Part 5
"But exercise IT, and you quickly will find From your pathway all troubles are banished!" She waved a small wand, With a look sad yet fond, Then, into the far and the distant "beyond" Sharpe's good Grandmother suddenly vanished.
The spell she had cast very quickly began In his brain to engender a vision. He _imagined_ a MINE Filled with gold, pure and fine, And a lovely PROSPECTUS began to design Every item worked out with precision.
He _imagined_ BIG DIVIDENDS; profits galore; And some DUKES he _imagined_ DIRECTORS. And "the PUBLIC should share," He went on to declare, "In such wealth as should cause the whole nation to stare." There were THOUSANDS—_in Shares_—for Projectors.
Then he went on _imagining_ mine after mine, With Prospectuses most high-faluting. And the _Public_ they _fought_ For the Shares he had brought To the Market (they "safer than houses" were thought); And each day some new Company was mooting.
* * *
(EXTRA SPECIAL.)
That he grew passing rich is a matter of course. All his wealth to his wife he made over.
* * *
There has been a great smash; Company's gone with a crash. Gone also, I hear, has the shareholders' cash. But, SEPTIMUS SHARPE—_he's_ in clover.
XXV. THAT OF THE GEISHA AND THE JAPANESE WARRIOR.
An almond-eyed maiden was pretty Jes-So, Her effort in life was to please; A Geisha was she, and she handed the tea In a costume bewitching as ever could be, And a style which was best Japanese; And she often served bowls of exceptional size To a Japanese warrior called Li-Kwize.
And daily Li-Kwize and the pretty Jes-So, In their artless and Japanese way, 'Neath the Gom-bobble trees rubbed their hands o'er their knees, Saying flattering things, such as over the seas, It's the proper and right thing to say: Little wonder, in sooth, that Li-Kwize fell in love, While the Japanese turtle-birds twittered above.
But 'tis said that the course of true love ne'er ran smooth, And a rival appeared on the scene, He'd a glass in his eye, and his collar was high, His gloves were immaculate, so was his tie, And his legs were excessively lean; A descendant was he of a long line of "Dooks," And his name was Lord Algernon Perkyns de Snooks.
In Japan,—on a tour,—he'd arrived with his ma, On the tea gardens stumbled by chance, And directly he saw all the girls he said "Haw! I—aw—wish, don't you know, that I'd come here befaw"— And he gave them a languishing glance; To his feeble moustache he gave several twirls, Declaring that Geishas were "Doocid fine girls!"
And he called for a dish of best Japanese tea, And he ogled the pretty Jes-So, While the warlike Li-Kwize stared in angry surprise At the flirtation going on under his eyes, And he wished that Lord Algy would go; But, oh! dear me, no, he continued to stop All the long afternoon in the pretty tea-shop.
On the morrow he came there again, and again He appeared on the following day, And it made Jes-So sad to hear language so bad As Li-Kwize employed, as he "went on" like mad In a grotesque, and Japanese way; For he raved and he stormed as they do in Japan. (You have seen how, no doubt, on a Japanese fan.)
He thrust, and he slashed at the air with his sword, And he shouted aloud at each blow; There is, really, no doubt he was greatly put out, But he didn't do what you are thinking about: He _didn't_ slay Lord Algy—no: For Li-Kwize he was subtle, as subtle could be, He'd a far better plan up his sleeve, don't you see.
He went to the house where Lord Algy's mamma, A stern, and a haughty old dame, Was staying, and, tho' it was all in dumb show, He managed—somehow,—that the lady should know Exactly her son's little game, The equivalent Japanese noise for a kiss He expressed,—its significance no one could miss.
In pantomime glibly he told the whole tale, While the lady grew pale, and irate: "Ha! _what's_ that you say? Takes tea there each day? Geisha? Tea-shop indeed! Come, show me the way! We must stop _this_ before it's too late." And she pounced on her son, with a terrible frown, At the pretty tea-shop at the end of the town.
Not a word did she say, but she took by the ear Lord Algernon Perkyns de S.; She turned him about, and she marched him straight out— An undignified exit, altho', without doubt, An effectual way to suppress A thing which no mother _could_ view with delight, And, for one, _I_ contend the old lady was right.
