Part 3

_Head Barmaid._ "These tarts are quite stale, Miss Hunt--been on the counter for a fortnight! _Would_ you mind taking them into the _second-class_ refreshment-room?"]

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VOCES POPULI

II.

ON THE PLATFORM

_A Lady of Family._ Oh, yes, I do travel third-class sometimes, my dear. I consider it a duty to try to know something of the lower orders.

[_Looks out for an empty third-class compartment._

EN ROUTE

_The seats are now all occupied: the Lady of Family is in one corner, next to a Chatty Woman with a basket, and opposite to an Eccentric-looking Man with a flighty manner._

_The Eccentric Man (to the Lady of Family)._ Sorry to disturb you, mum, but you're a-setting on one o' my 'am sandwiches.

_The L. of F._???!!!

_The E. M. (considerately)._ Don't trouble yourself, mum, it's of no intrinsic value. I on'y put it there to keep my seat.

_The Chatty W. (to the L. of F.)._ I think I've seen you about Shinglebeach, 'ave I not?

_The L. of F._ It is very possible. I have been staying with some friends in the neighbourhood.

_The C. W._ It's a nice cheerful place is Shinglebeach; but (_confidentially_) don't you think it's a very sing'ler thing that in a place like that--a fash'nable place, too--there shouldn't be a single 'am an' beef shop?

_The L. of F. (making a desperate effort to throw herself into the question)._ What a very extraordinary thing, to be sure! Dear, _dear_ me! No ham and beef shop!

_The C. W._ It's so indeed, mum; and what's more, as I dare say you've 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?

_The L. of F. (faintly)._ I'm afraid I can't suggest any explanation.

_A Sententious Man._ Fried fish is very sustaining.

[_Relapses into silence for the remainder of journey._

_The Eccentric Man._ Talking of sustaining, I remember, when we was kids, my father ud bring us home two pennorth o' ches'nuts, and we 'ad 'em boiled, and they'd last us days. (_Sentimentally._) He was a kind man, my father (_to the L. of F., who bows constrainedly_), though you wouldn't ha' thought it, to look at him. I don't say, mind yer, that he wasn't fond of his bit o' booze--(_the L. of F. looks out of window_)--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. (_Hands that document round for inspection._) That's all reg'lar enough, I 'ope. (_To the L. of F._) Don't give it back before you've done with it--I'm in no 'urry, and there's good reading in it. (_Points out certain favourite passages with a very dirty forefinger._) Begin there--_that's_ my name.

[_The L. of F. peruses the will with as great a show of interest as she can bring herself to assume._

_The Eccentric Man._ 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. (_Relates his visit in detail to the L. of F., who listens unwillingly._) 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 if I say anything at all out of the way, you'll know what it is.

[_L. of F. 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 Fiancee as the L. of F. takes her seat._

_The Fiance._ Excuse me one moment, ma'am.

(_Leans across the L. of F. and out of the window._)

Well, goodbye, my girl; take care of yourself.

_The Fiancee (with a hysterical giggle)._ Oh, I'll take care o' _my_ self.

[_Looks at the roof of the carriage._

_He (with meaning)._ No more pickled onions, eh?

_She._ What a one you are to remember things! (_After a pause._) Give my love to Joe.

_He._ All right. Well, Jenny, just one, for the last (_they embrace loudly, after which the F. resumes his seat with an expression of mingled sentiment and complacency_). Oh, (_to L. of F._) if you don't mind my stepping across you again, mum. Jenny, if you see Dick between this and Friday, just tell him as----

[_Prolonged whispers; sounds of renewed kisses;_

_Final parting as train starts with a jerk which throws the Fiance upon the L. of F.'s lap. After the train is started a gleam of peculiar significance is observable in the eyes of one of the Seafaring 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 Fiance._

_The F._ Thankee I don't mind if I do. Here's wishing you----

[_Remainder of sentiment drowned in sound of glug-glug-glug; is about to hand back bottle when the first Seafarer intimates that he is to pass it on. The L. of F. recoils in horror._

_Both Seafarers (reassuringly)._ It's _wine_, mum!

[_Tableau. The Lady of Family realises that the study of third-class humanity has its drawbacks._

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IN THE HOT WEATHER TOO!

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

A Choleric Old Gentleman. A Cool Young Party.

SCENE.--A Richmond Railway Carriage.

TIME.--About 12 noon.

_Choleric Old Gentleman (panting, puffing, perspiring)._ Hot, sir, tremendously hot.

_Cool Young Party._ It is warm.

_C. O. G._ Warm, sir! I call it blazing hot. Why the glass is 98 deg. in the shade!

_C. Y. P._ Really! is that much?

_C. O. G._ Much, sir! Immense!

_C. Y. P._ Well, then, the glass is perfectly right.

_C. O. G._ Right, sir! I don't understand you, sir. What do you mean by saying it is right, sir?

_C. Y. P._ I mean that the glass is quite right to be as much in the shade as it can in this warm weather.

[_Choleric Old Gentleman collapses._

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SUBURBAN HOSPITALITY.

SCENE--_A mile and a half to the railway station, on a bitter winter's night._

_Genial Host (putting his head out of doors)._ Heavens! what a night! Not fit to turn a dog out! (_To the parting guest._) Well, good-night, old chap. I hope you find your way to the station.

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HARD LINES ON INDIVIDUALS.--The compulsory purchase of land by a railway company is insult added to injury. The buyers take a site in the seller's face.

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"THE ROLL OF THE AGES."--The penny roll at railway refreshment-rooms.

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THE PORTER'S SLAM

[A meeting at Manchester raised a protest against the nuisance caused by the needlessly loud "slamming" of railway carriage doors.]

The porter has a patent "slam," Which smites one like a blow, And everywhere that porter comes That "slam" is sure to go. It strikes upon the tym-pa-num Like shock of dynamite; By day it nearly makes you dumb-- It deafens you at night. When startled by the patent "slam" The pious "pas-sen-jare," Says something else that ends in "am" (Or he has patience rare). Not only does it cause a shock, But--Manchester remarks-- "Depreciates the rolling stock," Well, that is rather larks! _That's_ not the point. The porter's slam Conduces to insanity, And, though as mild as Mary's lamb, Drives men to loud profanity. If Manchester the "slam" can stay By raising of a stir, All railway-travellers will say, "Bully for Man-ches-ter!"

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MR. PIPS HIS DIARY