Chapter 2

Illustration: _Mistress._ "WHY, MARY, ISN'T THIS YOUR SUNDAY AFTERNOON OUT? AREN'T YOU GOING FOR A WALK THIS LOVELY DAY?"

_Mary._ "PLEASE, 'M, I'D RATHER STAY IN. YOU SEE, MOST OF THE PEOPLE OUT ON A SUNDAY IS COUPLES, AND I DON'T LIKE TO BE CONSPICUOUS."

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From the Great North of Scotland Railway's advertisement in _The Aberdeen Daily Journal_:--

"A train will leave Aberdeen at 7.30 p.m. for Aberdeen."

Thus enabling the cautious Aberdonian to improve his mind by travel at a minimum of expense.

* * * * *

THE COMPLETE DRAMATIST.

_Introductory._

I take it that every able-bodied man and woman in this country wants to write a play. Since the news first got about that Orlando What's-his-name made £50,000 out of _The Crimson Sponge_, there has been a feeling that only through the medium of the stage can literary art find its true expression. The successful playwright is indeed a man to be envied. Leaving aside for the moment the question of super-tax, the prizes which fall to his lot are worth striving for. He sees his name (correctly spelt) on 'buses which go to such different spots as Hammersmith and West Norwood, and his name (spelt incorrectly) beneath the photograph of somebody else in _The Illustrated Butler_. He is a welcome figure at the garden-parties of the elect, who are always ready to encourage him by accepting free seats for his play; actor-managers nod to him; editors allow him to contribute without charge to a symposium on the price of golf balls. In short he becomes a "prominent figure in London Society"--and, if he is not careful, somebody will say so.

But even the unsuccessful dramatist has his moments. I knew a young man who married somebody else's mother, and was allowed by her fourteen gardeners to amuse himself sometimes by rolling the tennis-court. It was an unsatisfying life; and when rash acquaintances asked him what he did he used to say that he was reading for the Bar. Now he says he is writing a play--and we look round the spacious lawns and terraces and marvel at the run his last one must have had.

However, I assume that you who read this are actually in need of the dibs. Your play must be not merely a good play but a successful one. How shall this success be achieved?

Frankly I cannot always say. If you came to me and said, "I am on the Stock Exchange, and bulls are going down," or up, or sideways, or whatever it might be; "there's no money to be made in the City nowadays, and I want to write a play instead. How shall I do it?"--well, I couldn't help you. But suppose you said, "I'm fond of writing; my people always say my letters home are good enough for _Punch_. I've got a little idea for a play about a man and a woman and another woman, and--but perhaps I'd better keep the plot a secret for the moment. Anyhow it's jolly exciting, and I can do the dialogue all right. The only thing is, I don't know anything about technique and stage-craft and the three unities and that sort of rot. Can you give me a few hints?" Suppose you spoke to me like this, then I could do something for you. "My dear Sir," I should reply (or Madam), "you have come to the right shop. Lend me your ear for a few weeks, and you shall learn just what stage-craft is." And I should begin with a short homily on

I.--SOLILOQUY.

If you ever read your _Shakspeare_--and no dramatist should despise the works of another dramatist; he may always pick up something in them which may be useful for his next play--if you ever read your _Shakspeare_, it is possible that you have come across this passage:--

"_Enter_ Hamlet.

_Ham._ To be, or not to be----"

And so on in the same vein for some thirty lines.

These few remarks are called a soliloquy, being addressed rather to the world in general than to any particular person on the stage. Now the object of this soliloquy is plain. The dramatist wished us to know the thoughts which were passing through _Hamlet's_ mind, and it was the only way he could think of in which to do it. Of course a really good actor can often give a clue to the feelings of a character simply by facial expression. There are ways of shifting the eyebrows, distending the nostrils, and exploring the lower molars with the tongue by which it is possible to denote respectively Surprise, Defiance and Doubt. Indeed, irresolution being the keynote of _Hamlet's_ soliloquy, a clever player could to some extent indicate the whole thirty lines by a silent working of the jaw. But at the same time it would be idle to deny that he would miss the finer shades of the poet's meaning. "The insolence of office, and the spurns"--to take only one line--would tax the most elastic face.

