /> +Hunt. With 67 Text and 12 Page<br /> +Illustrations and Coloured Frontispiece.<br /> +Price 7<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i></p> +<h4>ASK MAMMA;</h4> +<p class="center">or, The Richest Commoner<br /> +In England. With 51 Text<br /> +and 8 Page Illustrations and Coloured<br /> +Frontispiece. Price 6<i>s.</i></p> +<h4>SPONGE'S SPORTING TOUR.</h4> +<p class="center">With<br /> +60 Text and 8 Page Illustrations and<br /> +Coloured Frontispiece. Price 6<i>s.</i></p> +<h4>PLAIN OR RINGLETS?</h4> +<p class="center">With 43<br /> +Text and 8 Page Illustrations and<br /> +Coloured Frontispiece. Price 6<i>s.</i></p> +<h4>MR. FACEY ROMFORD'S HOUNDS.</h4> +<p class="center">With 46 Text and 8 Page Illustrations<br /> +and Coloured Frontispiece.<br /> +Price 6<i>s.</i></p> +<h4>HAWBUCK GRANGE;</h4> +<p class="center">or, The Sporting<br /> +Adventures of Thomas Scott,<br /> +Esquire. With 28 Text and 8 Page<br /> +Illustrations and Coloured Frontispiece.<br /> +Price 4<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i></p> +<p class="center">BRADBURY, AGNEW, & <span class="smcap">Co.</span> <span class="smcap">Ld.</span> 8, 9, 10, <span class="smcap">Bouverie Street</span>, E.C.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[ 280]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<h3><span class="smcap">F. C. Burnand's +Works</span>.</h3> +<h5><span class="smcap">A Selected Collection from "PUNCH."</span></h5> +<p class="center">5 Volumes, Large Crown 8vo, gilt top, price 25s.</p> +<blockquote><p>"Mr. Burnand's Writings are well worth collecting. He has produced +a very large body of comic writing of a high order of merit, and +the amount of it that is first-rate is considerable. There is a perpetual +gaiety and airiness about his work which makes it always pleasant to +dip into, and few humorists have the power of making their readers laugh +so agreeably, so innocently, so often, and so much."—<i>Athenĉum.</i></p></blockquote> +<p class="center"><i>The Volumes are sold separately as under:</i></p> +<p class="center">Price 5s. each.</p> +<h4>1. VERY MUCH ABROAD.</h4> +<p class="center"><i>With 160 "Punch" Illustrations</i>.</p> +<h4>2. RATHER AT SEA.</h4> +<p class="center"><i>With 116 "Punch" Illustrations</i>.</p> +<h4>3. QUITE AT HOME.</h4> +<p class="center"><i>With 108 "Punch" Illustrations</i>.</p> +<h4>4. HAPPY THOUGHTS.</h4> +<p class="center"><i>With 110 Illustrations</i>.</p> +<h4>5. SOME OLD FRIENDS.</h4> +<p class="center"><i>With 115 "Punch" Illustrations</i>.</p> +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<p class="center">BRADBURY, AGNEW, & <span class="smcap">Co.</span> <span class="smcap">Ld.</span>, 8, 9, 10, <span class="smcap">Bouverie Street</span>, E.C.</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Puppets at Large, by F. Anstey + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUPPETS AT LARGE *** + +***** This file should be named 37449-h.htm or 37449-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/7/4/4/37449/ + +Produced by David Clarke, Katie Hernandez and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) + + +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. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +http://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. 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 + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at http://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit http://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + + +</pre> + +</body> +</html> diff --git a/37449-h/images/3star.png b/37449-h/images/3star.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..f34d047 --- /dev/null +++ b/37449-h/images/3star.png diff --git a/37449-h/images/p11.png b/37449-h/images/p11.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..7641587 --- /dev/null +++ b/37449-h/images/p11.png diff --git a/37449-h/images/p125.png b/37449-h/images/p125.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..f928835 --- /dev/null +++ b/37449-h/images/p125.png diff --git a/37449-h/images/p135.png b/37449-h/images/p135.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..8d57361 --- /dev/null +++ b/37449-h/images/p135.png diff --git a/37449-h/images/p155.png b/37449-h/images/p155.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..80038d2 --- /dev/null +++ b/37449-h/images/p155.png diff --git a/37449-h/images/p171.png b/37449-h/images/p171.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..0d920fa --- /dev/null +++ b/37449-h/images/p171.png diff --git a/37449-h/images/p183.png b/37449-h/images/p183.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..2d5f47f --- /dev/null +++ b/37449-h/images/p183.png diff --git a/37449-h/images/p193.png b/37449-h/images/p193.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..1f8db0d --- /dev/null +++ b/37449-h/images/p193.png diff --git a/37449-h/images/p209.png b/37449-h/images/p209.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..2888246 --- /dev/null +++ b/37449-h/images/p209.png diff --git a/37449-h/images/p21.png b/37449-h/images/p21.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..21825e3 --- /dev/null +++ b/37449-h/images/p21.png diff --git a/37449-h/images/p225.png b/37449-h/images/p225.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..71ad1cf --- /dev/null +++ b/37449-h/images/p225.png diff --git a/37449-h/images/p239.png b/37449-h/images/p239.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..55d3c0a --- /dev/null +++ b/37449-h/images/p239.png diff --git a/37449-h/images/p251.png b/37449-h/images/p251.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..b6769f2 --- /dev/null +++ b/37449-h/images/p251.png diff --git a/37449-h/images/p271.png b/37449-h/images/p271.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..72107a6 --- /dev/null +++ b/37449-h/images/p271.png diff --git a/37449-h/images/p37.png b/37449-h/images/p37.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..a5e9246 --- /dev/null +++ b/37449-h/images/p37.png diff --git a/37449-h/images/p55.png b/37449-h/images/p55.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..74cf7c3 --- /dev/null +++ b/37449-h/images/p55.png diff --git a/37449-h/images/p75.png b/37449-h/images/p75.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..7163242 --- /dev/null +++ b/37449-h/images/p75.png |