* * *
The pretty Jes-So, and the warlike Li-Kwize "Made it up," I am happy to say, And the almond-eyed miss, with a Japanese kiss, Filled the warrior's heart with a Japanese bliss, In quite the conventional way; While the turtle-birds sang in the Gom-bobble trees All their prettiest songs in their best Japanese.
XXVI. THAT OF THE INDISCREET HEN AND THE RESOURCEFUL ROOSTER.
(_An Allegory._)
I dote upon the softer sex. The theme I write upon doth vex, For female inconsistency A sorry subject is for me To tackle; Yet of a wayward female hen I write this time, with halting pen. Compound of pride, and vanity, All feathers she appear'd to be, And cackle.
A flighty hen was she, no doubt— A foolish fowl, a gad-about. "Lay eggs!" quoth she. "Why should I?—why? And set! I won't, upon that I 'M decided." Then,—on the _Times_ instalment plan,— A bicycle she bought, and 'gan Domestic duties to neglect; Her skirts were—what could one expect?— Divided.
This conduct greatly scandalised The farmyard; all looked on surprised, All but the rooster staid and grim; _He_ did not fret. 'Twas not for him To rate her; He let her go her wilful way, And purchased for himself one day A strange contraption—glass and tin— An article that's called an in- Cubator.
The nearest grocer's then he sought, Some ten-a-shilling eggs he bought; The incubator set to work (There was no fear that _it_ would shirk Its duty), Then sat and waited patiently. Not many days to wait, had he: Within a week, to make him glad, A family of chicks he had— A beauty.
Surprised, his wife returned; but "No; In future you your way may go, And I'll go mine, misguided hen!" Said he. She fell to pleading then, But vainly. "I'm better off without," he said, "A wife with such an empty head.
* * *
He flourishes. His wife, grown stout, Neglected, squa-a-ks and stalks about— Ungainly.
MORAL.
It's a wise chicken in these days that knows its own mother.
XXVII. THAT OF A DUEL IN FRANCE.
Oh, _Fa-la-la!_ likewise _Hélas!_ A shocking thing has come to pass, For Monsieur Henri Delapaire Has fallen out,—a sad affair,— With Monsieur Jacques Mallette. "_La femme?_" Of course! They _both_ declare They love _la belle_ Nannette.
_Ma foi!_ They'll surely come to blows, For one has tweaked the other's nose, Who quickly snaps, with fierce grimace, His fingers in the other's face. A duel _must_ result. A Frenchman's honour 'twould disgrace To bear with such insult.
"Pistols for two!"—in French,—they cry. Nannette to come between doth fly: "_Messieurs! Messieurs!_ pray, _pray_ be calm! You fill your Nannette with alarm." "_Parole d'honneur!_ No. Revenge!" they cry. The big gendarme, Nannette to call, doth go.
Quickly a crowd has gathered round, Pistols are brought, and seconds found; A grassy space beneath the trees, Where gentlemen may fight at ease; Then, each takes off his coat— Glaring meanwhile as though he'd seize The other by the throat.
The seconds shrug, gesticulate, And pace the ground with step sedate; Then anxious consultation hold O'er pistols, for the rivals bold Who now stand white and stern; Their arms across their chests they fold, And sideways each doth turn.
The seconds place them _vis-à-vis_, And give them word to fire at "three"; Brave Monsieur Mallette shuts his eyes, And points his pistol to the skies; Brave Monsieur Delapaire His hand to steady vainly tries, It trembles in the air.
A deadly silence: "_Un—deux—trois!_" Two shots are ringing through the _Bois_. Two shots,—and then two awful calms; As, senseless, in their seconds' arms The duellists both lay. (Their faces pale the crowd alarms, And fills them with dismay.)
"Killed?" Goodness gracious—oh, dear _no_! This couldn't be,—in France,—you know, For pistols _there_ they never load. But _caps_ were they which did explode: _They've only swooned with fright._ See! one some signs of life has showed; The crowd claps with delight. They both revive. They both embrace. Twice kiss each other on the face.
