Chapter 2

It is very delightful to have a flat in London, but there are times in the summer when I long for a garden of my own. I show people round our little place, and I point out hopefully the Hot Tap Doultonii in the bathroom, and the Dorothy Perkins loofah, but it isn't the same thing as taking your guest round your garden and telling him that what you really want is rain. Until I can do that the Chelsea Flower Show is no place for us.

"Then I haven't told you the good news," said Celia. "We _are_ gardeners." She paused a moment for effect. "I have ordered a window-box."

I dropped the marmalade and jumped up eagerly.

"Celia, my child," I cried, "this is glorious news! I haven't been so excited since I recognised a calceolaria last year, and told my host it was a calceolaria just before he told me. A window-box! What's in it?"

"Pink geraniums and--and pink geraniums and--er----"

"Pink geraniums?" I suggested.

"Yes. They're very pretty, you know."

"I know. But I could have wished for something more difficult. If we had something like--well, I don't want to seem to harp on it, but say calceolarias, then quite a lot of people mightn't recognise them, and I should be able to tell them what they were. I should be able to show them the calceolarias; you can't show people the geraniums."

"You can say, 'What do you think of _that_ for a geranium?'" said Celia. "Anyhow," she added, "you've got to take me to the Flower Show now."

"Of course I will. It is not only a pleasure, but a duty. As gardeners we must keep up with floricultural progress. Even though we start with pink geraniums now, we may have--er, calceolarias next year. Rotation of crops and--and what not."

Accordingly we made our way in the afternoon to the Show.

"I think we're a little over-dressed," I said as we paid our shillings. "We ought to look as if we'd just run up from our little window-box in the country and were going back by the last train. I should be in gaiters, really."

"Our little window-box is not in the country," objected Celia. "It's what you might call a--a _pied de terre_ in town. French joke," she added kindly. "Much more difficult than the ordinary sort."

"Don't forget it; we can always use it again on visitors. Now what shall we look at first?"

"The flowers first; then the tea."

I had bought a catalogue and was scanning it rapidly.

"We don't want flowers," I said. "Our window-box--our garden is already full. It may be that James, the head boxer, has overdone the pink geraniums this year, but there it is. We can sack him and promote Thomas, but the mischief is done. Luckily there are other things we want. What about a dove-cot? I should like to see doves cooing round our geraniums."

"Aren't dove-cots very big for a window-box?"

"We could get a small one--for small doves. Do you have to buy the doves too, or do they just come? I never know. Or there," I broke off suddenly; "my dear, that's just the thing." And I pointed with my stick.

"We have seven clocks already," said Celia.

"But a sun-dial! How romantic. Particularly as only two of the clocks go. Celia, if you'd let me have a sundial in my window-box, I would meet you by it alone sometimes."

"It sounds lovely," she said doubtfully.

"You do want to make this window-box a success, don't you?" I asked as we wandered on. "Well, then, help me to buy something for it. I don't suggest one of those," and I pointed to a summer-house, "or even a weather-cock; but we must do something now we're here. For instance, what about one of these patent extension ladders, in case the geraniums grow very tall and you want to climb up and smell them? Or would you rather have some mushroom spawn? I would get up early and pick the mushrooms for breakfast. What do you think?"

"I think it's too hot for anything, and I must sit down. Is this seat an exhibit or is it meant for sitting on?"

"It's an exhibit, but we might easily want to buy one some day, when our window-box gets bigger. Let's try it."

It was so hot that I think, if the man in charge of the Rustic Bench Section had tried to move us on, we should have bought the seat at once. But nobody bothered us. Indeed it was quite obvious that the news that we owned a large window-box had not yet got about.

"I shall leave you here," I said after I had smoked a cigarette and dipped into the catalogue again, "and make my purchase. It will be quite inexpensive; indeed, it is marked in the catalogue at one-and-sixpence, which means that they will probably offer me the nine-shilling size first. But I shall be firm. Good-bye."

I went and bought one and returned to her with it.

"No, not now," I said, as she held out her hand eagerly. "Wait till we get home."

It was cooler now, and we wandered through the tents, chatting patronisingly to the stall-keeper whenever we came to pink geraniums. At the orchids we were contemptuously sniffy. "Of course," I said, "for those who _like_ orchids----" and led the way back to the geraniums again. It was an interesting afternoon.

And to our great joy the window-box was in position when we got home again.

"Now!" I said dramatically, and I unwrapped my purchase and placed it in the middle of our new-made garden.

"Whatever----"

"A slug-trap," I explained proudly.

"But how could slugs get up here?" asked Celia in surprise.

"How do slugs got anywhere? They climb up the walls, or they come up in the lift, or they get blown about by the wind--I don't know. They can fly up if they like; but, however it be, when they do come, I mean to be ready for them."