So the soliloquy came into being. We moderns, however, see the absurdity of it. In real life no one thinks aloud or in an empty room. The up-to-date dramatist must at all costs avoid this hall-mark of the old-fashioned play.

What, then, is to be done? If it be granted, first, that the thoughts of a certain character should be known to the audience, and, secondly, that soliloquy, or the habit of thinking aloud, is in opposition to modern stage technique, how shall a soliloquy be avoided without damage to the play?

Well, there are more ways than one; and now we come to what is meant by stage-craft. Stage-craft is the art of getting over these difficulties, and (if possible) getting over them in a showy manner, so that people will say, "How remarkable his stage-craft is for so young a writer," when otherwise they mightn't have noticed it at all. Thus, in this play we have been talking about, an easy way of avoiding _Hamlet's_ soliloquy would be for _Ophelia_ to speak first.

_Oph._ What are you thinking about, my lord?

_Ham._ I am wondering whether to be or not to be, whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer----

And so on, till you get to the end, when _Ophelia_ might say, "Ah, yes," or something non-committal of that sort. This would be an easy way of doing it, but it would not be the best way, for the reason that it is too easy to call attention to itself. What you want is to make it clear that you are conveying _Hamlet's_ thoughts to the audience in rather a clever manner.

That this can now be done we have to thank the well-known inventor of the telephone. (I forget his name.) The telephone has revolutionised the stage; with its aid you can convey anything you like across the footlights. In the old badly-made play it was frequently necessary for one of the characters to take the audience into his confidence. "Having disposed of my uncle's body," he would say to the stout lady in the third row of the stalls, "I now have leisure in which to search for the will. But first to lock the door lest I should be interrupted by Harold Wotnott." In the modern well-constructed play he simply rings up an imaginary confederate and tells him what he is going to do. Could anything be more natural?

Let us, to give an example of how this method works, go back again to the play we have been discussing.

_Enter_ Hamlet. _He walks quickly across the room to the telephone, and takes up the receiver impatiently._

_Ham._ Hallo! Hallo! I want double-nine--hal-_lo_! I want double-nine two--hal-_lo_! Double-nine two three, Elsinore ... Double-_nine_, yes ... Hallo, is that you, Horatio? Hamlet speaking. Er--to be or not to be, that is the question; whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows---- What? No, _Hamlet_ speaking. _What?_ Aren't you Horatio? I want double-nine two three----sorry.... Is that you, exchange? You gave me double-_five_, I want double-_nine_ ... Hallo, is that you, Horatio? Hamlet speaking. To be or not to be, that is the---- What? No, I said, To _be_ or _not_ to be ... No, '_be_'--b-e. Yes, that's right. To be or not to be, that is the question; whether 'tis nobler----

And so on. You see how effective it is.

But there is still another way of avoiding the soliloquy, which is sometimes used with good results. It is to let _Hamlet_, if that happens to be the name of your character, enter with a small dog, pet falcon, mongoose, tame bear or whatever animal is most in keeping with the part, and confide in this animal such sorrows, hopes or secret history as the audience has got to know. This has the additional advantage of putting the audience immediately in sympathy with your hero. "How _sweet_ of him," all the ladies say, "to tell his little bantam about it!"

If you are not yet tired (as I am) of the _Prince of Denmark_, I will explain (for the last time) how a modern author might re-write his speech.

_Enter_ Hamlet _with his favourite boar-hound._

_Ham. (to B.-H.)_ To be or not to be--ah, Fido, Fido! That is the question--eh, old Fido, boy? Whether 'tis nobler in--how now, a rat! Rats, Fido, _fetch_ 'em--in the mind to suffer The slings and--_down_, Sir!--arrows--put it down! Arrows of--_drop_ it, Fido; good old dog----

And so on. Which strikes me as rather sweet and natural.

A. A. M.

* * * * *

"SOCIETY" NEWS.

The S.P.C.L.A. (Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Labour Agitators) has mooted a novel and, we consider, very far-seeing scheme. It is recognised now that a time must come when no State will be able to ship its undesirables to another country, for the simple reason that the available dumping grounds will gradually be exhausted or refuse to be dumping grounds any longer. That is where the S.P.C.L.A. comes in with its proposal, which is to charter or, if necessary, build a 50,000 ton liner as an ocean hotel for the unfortunate exiles. This leviathan will be coaled by lighters outside the three-miles limit and will ride the high seas for ever and a day. In the event of internal disturbances (in the hotel itself) another maritime hostelry will be chartered, until--who knows--someday we may witness the almost unthinkable anomaly of a Labour Fleet.