* * *
"Stay! Hold!" you cry. "You said, I thought, _La belle_ Nannette the gendarme sought?" She did,—_la belle_ Nannette,— She sought, and found him—charming quite. _She stays there with him yet._
She "never cared for Delapaire," She says with most _dégagé_ air; And "as for Monsieur Mallette,—well, He _may_ discover—who can tell?— _Someone_ to marry yet." Meanwhile _le gendarme pour la belle_, The fickle, fair Nannette.
XXVIII. THAT OF THE ASTUTE NOVELIST.
Quite an ordinary person Wrote an ordinary book; 'Twas the first he'd ever written, So a lot of pains he took. From a two-a-penny paper He some little _factlets_[2] culled, With some "stories of celebrities" By which the Public's gulled.
Then of course he had a hero, And likewise a hero_ine_, And a villain, and a villainess, Whose nefarious design Was most properly defeated In the chapter last but one,— Which described the happy ending— There you were! The thing was done.
But, somehow, it didn't answer. "Nothing strange," you'll say, "in that"; And, indeed, perhaps there wasn't _Very_ much to wonder at, For the book was really never Calculated fame to win, And the author's coat grew shabby And his body very thin.
And he pondered, and he pondered O'er his misery and ills, Till, one day, he met a party Who was posting up some bills. "What's the matter?" asked this person, "You are looking mighty glum. Books not selling? Advertise 'em. _That's_ the dodge to make things hum."
"Look at 'Whatsit's Soap,' and so on! Look at 'Thingumbobby's Pills!' It's the advertising does it, And the owner's pocket fills. Puff 'em up; the Public likes it; And—(this from behind his hand)— It doesn't matter if it's Not _quite_ true, _you_ understand."
So the author wrote another Book, and brought in Tsars, and Kings, And Popes, and noble ladies— Queens, and Duchesses, and things And "the problem" of the moment; And some politics, and cram, With tit-bits of foreign language Mixed with literary jam.
And in type he had it stated That "the world was all agog" For this "epoch-making" novel, And—their memory to jog— The public had it daily In all kinds of sorts of ways Thrust upon them, till it set Their curiosity ablaze.
And from Brixton unto Ponder's End 'Twas daily talked about This wonderful new novel Long, long, long before 'twas out; I forget how many hundred Thousand copies have been sold; But it's brought the lucky author Notoriety, and gold.
This judicious advertising Has indeed brought him success; He's the "lion" of the moment In Society (big S). It is even said that Royalty—— But there! I mustn't say, For _he'll tell you all about it_ In another book some day.
Footnote 2:
A _factlet_ is _nearly_ a fact.
XXIX. THAT OF THE ABSENT-MINDED LADY.
The lady hailed a passing 'bus, And sat down with a jerk; Upon her heated face she wore A most complacent smirk; Three parcels held she in her lap, Safe-guarded from the least mishap.
The 'bus it rattled, bumped, and shook— She didn't seem to mind— And every now and then she _smiled_, As something crossed her mind: She evidently longed to tell The joke, that we might smile as well.
"These men!" she said, at last to one Who sat beside her. "It's absurd. To hear them rave. They seem to think That nobody—upon my word— But men can do things in what they Are pleased to call the proper way.
"My husband now, he's like the rest, And said, when I came out To do some shopping, I'd forget _Something_, he had no doubt, Or else buy more than I desired, Or something which was not required.
"Now, _three_ things I set out to buy At Mr. Whiteley's store; Three parcels here, I'm taking home, _Three_ parcels, and no more. My husband he must own ere long Himself entirely in the wrong."
She smiled,—a most triumphant smile. "Exactly like the men!" She said, and I—she looked at me— Felt much embarrassed then. Her scorn for men was undisguised; The other ladies sympathised.
But, presently, I noticed that Upon the lady's face No smile was seen—a puzzled frown Had come there in its place; She squirmed, and fidgeted about, And turned her pockets inside out.
She counted over—several times— Her parcels—"One—two—three;" Clutched at her purse, her parasol; Then muttered, "H'm! Dear me! There's nothing that I haven't got. What _can_ I have forgotten? What?"
She tapped her foot impatiently; Stared out into the street; She got up several times and searched Quite vaguely o'er the seat; Then gave a sigh and settled down, Still wearing that bewildered frown.