Still, though our slug-trap will no doubt come in usefully, it is not what we really want. What we gardeners really want is rain.

A. A. M.

* * * * *

The Tandem.

"The winner was Mr. E. Williams, on an A. J. S. machine, while, on the same machine, Mr. C. Williams finished second."

_Liverpool Evening Express._

He should have insisted on the front seat at the start, and then he might have finished first.

* * * * *

"Wanted immediately, experienced pressers for ladies' waists."

_Advt. in "Montreal Daily Star_."

Don Juan, forward.

* * * * *

NOT TO BE CAUGHT.

* * * * *

DRASTIC REFORM OF SCHOOLS.

Remarkable Speech.

Owing to the ruthless condensation of the Parliamentary Reports in the daily Press, no mention was made of Mr. Alfred Dunstanley's motion last Thursday, under the ten-minutes rule, for leave to bring in his Bill for the Reform of Public Schools. That omission we are now able to make good, thanks to the enterprise of a correspondent who was present during the debate in the Strangers' Gallery.

Mr. Dunstanley remarked that he was not prompted by any animosity to our public schools and did not propose to exterminate or annihilate them. But he was convinced that in the best interests of the nation they ought to be purged of the excrescences and anomalies which militated against their utility. The Bill accordingly provided that, pending the extinction of the hereditary peerage, peers or peers' sons, if they insisted on going to public schools, should be carefully segregated and kept in a state of perpetual coventry. It was not advisable that the healthy sons of our democracy should associate with those effete and tainted aristocrats. The Bill stopped short of sending them to the lethal chamber, but recommended that they should pay triple fees.

Mr. Dunstanley explained that he had no feeling against titled persons as individuals. But the facts were against them. Thus the word viscount was in Latin vice-comes, in itself a terrible admission. Again, baronets were almost invariably depicted in lurid colours by the best novelists. In short their presence at our public schools could not be safely tolerated, as even the children of good Radicals were not immune to the danger of snobbery and sycophancy. The Bill also provided for compulsory vegetarian diet and the abolition of all cadet corps, rifle-shooting and caning.

Mr. Dunstanley concluded by observing that it pained him to bring forward this motion, as he had many friends who had been born in the purple, and some had survived the demoralising influences involved in their birth, but he felt it his solemn duty to lodge a practical protest against the fetish worship of rank and wealth and war, which, in the opinion of his great-headed colleague, Mr. John Ward, was ruining the country.

* * * * *

From a letter to _The Accrington Gazette_:--

"I do hope that the Accrington Town Council will read, mark, learn this epistle and lay these precepts to their hearts, which in Latin I will quote: 'Quod Hoc Sibi Vult.' It means that the exposed food stuffs will not only be impregnated with the volcanic like dust representing the cremated remnant of the town's horrible organic refuse, but will also be tainted with the smell that tastes."

Our contemporary's correspondent would have pleased our old Sixth Form Master, who was always complaining that our translations did not bring out the _full_ meaning of the passage.

* * * * *

"Great Pictures under the Hammer."

_The Times._

The Suffragettes continue to be busy.

* * * * *

"Who shall say howqztNj wodrmf."

_Manchester Daily Dispatch._

Who wants to?

* * * * *

* * * * *

INSPIRATION.

(_A Suburban Rhapsody._)

I said, "Within the garden trimly bordered, Assisted by the merle, I mean to woo The Heavenly Nine, by young Apollo wardered," And Araminta answered, "Yes, dear, do. The deck chair's in the outhouse; lunch is ordered For twenty-five to two."

I sat within the garden's island summer And heard far off the shunting of the trains, Noises of wheels, and speech of every comer Passing the entrance--heard the man of brains Talking of George's Budget, heard the plumber Planning new leaks for drains.

These things did not disturb me. Through the fencing I liked to bear in mind that men less free Must toil and tramp, whilst I was just commencing To court the Muses, foolscap on my knee, Helped by the sweet bird in the shade-dispensing Something-or-other tree.

I wrote: "Ah, who would be where rough men jostle In dust and grime, like porkers at a trough. When, here is May and May-time's blest apostle----" Just then, without preliminary cough, Suddenly, ere I knew, the actual throstle, Tee'd up and started off.

It drowned the distant noise of motor-'buses, It drowned the shunting trains, the traffic's roar, The milk, the bread, the meat, the tradesmen's fusses, And the long secret tale told o'er and o'er That all day long Eliza Jane discusses With the new girl next door.

So sweetly the bird sang. Great thrills went through it. It seemed to say, "The glorious sun hath shone, Flooding the world like treacle wrapped round suet; Why should we harp of age and dull years gone?" Time seemed to be no sort of object to it-- It just went on and on.

