Chapter 3

As for Number Three, I could tell you a little story about him. He has had a love-affair. There was a time when he too joined in the dance and song, as one might say; but all that is over for him. One morning he turned up late, his usual merry call changed to a croak like that of a bull-frog virtuoso. I peered between the curtains to make sure that it was not Number Five (as yet hypothetical); but no--it was Three, with a look on his face that could only bear one interpretation. Belinda had been perverse, unkind, icy--had, in fact, thrown him over. You could read it in the angle of his cap, in the broken lace dragging from his boots, in his shuffling progress, and in the dulled gleam of his brass-mounted cans. From that date he became a frowning pessimist, perpetrating wheezes and squeaks and mumblings, quaverings and hoarse murmurs, instead of the customary sportive yelp. 'Tis an unkind world, according to Number Three.

Number Four generally arrives as the lingering chatter of his predecessors dies away. He is rotund, judging by his voice (I have not yet seen him); also I should say that he goes in for physical culture. For, by the sounds that ascend to my window, his procedure is as follows: he unhooks the empty can from the railings of the opposite house and dashes it violently upward against the wall, catching it on the rebound. This action he repeats a few times just to get into form; it is, as it were, a muscular prelude. Then, taking seven or eight empty tins from his trolley, he juggles with them, not very expertly, for some of them break away into neighbouring areas and have to be retrieved; or he will set the whole lot in the road and kick them round for five minutes, brilliantly and wonderfully. This warms him. Picking them up, he spends a relatively quiet interlude in sorting out the one he wants, then fills it, bangs the lid down, and rehangs it in position. Having repeated the process with the remainder, he glows with a sense of duty done, and bursts into his farewell song; I often wish that it was his swan-song. He produces in this vocal valediction noises which to the ears of a Futurist composer might seem as Olympian music, but which to my insufficiently educated taste are merely excruciating.

These, then are my four pets. I value them, for they teach me self-denial and self-restraint; they rouse me at an hour when I might otherwise be lost in slothful sleep; and they assure me that there is a sphere in which taxes and politics really do not matter in the slightest. Some day, I suppose, they will grow up. What will become of their talents in the world of men it is beyond me to imagine. But Number Four seems to have the makings of a politician.

* * * * *

* * * * *

TWO EYES OF GRAY.

"Sprats should be cooked very fresh. Their condition can be ascertained by their eyes, which should be bright."

_Cookery Book._

How cold the culinary mind That household care absorbs! Can the observer really find Within yon sparkling orbs No message, nothing further than A fitness for the frying-pan?

For oh, in that pathetic gaze What crowded memories dwell! What wistful dreams of briny days Beneath the surging swell, Ere fate had seized this little fish And plumped him on an earthen dish!

Methinks I see him even now, As late he sailed along With smiling and unruffled brow Amid the finny throng, No gladder, gayer sprat than he In all the caverns of the sea.

With what a rapture would he tweak The casual kipper's tail, Or nimbly sport at hide-and-seek Around the whiskered whale! (Do whales that haunt the ocean wave Wear whiskers? Some do, others shave.)

And, when by hunger overcome He felt a trifle limp, What joy within his vacuum To stow the passing shrimp, And afterwards to sink and snooze, Soft-cradled on the nether ooze!

Ah, yes, as I behold those eyes So bright, so crystal-clear, I feel within my own uprise A sympathetic tear; But supper's call one must obey, And so I dash the drops away.

* * * * *

ANOTHER INFORMATION BUREAU.

A Pretty Thought--Tipsters--Our Feathered Friends--A Guide to Manners--Aiding his Suit.

A Pretty Thought.

_After reading that a number of letters have been written to the King on his birthday by school children, my wife and I have decided that our little girl, Clara, who is just six, shall write one for next year--or possibly for Christmas--and we should be glad of your counsel in the matter: as to how his Majesty is addressed, how to make sure that the letter reaches him and receives proper attention, and so forth. Is there any intermediary with whom one should get upon good terms?--J. U. T. (Haggerston)._

Your question is a very natural one, and we are glad to be able to reply to it. The habit of writing to His Majesty is growing. He should be addressed on the envelope as--

His Majesty, Buckingham Palace, near Victoria Station, S.W.,

and the envelope should be marked "Private" or "Personal," to ensure his getting it. By a piece of great good fortune for you one of the papers has very considerately published specimens of letters just sent to His Majesty, and you can make those your model. The most suitable is perhaps this--

"Dear King George,--I wish you many happy returns of the day. If I had one pound I would buy a suit of clothes with ten shillings and a watch for the other ten shillings. I hope you will have a long and fruitful reign."

Is not that charming in its _naïveté_ and whole-hearted delight in the opportunity of congratulations and good wishes? We wish your little Clara all success.