The kindly action of the N.L.E.S.R.O. (Navvies' League for the Encouragement of Spectators at Roadmending Operations) in providing deck chairs upon the pavement at a penny an hour is universally appreciated, and it is now no uncommon thing to see a navvy taking a holiday and egging on his sturdy comrades to greater efforts from a seat marked "Deadhead."

The S.P.S.K.K. (Society for the Promotion of Steam-heating in Kaffir Kraals) displayed a regrettable lack of judgment in choosing Christmas Day for the laying of its foundation pipe, Christmas being the South African midsummer.

The D.M.S.P.T.O.H. (Dyspeptic Millionaires' Society for the Promotion of Their Own Happiness) is in urgent need of funds.

At the unveiling of the statue to its founder by the S.I.D.R.I. (Society for Insisting on the Divine Right of Iconoclasts) it is understood that several conversions were effected through the conduct of a band of youthful enthusiasts who, faithful to their principles and unable to restrain their zeal for the cause, rushed at the newly-revealed masterpiece and smashed it to atoms.

The S.F.S. (Society for the Formation of Societies) and the S.F.S.F.S. (Society for the Formation of Societies for the Formation of Societies) are both doing splendid work.

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Illustration: _Petty Officer of Patrol._ "HELLO, YOU. WHAT'S YOUR SHIP?"

_Sailor (returning from revelry)._ "'OW LONG 'AVE YOU BEEN BLIND? IT'S WROTE PLAIN ENOUGH ON MY CAP, AIN'T IT?"

* * * * *

THE BROKERS.

From a poster:--

"NEW KING'S CAPITAL INVESTED BY REBELS."

In something safe, we hope.

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COMMERCIAL CANDOUR.

Notice in a gramophone shop window:--

"JUST SUITABLE FOR THE RIVER."

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Illustration: _New Proprietor of Public-house (that levies a fine for every swear-word_). "'ERE, BILL, THAT'S A PENNY YOU OWE TO THE PARSON'S SWEAR-BOX."

_Bill._ "I'D BETTER DO WHAT I DONE AFORE--PUT A 'ARF-CROWN IN AND 'AVE A SEASON-TICKET."

* * * * *

THE SMILE OF THE SEA-KINGS.

(_A reflection on the recent Amateur Golf Championship at Sandwich suggested by a study of the illustrated papers._)

They swung with the accurate grace of the clockwork at Greenwich; Their brassies unswervingly held to the line of the pegs; Their chip-shots came down on the greens and mistook them for spinach, And stopped like poached eggs; Not theirs the desire for the sandpit, not theirs the inadequate legs.

Or if over they failed to lie moribund, dauntless the heroes Stooped down to impossible putts for a half or a win, Stooped down in voluminous knickers and all sorts of queer hose And stuffed the ball in, Like American packers of pig-meat, hard home to the floor of the tin.

These things I admired; but I wondered still more when the mighty, The mystical thumpers of pills by the marge of the spray, Having somehow offended Poseidon or else Aphrodite, Got chucked from the fray, Passed forth till they left Mr. JENKINS sole lord of the hazardous bay.

When the ultimate putt was holed out in each notable duel How grandly they took it, remarking "I think (or I guess) That the right man has conquered," not shouting that Fortune was cruel, Not murmuring, "Bless!" What a glory illumined their features when snapped by the popular Press!

Full glad is the face of the earth when the vineyards are laden; Loud laughs with innumerous laughter in wreath upon wreath The ocean at Blackpool or Margate; most blithely the maiden Unfastens the sheath Of her mouth like the bloom of a musk rose, when Fangol has furbished her teeth;

So fair was the smile of the sea-kings; so sweet was the look on The faces of HEZLET and OUIMET and most of their peers When they passed from the contest, a smile with a sort of a hook on, Unclouded with tears; It went slap through their cheeks down the fair-way and bunkered itself by their ears.