Therefore I rose, and later (o'er the trifle), When Araminta with her tactful gush Asked if the garden seemed to help or stifle The Muses' output, I responded, "Tush; When you go out, my dear, please buy a rifle; I want to shoot that thrush."

Evoe.

* * * * *

Seen in a Birmingham shop window:--

"The Smartest Flannel Trouser in the City, 6/11."

If he had another one, even though not quite so smart, we might consider it.

* * * * *

"The world's longest and most accurate golf ball."--_Advt._

Personally we prefer the short ones when it comes to putting them into the tin.

* * * * *

THE AMENDING BILL.

* * * * *

ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

(Extracted from the Diary of Toby, M.P.)

_House of Commons, Monday, May 18._--Field-Marshal Asquith, on military duty in attendance on the King at Aldershot. Takes opportunity to give His Majesty a few hints on the setting of a squadron in the field. In his absence depression customary on reassembling after week-end recess asserts itself with increased force. Through early portion of Question-hour benches half empty. As hands of clock approached the mark 2.45, stream of arrivals increased in volume. At conclusion of Questions House so densely crowded that side galleries were invaded, and group of Members stood at Bar.

Strangers in Gallery rubbed their eyes and asked what this might portend? Explanation simple. Within limit of Question-hour no division may take place. As soon as boundary passed danger zone for Ministerialists entered. Last week Opposition snapped a division at earliest possible moment and nearly cornered Government. To-day at least two divisions on Welsh Church Bill imminent. Ministerialists, obedient to urgent Whip, in their places in good time. When divisions were called--one on report of financial resolution of Welsh Church Bill, the other closing Committee stage--298 voted with Government against 204 for rejection of motion. By rare coincidence figures in both divisions were exactly the same, re-establishing Government majority at 94.

This done, Members trooped out in battalions, leaving Hume Williams to spend on wooden intelligence of empty benches able argument in support of motion for rejection of Bill at Third Reading stage. Lifeless debate temporarily uplifted by speech of simple eloquence from William Jones, who, after long interval, breaks the silence imposed upon a Whip. Quickly gathering audience listened from both sides with obvious pleasure to a speech which, as Stuart-Wortley said, was "marked by real fervour and manifest sincerity." We have not so many natural orators in present House that we can with indifference see given up to the drudgery of the Whips' room what was meant for mankind.

One passage, a sort of aside, brought tears to eyes of case-hardened section of the audience seated in Press Gallery. They furtively dropped when Member for Carnarvon described how, a small boy visiting the Strangers' Gallery, he found seated there "a saintly Pressman, a frail and fragile figure in bad health, who wrote weekly letters to the Welsh _Baner_. I saw him," he added, "at lucid intervals, writing his letters."

House loudly laughed at picture thus graphically drawn. Pressmen, not essentially saintly, know how desirable is the accessory of lucid intervals for the writing of London Letters.

_Business done._--Under Procedure Resolution agreed to last week Welsh Church Disestablishment Bill carried through Committee as quickly as Chairman could put formal motion. Debate opened on Third Reading.

_Tuesday._--"I rejoice," said F. E. Smith, rising at ten o'clock in half empty House to support motion for rejection of Welsh Church Bill on Third Reading stage, "that debates on this measure are approaching termination. We are all driven to make the same speeches over again and to cite old illustrations of the insane constitution under which we live."

This frank admission of the inutility of stretching debate over two sittings not agreeable to feelings of those responsible for weary waste of time. All the same, lamentably true.

Only impulse of vitality given to proceedings came from speech of George Cave. Member for Kingston does not frequently interpose in debate. Long intervals of silence give him opportunity of garnering something worth saying, a rule of Parliamentary life that might be recommended to the attention of some who shall here be nameless. For the rest it was the same grinding out of barrel-organ tunes in varied keys that has been going on these three years. McKenna gave touch of originality to his remarks in winding up debate by avoiding reference to the late Giraldus Cambrensis. Thus momentarily refreshed, Members gratefully went out to Division Lobby, and Third Reading was carried by majority of 77.

In two other divisions concerning Welsh Church Bill taken yesterday, what the late Mr. G. P. R. James if he were starting a new novel would describe as a solitary figure--"a solitary horseman" was, to be precise, the consecrated phrase--might have been observed sitting in corner seat below Gangway on Opposition side. It was William O'Brien assuming the attitude of passive resister to a measure which, in respect of an established Church that national feeling regards as alien, proposes to do for Wales what nearly half a century ago Gladstone did for Ireland. In Parliamentary parlance, "the hon. Member in possession of the House" is the gentleman on his legs addressing the Speaker. Whilst a crowd of Members streamed out, some into the "Aye" Lobby, others into the "No," William O'Brien remained seated, for a moment or two literally the Member in possession of the House.