Tipsters.

_I receive every day circulars from gentlemen who assure me that they know for certain the winners of forthcoming races and asking me to let them send me this information for a consideration. Do you think I should be wise in doing so? Naturally I want to make my fortune.--H. M. (Epping)._

We reply to your question by asking another. How is it that these gentlemen, with all their advantages of foreknowledge, are still so anxiously in business?

Our Feathered Friends.

_Can you tell me how I can obtain information as to the means of identifying the songs of birds? I hear a great many near our house in the country, but I cannot put names to them. I am told that when Colonel Roosevelt was last in England Sir Edward Grey took him for a long walk in the New Forest to instruct him in English ornithology. Do you think he would take me? I am a strong Free Trader and have traces of American blood.--B. B. L. (Dorking)._

Sir Edward Grey, we fancy, has other things to do. You had better write to "W. B. T." of _The Daily Mail_, or in his regrettable absence to "P. W. D. I."

A Guide to Manners.

_I have a son for whom I desire a political future. What I should like to get for him is a Member of Parliament who would converse with him on statecraft, the British constitution and so forth, but it would have to be one who was jealous for the honour and dignity of the House, and I need hardly say that I should not care for a Liberal. Can you give me any hints?--J. K. (Henley)._

We strongly recommend Mr. Ronald McNeill, Mr. Amery, Sir C. Kinloch-Cooke, or Lord Winterton.

Aiding his Suit.

_Although an utterly unathletic man I am paying court to a lady who dotes upon male proficiency in games. How would you advise me to forward my cause?--M. L. G. (Harrow)._

We should advise you to put yourself into knickerbockers and a golfing attitude and be photographed. Judging by their present contents, there is not a paper in the country that would not be glad to print the picture, and then you could show it to the lady and win.

* * * * *

A WELCOME FLAW.

"You look worried," said Diana, "very worried, dear."

I smiled sadly. "It can't be helped," I said.

"Did you like my cake?"

"Very much; it wasn't that. I am a little worried, Diana."

"What a pity. Will you have some more, dear?"

"No, thank you."

Diana leant forward and cut a very large slice.

"No, really, thank you," I insisted.

"Right; this is for me."

"Diana," I said, "I've something on my chest." She looked surprised. "Yes, there's something on my chest. I speak in a spiritual sense."

"Well, hadn't you better tell me what it is, dear?"

"I will," I said stoutly. "Diana, this--this engagement can't go on." There was no fire in the room, so I gazed blankly into the radiator.

"What on earth do you mean, Dick?"

"It can't go on," I repeated.

"Why? Dick, you're joking."

"Joking!" I laughed a hollow mocking laugh. "Don't make it hard for me, Diana."

She crossed over and sat on the arm of my chair.

"Are you feeling ill, dear?" she inquired ever so sweetly.

For a moment I nearly gave way; then, with a tremendous effort, I braced back my shoulders.... Diana fell heavily to the floor.

"Darling," I said as I picked her up, "I'm so sorry; I didn't see you were sitting so near the edge. I'm----"

"All right," she replied. "And now what is it? You haven't changed towards me?"

"Diana--I--oh, it's difficult."

"Yes, dear. Go on."

I gazed into the carpet. "I must begin at the beginning. I--it's difficult."

"Yes, dear; we've agreed about that."

"In the first place," I began, "I am a man of the utmost integrity."

"That doesn't matter, and, anyway, you're quite a dear."

I bowed gravely. "I try to look at things from a high standpoint," I continued. "Now, Diana, I consider you are perfect. I love you intensely because you are so perfect."

"Don't be silly, dear."

"I mean it. On the other hand, I know myself very well indeed."

"You think so."

"I do. And I have come to the conclusion, after many racking hours, that I am not worthy of you. The proper course, the only course, is for me to release you." And I sighed heavily.

"Well," said Diana, "of course it's a very pretty idea, and I'm glad you're so fond of me, but the whole thing's absurd. I've accepted you and there's an end of it."

"Diana, you're making it very hard."

"I'm making it impossible."

"No," I declared, "because--I release you now."

Diana fingered her handkerchief. "D--Dick, I refuse to be released. It's too silly for w--words. Come over here."

With a great effort I didn't get up; instead I gazed at the ceiling.

"Diana," I said, "I'm disappointed in you. I'm trying to do the right thing, the noble thing, and you mustn't stand in my way. You've no right to stand in my----"

"Anyhow, I'm going to."

"You know," I said, "this puts me in a very awkward position--very awkward. Diana, you must see my point of view."

"I can't."

"You mean you won't. I had expected more of you."

Diana smiled. "I thought you considered me perfect."

"I did."

"Well, you see, dear, I'm not."