And if e'er in the future, cast down from the promise of Heaven, Half-stymied by William, I grumble and groan at my fate When he captures the hole (and the game) with a pretty bad 7, Whilst my score is 8, And I bubble with impotent anger, I seethe with tumultuous hate.

Let me think of my album of photos, whose title is "After," All cut from the dailies; it gives you most wonderful tips For producing without any pressure the right kind of laughter; It gives you the grips And the stance of the teeth of the _plus_ men, and how to get length from the lips.

EVOE.

* * * * *

"Hobbs lbw b Bold c Pearson."--_Scotsman._

PEARSON ought really to be told that you cannot catch a man off his pads.

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Illustration: A HOLIDAY TASK.

PRIME AND WAR MINISTER. "AFRAID I'VE LET YOU IN FOR RATHER AN AWKWARD JOB WITH THIS AMENDING BILL."

LORD CREWE. "MY DEAR FELLOW, YOU'RE SO VERSATILE--WHY NOT SPEND THE REST OF THE RECESS MAKING YOURSELF A BARON OR A BISHOP? THEN YOU COULD TAKE IT ON INSTEAD OF ME."

* * * * *

ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

(EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M. P.)

_House of Commons, Monday, May 25._--"Let the curtain ring down, Mr. SPEAKER, and the sooner the better. It is a farce, and I think a contemptible farce."

Thus BONNER LAW--the farce being the Third Reading of the Home Rule Bill.

The curtain had risen on a thronged and excited House. Were it the custom at the T. R. Westminster to put out notice-boards one might have borne the legend dear to the heart of the manager, "Standing room Only." Even late-comers among the peers were fain to stand by the doorway opening on the Gallery, where earlier birds had found twigs on which to sit. Overflow of Commoners into the side galleries gave the last touch to stirring scene presented but twice or thrice in history of a Session.

Ordered business of sitting was the stage of the measure alluded to in phrase quoted from LEADER OF OPPOSITION. But, as was testified anew last Thursday, business in House of Commons does not always run through expected courses. In strained temper of the hour anything might happen, even a bout of fisticuffs. What actually did happen was that within space of hour and a-half from SPEAKER'S taking the Chair, a period including the ordinary Question-hour, Home Rule Bill was read a third time and carried over to House of Lords through cheering crowd waiting in Central Lobby.

SPEAKER introduced soothing note by frank confession that, when on Thursday he invited LEADER OF OPPOSITION to state whether he approved the outburst of disorder among his followers which prevented their authorised spokesman being heard, he "was betrayed into an expression he ought not to have used." BONNER LAW "gratefully accepted the explanation," and eloquently extolled the character of the SPEAKER.

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Illustration: _Conjurer._ "Ladies and gentlemen, I will now place this scroll in the hat, and in a few weeks I shall show you something--er--something which will surprise you."

_A Voice._ "You've got it up your sleeve."

_Conjurer._ "On the contrary, gentlemen." (_Aside_) "Wish to Heaven I had!"

* * * * *

SPEAKER invited PREMIER to yield to insistent demand of Opposition and give further particulars with regard to the Amending Bill. The PREMIER, always ready to oblige, responded in a few luminous, courteous sentences, which did not add a syllable of information beyond what had been reiterated in previous references to subject. It was then that BONNER LAW, with rare dramatic gesture, gave the command, "Ring down the curtain!" "It is the end of the Act, but not of the play," he added amid loud cheers from host behind him, reinforced this afternoon by arrival of recruits from North-East Derbyshire and Ipswich. "The final Act in the drama will be played not in the House of Commons, but in the country, and there, Sir, it will not be a farce."

* * * * *

Illustration: THE HOME RULE BABY.

"If the Bill becomes an Act it will be born with a rope round its neck."--_Mr. WILLIAM O'BRIEN._

* * * * *

PRIME MINISTER, amid constant interruption from benches opposite, made short reply. Curtain about to fall as directed when WILLIAM O'BRIEN hurried to front of stage. Reasonably expected that, having through forty years made strenuous fight for Home Rule, he was now about to sing a pæan suitable to eve of final victory. On the contrary what he wished to remark, and like the Heathen Chinee his language was plain, was that, "If the Bill becomes an Act it will be born with a rope round its neck."