Let degenerate Irishmen, suborned by bargain with a Saxon Government, go forth to save it in the Division Lobby. Sea-green (with envy of John Redmond, whose name will, after all, be imperishably connected with the final success of a National movement inaugurated forty years ago by Isaac Butt) incorruptible, William O'Brien thus protested against a course of events he has been unable to control. To those who remember his fierce eloquence in past years dominating a hostile audience there was something pathetic in the spectacle.

_Business done._--Welsh Church Disestablishment Bill read third time. Sent on to meet predestined fate in Lords.

_Thursday._--Quite lively goings on. House met to open debate on Third Reading of Home Rule Bill, at special desire of Opposition to be extended over three sittings. Campbell had given notice of intention to move rejection. Everything pointed to long dreary evening, the serving-up of that "thrice boiled cole-wort" which Carlyle honestly believed to form the principal dish in the House of Commons shilling dinner.

Expected that Premier would indicate purport and scope of promised Bill amending an Act not yet added to Statute Book. Questioned on subject he announced that Bill will be introduced in the Lords. Judged by ordinary business tactics this seemed a reasonable arrangement. On return from Whitsun holidays the Lords will find Home Rule Bill at their disposal. Do not conceal intention of throwing it out on Second Reading. Whereupon, Parliament Act stepping in, it will be added to Statute Book. Meanwhile Lords, having no other business on hand, might devote their time to consideration of that settlement of Ulster question which all parties speak of as their heart's desire.

House of Commons is, however, above consideration of ordinary business ways. Announcement of Ministerial intention with respect to Amending Bill raised clamour worthy of our best traditions. Poor Campbell getting up to perform appointed task was greeted by his own friends with stormy cries for adjournment. For full five minutes he stood at Table, with nervous fingers rapping a tune on lid of brass-bound box.

"What's he playing, do you think?" Winterton asked Rowland Hunt.

"As far as I can make out," said the Man for Shropshire, "it's 'The Campbells are Coming.'"

"By Jove, they shan't come," said Winterton, who was in his element (hot water). "'Journ! 'Journ! Journ!" he shouted, leading again the storm of interruption that prevented a word being heard from Campbell.

Speaker at end of five minutes asked Bonner Law whether this refusal of the Opposition to hear one of their leaders met with his assent and approval? Bonner Law haughtily refused to answer. Winterton and Kinloch Cooke more delighted than ever. Uproar growing, the Speaker declared sitting suspended and left the Chair.

A critical moment. So high did angry passion run that there might have been repetition of the famous fisticuffs on floor of House that marked progress of first Home Rule Bill. Ominous sign when Royds of Sleaford, ordinarily mildest-mannered of men, rushed between Front Opposition Bench and Table and shook a minatory forefinger at Asquith.

Premier only smiled. Happily his indifferent good humour prevailed on his own side. There was interchange of acrid compliments as parties joined each other on the way out. But nothing more happened, except that Hasleton and another Irish Nationalist, passing empty chair of Sergeant-at-Arms, lit, the one a pipe, the other a cigarette.

"Shocking!" cried an outraged Member of the old school.

"Not at all," said Sark. "When the House of Commons is enlivened by pot-house manners there is surely no harm in two customers lighting up as they pass out."

_Business._--Outbreak of disorder, Speaker suspends sitting.

* * * * *

BUYING A PIANO.

I had often thought I should like to possess a really good piano--not one of those dumpy vertical instruments, but a big flat one with a long tail. For a long time I hesitated between a Rolls Royce, a Yost, a Veuve Cliquot, and a Thurston. At last I put the problem to a musical friend. He said:

"It's a piano you want, not a motor-typewriting-champagne-table? Very good, then. You go to Steinbech's in Wigram Street. They'll fix you up. Mention my name if you like."

"What'll happen to me if I do?"

"They'll sell you a piano. That's what you want, isn't it?"

So I went. I told the man at Steinbech's that I believed they sold pianos. He said that my belief was not without foundation, but that, in any case, they would be prepared to stretch a point in my favour and sell me one. What sort did I require?

"A big flat one with a long tail," I replied.

"Ah, you want a full concert-grand? Then kindly step into our show-room, Sir. Now, this one," he said, indicating a handsome brunette, "is a magnificent piano. Best workmanship and superior materials employed throughout. Splendid tone and light touch. Price, one hundred guineas. Examine it; try it for yourself, Sir." And he opened the keyboard as he spoke.

"Er--what order are the notes arranged in?" I asked.

"In strict alphabetical order," he answered. "A, B, C, and so on."