I sighed. "I'm afraid not," I said. "I fear not."

Suddenly I sat up. "Good Lord!" I exclaimed. "Hooray!"

"What is it?"

"Don't you see? This puts matters on an entirely different footing. Darling, you don't want me to do the right thing, therefore you're not perfect."

"No; that's settled."

"Well then, you don't deserve a perfect husband."

"I don't want one."

"That's not the point. You don't deserve one."

"No," said Diana.

"Then that's all right," I said; "because you won't get one." And I cut myself a large slice of cake.

* * * * *

[_Chairman (at Friendly Lead, proposing toast of the performers)._ "All the hartists have give their services free, and I think you'll agree with me, gentlemen, that the labourers are worthy of their hire."]

* * * * *

THE ROOT OF ALL EVIL.

["It is impossible for me to dine out either in private or in public without having those confounded telephones mentioned to me."

_Mr. Hobhouse._]

She was so young but fair to see; Her eye conveyed the glad regard; She murmured to the P.M.G. That life was very, very hard (It never crossed his mind that she Was double seven five Gerrard).

She spoke of love, as ladies will; He thought it no affair of his; "I cannot say," he said, "until You tell me what your trouble is;" So while he ate and drank his fill She told him all about it, viz.:--

"Augustus, handsome, tall and lean, Excels in every kind of sport; Such perfect men have rarely been, And cash with him is never short; His words are few and far between; He is the strong and silent sort.

"His courage is sublime, and yet His manly shyness is absurd; Of all the girls he ever met It was myself he most preferred; He'd try and try, but couldn't get His wretched tongue to say the word.

"Speech was to him a foreign art. He hired a poet of repute, Learnt yards of eloquence by heart, Came, full of it, to press his suit; At sight of me forgot his part ... What could I say when he was mute?

"But there are ways and means for those Who like to sit and blush alone, And, undetected, to propose In phrases other than their own ..." (The P.M.G.'s suspicions rose; This sounded like the telephone).

"And this, on second thoughts, was what Augustus hit upon, and he Affirmed a passion, strong and hot. Where one might hear but none might see, And was accepted on the spot, But not, confound you, Sir, by me.

"Yours was the fault, you monster, who, Unmoved, unblushing, dare to dine!" Her victim turned a little blue And cleared his throat and muttered, "Mine?" "Yes, yours!" she cried. "You put him through (For good) to double seven _nine_!"

* * * * *

THE ABANDONER.

"I am afraid," I said, "that I shall have to withdraw my permission."

"Withdraw your what?" said the lady of the house, emphasising every word scornfully.

"Yes," I said, "I shall have to forbid you to go."

She laughed.

"It's not a bit of good," I said, "laughing like that. Laughter only adds fuel to the fire that is raging in my breast. I am going to forbid you to go."

"Don't waste your forbiddings," she said, "I'm not banns, and I won't be treated as such. Besides, even banns are never forbidden in these days."

"Yes, they are," I said. "A bann was forbidden last week. A father of eighty years, infuriated by the imminent desertion of a daughter of fifty-five, got up in church at the third time of asking and said, 'I object. Who's going to look after me?' The clergyman nearly swooned."

"And the unfortunate objecter was carefully removed by his friends. I don't see that that's much of a help to you."

"Anyhow," I said, "I won't have it."

"It's too late to talk like that. In half-an-hour I start for Sandy Bay to stay with Violet. My luggage is already at the station."

"Yes," I said, "and you leave me here alone to look after everything."

"Well, what of that?" she said. "Don't you often leave _me_ alone here to look after everything?"

"Ah, but that's different. When I go away _rien n'est changé; il n'y a qu'un Anglais de moins_."

"My own Parisian one!" she murmured.

"The mistress-mind remains and things go on being controlled. Lord love you, _my_ absence makes no difference."

"What you mean is," she said, "that you simply can't get on without me. Isn't that it?"

"If you put it in that way," I said, "you can't expect me to admit it."

"Well, it comes to that, doesn't it?"

"What I mean to say is that it's your fault."

"Aha," she said triumphantly, "I knew you'd mean to say that sooner or later. Everything's my fault, of course."

"It is," I said, "an arguable proposition."

"And how do you prove it in this particular case?"

"Easily," I said. "You have neglected to train me for the daily work of a household and a family."

"You never asked to be trained," she said.

"No," I said, "I was too proud and too sensitive. I did not come to you and say, 'Let me beard the cook in her fastness. Let me order the sirloin of beef for the mid-day meal. Let me rebuke the housemaid, or raise her wages, or give her notice,' or whatever it is that one does in the case of a housemaid. I did not ask that I too might be allowed to talk bulbs or Alpine plants to the gardener. I did not plead that I might order dresses or medicine for the girls, or watch over John's putting to bed. All these things, because you were haughty about them, I left to you; and you--what did you do?"