Home Rule for Ireland all very well. But not Home Rule _cum_ JOHN REDMOND and _sine_ WILLIAM O'BRIEN.

House listened with impatience to this tirade, calling again and again for the division. When it was taken it appeared that 351 voted for Third Reading and 274 against, a majority of 77. Redmondites leaped to their feet and wildly cheered. Ministerialists did not respond to enthusiastic outburst. They were dumbly glad that a measure wrangled over for three sessions was out of the way at last, leaving behind, it is true, the shadow of an Amending Bill.

_Business done._--Both Houses adjourn for Whitsun recess. Commons resume 9th of June; Lords six days later.

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From an advertising tailor's guarantee:--

"If the smallest hole appears after six months' wear, we will make another absolutely free."

It is a very kind offer, but we would always rather find somebody who would mend the first hole.

* * * * *

"It is an interesting fact that Mr. Gidney (Marlborough) went round the course in, approximately, 97, which is, we understand, a record for the Hungerford course, the bogey for which is 82."

_Marlborough Times._

Somebody must have done it in more than this. Personally we are always good for a century.

* * * * *

THE MOUSE OF MYDRA.

When Mr. Walford Sploshington bought Hydra House we all hoped that beyond papering and painting, dabbing on a bit of plaster where it was needed, and grubbing the groundsel in the drive, he would allow it to remain in the state of old-world picturesqueness in which he had found it. We would not have objected even if he had decided on having water laid on; although this would be getting dangerously near our limit, as there was a dear old draw-well in the garden and one in the ripping old courtyard. We were justly proud of the fact of Hydra House being the finest and purest example of Tudor architecture in our corner of England. When I say "we" I mean the Weatherspoons, the Malcomson-Pagets, Gaddingham, and one or two others, and myself. It was as near to being a mansion as it is reasonable to expect a house to be without its being actually a mansion; and there was a romance in its very name that compelled our reverence. The first owner--the ancestor in a direct line of the gentleman who, because of the increased cost of petrol combined with the Undeveloped Land Tax, was obliged to sell it to Mr. Walford Sploshington, the highest bidder--was one of those fine fellows who in the spacious days of ELIZABETH did so much towards making England what she is to-day, or rather what she was until the General Election of 1906. On one of his voyages of adventure he visited the Hydra Islands, in the Gulf of Ægina, where he became enamoured of the daughter of a vineyard proprietor. As she heartily reciprocated his affection, he married her, and, bringing her home to England, installed her as mistress of a brand-new home presented to him by a grateful Queen and country. Given a similar set of circumstances, ninety-nine out of any hundred newly-married men would have done as he did, and called it Hydra House.

But Mr. Walford Sploshington disappointed us. He did more: he grieved us; he insulted our instincts, sentimental and artistic, and he offended our eyes. He filled in the dear old wells. He mutilated the Tudor garden out of all semblance of a Tudor garden. He enlarged the windows and made bays of them. He painted a vivid green all the exposed timbering that is the characteristic feature of Tudor houses. In short, he did everything to outrage the decencies. He even carried his vandalisms out to the old gateway. There he erected two Corinthian columns, and spanned them with the roof of a pagoda. It was a surprise to us that he retained the ancient name of Hydra House. We had expected, even hoped, that he would change it to something ornate and vulgar, and so leave nothing to remind us of the old place of which we had all been so fond and proud. But one sunny morning a sign-painter began work on the Corinthian columns. Gaddingham and I did not, of course, stand to watch him; but, having occasion to pass the pagoda during the afternoon, I happened upon Sploshington himself, standing in the middle of the road, poising his head this way and that, and quite obviously lost in admiration of ten six-inch gilt letters, five on each column.

The five on the left-hand column made up the mystery word "Mydra." Those on the right constituted "Mouse." Of course, I got it right almost the moment I had passed. What I had taken to be an "M" in each word was merely a highly-ornamental "H" with its horizontal bar sagging in the centre with the weight of its grandeur. There had never been a name on the gate in the whole history of Hydra House, but we agreed that Sploshington felt that after all his vandalism no one would recognise the place unless he labelled it, and, of course, he was unequal to providing a plain, unassuming label.

Then Gaddingham and I took counsel together, and we decided that I should write a nice letter to Sploshington. This is what I wrote:--