Then, evidently lost in thought, She sat as in a dream, Till—o'er her face a pallor spread,— She sprang up, with a scream: "Oh, stop! Pray stop, conductor! Stop! _I've left the baby in the shop!_"
XXX. THAT OF THE GERMAN BAKER AND THE COOK.
Dese vimens! Ach! dese vimens! To me id is quide sad Dat dey can be so bootiful, Und yet can be so bad. Dey vonce a fool haf made me As never vas before; Bud now I _know_ dose vimens, Und dey don't do dat no more.
Look! I am here a baker, Und bread und biscuits bake, Der dough-nuts, und der cooken, Und all such tings I make; Von voman to my shop come, So bootiful und big, Her eyes vas plue und shining, Her hair joost like a vig.
She buy of me some dough-nuts, She come again next day, Und in my dough-nuts buying She stole mine heart avay; For, ach! she vas so lofely As never yet I found— I tink dot even _both_ my arms Her vaist could not go round.
Von day to me she say: "I vish I could dose dough-nuts make; My family is goned avay; Come now, und ve shall make Some dough-nuts in my kitchen, If you vill show me how." I go. Because I tink, perhaps, I get her for mine vrow.
Der kitchen id vas big und clean, Der supper vas set out. Mit places at der table For two, mit pie, und stout. I show her how dough-nuts to make, Und den ve sit to sup; Ven comes a vistle at der gate; Der voman she jumps up. "Quick! quick!" she say, "here somevon comes, Und you must herein hide."
She pushes me der pantry in, Mit nothing else beside. I peep der keyhole through und see A big policeman stand; Der voman seems him pleased to see, Und shakes him by der hand.
Den dey two at der supper sit (Dot supper made for me), Und I am in der pantry shut, mad as mad can be; I sit der flour barrel upon, Der barrel it go through, Und in der flour I tumble. Ach! It make me schneize "Tish-oo!"
Der policeman say "Hark! vat is dat?" Und open burst der door; Dey see me den,—all vite mit flour Und tumbled on der floor. Der voman scream "A burglar man!" Und tremble, und look pale; Der policeman den he take me up, And march me off to gaol.
Der magistrate some money for A fine shall make me pay; Der policeman und der voman Dey get married yesterday: So never now I trust no more _All_ vimens vat I see; Dey make again some other man A fool, but _never_ me.
XXXI. THAT OF THE CONVERTED CANNIBALS.
Upon an island, all alone, They lived, in the Pacific; Somewhere within the Torrid Zone, Where heat is quite terrific. 'Twould shock you were I to declare The many things they did not wear, Altho' no doubt One's best without Such things in heat terrific.
Though cannibals by birth were they, Yet, since they'd first existed, Their simple menu day by day Of such-like things consisted: Omelets of turtle's eggs, and yams, And stews from freshly-gathered clams, Such things as these Were,—if you please,— Of what their fare consisted.
But after dinner they'd converse, Nor did their topic vary; Wild tales of gore they would rehearse, And talk of _missionary_. They'd gaze upon each other's joints, And indicate the tender points. Said one: "For us 'Tis dangerous To _think_ of _missionary_."
Well, on a day, upon the shore, As flotsam, or as jetsum, Some wooden cases,—ten, or more,— Were cast up. "Let us get some, And see, my friend, what they contain; The chance may not occur again," Said good Who-zoo. Said Tum-tum, "Do; We'll both wade out and get some."
The cases held,—what do you think?— "PRIME MISSIONARY—TINNED." Nay! gentle reader, do not shrink The man who made it sinned: He thus had labelled bloater-paste To captivate the native taste. He hoped, of course, This fraud to force On them. In this he sinned.
Our simple friends knew naught of sin, They thought that this confection _Was_ missionary in a tin According to direction. For very joy they shed salt tears. "'Tis what we've waited for, for years," Said they. "Hooray! We'll feast to-day According to direction."
"'Tis very tough," said one, for he The tin and all had eaten. "Too salt," the other said, "for me; The flavour might be beaten." It was enough. Soon each one swore He'd missionary eat no more: Their tastes were cured, They felt assured This flavour might be beaten.