"I generally went and did them."

"And that," I said, "is just what I complain of."

"You wouldn't have liked it," she said, "if I hadn't."

"You ought," I said, "to have taken me into your counsels, instead of leaving me to eat out my heart in total ignorance of all the things that make the world a happier and a better place. Votes for women, indeed! First let there be homes for men."

"Shall I ring for a glass of water?" she said.

"There must be no sarcasm," I said. "This is too serious for sarcasm. Besides, think what will happen."

"Well, what?"

"John," I said, "will fall into the fishpond."

"You can have his clothes dried."

"No," I said, "I shall spank him. It is my only remedy."

"Anything else?"

"Peggy will tumble off her bicycle and cut her knee."

"Anyhow, you can't spank her for that."

"And there will be a message from the kitchen to say that there are no mutton cutlets in England."

"You can eat beef or chicken."

"And Rosie will have to see the dentist, and Helen will want to go out to tea, and there will be holes in all their boots; and ladies whom I have never seen will call on you and will be shown in on me. Oh, it is a terrible prospect!"

"It does sound rather blood-curdling," she said.

"And, after all, why do you want to go to Violet's?"

"She asked me, you know. That's one reason. And I shall be able to look round for lodgings in August."

"Are we going to Sandy Bay in August?"

"Yes; didn't you know? And I shall have four days of perfect peace."

"You won't. You and Violet will disagree about hats, or the colour of a dress, or the education of children, or the true way of putting men in their proper place. It isn't everybody who agrees with you as I do."

"Yes, I know I shall miss you every minute of the time--that's what you wanted me to say, wasn't it?"

"Yes, that was it. You really do know how to lead me by a silken thread."

"And I shall probably get my breakfast in bed. You'll think of me, won't you, when you're breakfasting with the children? And don't let John have jam every day."

"I shall give him," I said, "a pot for himself."

"Good-bye," she said, pressing a paper into my hand. "I've written down some things that _must_ be attended to."

"I shan't attend to them," I shouted, as she walked off.

"Breakfast in bed," she called back.

R. C. L.

* * * * *

THE EARTHLY HADES.

["I could reel out such a list of notorious Yorkshire criminals ... as would put every other county utterly out of the running."--_Extract from recent letter to "The Pall Mall Gazette."_]

Bah! to your boasts of the blackguards of Lancashire; Tush! to your talk of the rascals of Staffs; Come, let me openly mention as rank a shire (Yorks) as you'll find for the riffest of ruffs; Choose all the pick of your Cheese-shire or Pork-shire men, Men who have sunk in the deepest of mud; Deuce of a one can come near to us Yorkshiremen Born with Beelzebub's blue in our blood.

"Nuts" who have long left the strait way or narrow gate Swarm on each side of the Swale or the Ouse; Huddersfield vies in its villains with Harrogate; Satan in Sheffield would shake in his shoes; Hull?--though you might not be driven to drat it, you'd Certainly substitute "e" for its "u," And, from a purely unprejudiced attitude, We should pronounce it the worse of the two.

Yorks has a side, you see, surely more sinister Far than the shires that would snatch at her fame; So, when you curse at our present Prime Minister, Calling him every conceivable name, We shall accept 'em with sangfroid and phlegm, as he Gives you this practical proof of his powers, Setting his seal to our sinful supremacy, Seeing he comes from this county of ours.

* * * * *

A FRUGAL MIND.

* * * * *

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

(_By Mr. Punch's Staff of Learned Clerks._)

I have reason to believe that Scotland Yard has on occasion displayed considerable intelligence, and I regret that novelists will never allow it to be as cunning even as myself in guessing the identity of the villains of their criminal plots. Mrs. Charles Bryce, for instance, might, without unduly taxing the imagination, have credited the Force with the coup of bringing to justice the murderer of _Mrs. Vanderstein_, but she went out of her way to employ that marvellous amateur, _Mr. Gimblet_, for the purpose. I must believe that he was marvellous, because she says so; but in this case he did nothing and had little opportunity of justifying his references. He merely believed what he had the luck to be told and caused the miscreant to be arrested when of his own motion he practically offered himself for arrest. There are, after all, two phases of crime--the first, its commission, and the second, its detection. Mrs. Bryce would have done better to confine herself to the former, since she has an exciting tale to tell of _Mrs. Vanderstein's Jewels_ (Lane) and shows herself well able to curdle the blood in the telling of it. But, lacking that gift of logic which is essential to the stating and the solving of detective problems, she endeavours to achieve her ends by keeping back what are admitted, and not discovered, facts. She is reduced to telling the same story twice, and I cannot say that I was nearly as excited the second time as I was the first.