Chapter 2

"A feature of the programme was the opening chorus. During this a lady gardener in male attire arrived on the stage with a wheelbarrow full of vegetables, and caused amusement by throwing these among the audience. Presently the missiles commenced to hit persons, one victim, being the vicar, who, struck in the eye by a turnip, was compelled to retire."

* * * * *

ORANGES AND LEMONS.

II.--On the way.

"Toulon," announced Archie, as the train came to a stop and gave out its plaintive dying whistle. "Naval port of our dear allies, the French. This would interest Thomas."

"If he weren't asleep," I said.

"He'll be here directly," said Simpson from the little table for two on the other side of the gangway. "I'm afraid he had a bad night. Here, _garçon_--er--_donnez-moi du café et_--er"--But the waiter had slipped past him again--the fifth time.

"Have some of ours," said Myra kindly, holding out the pot.

"Thanks very much, Myra, but I may as well wait for Thomas, and--_garçon, du café pour_--I don't think he'll be--_deux cafés, garçon, s'il vous_--it's going to be a lovely day."

Thomas came in quietly, sat down opposite Simpson, and ordered breakfast.

"Samuel wants some too," said Myra.

Thomas looked surprised, grunted and ordered another breakfast.

"You see how easy it is," said Archie. "Thomas, we're at Toulon, where the _ententes cordiales_ come from. You ought to have been up long ago taking notes for the Admiralty."

"I had a rotten night," said Thomas. "Simpson fell out of bed in the middle of it."

"Oh, poor Samuel!"

"You don't mean to say you gave him the top berth!" I asked in surprise. "You must have known he'd fall out."

"But Thomas dear, surely Samuel's just falling-out-of-bed noise wouldn't wake you up," said Myra. "I always thought you slept so well."

"He tried to get back into _my_ bed."

"I was a little dazed," explained Simpson hastily, "and I hadn't got my spectacles."

"Still you ought to have been able to see Thomas there."

"Of course I did see him as soon as I got in, and then I remembered I was up above. So I climbed up."

"It must be rather difficult climbing up at night," thought Dahlia.

"Not if you get a good take-off, Dahlia," said Simpson earnestly.

"Simpson got a good one off my face," explained Thomas.

"My dear old chap, I was frightfully sorry. I did come down at once and tell you how sorry I was, didn't I?"

"You stepped back on to it," said Thomas shortly, and he turned his attention to the coffee.

Our table had finished breakfast. Dahlia and Myra got up slowly, and Archie and I filled our pipes and followed them out.

"Well, we'll leave you to it," said Archie to the other table. "Personally, I think it's Thomas's turn to step on Simpson. You ought to assert yourself, Thomas, anyhow. Throw some jam at him and then let bygones be bygones. But don't be long, because there's a good view coming."

The good view came, and then another and another, and they merged together and became one long moving panorama of beauty. We stood in the corridor and drank it in ... and at intervals we said "Oh-h!" and "Oh, I say!" and "Oh, I say, _really!_" And there was one particular spot--I wish I could remember where, so that it might be marked by a suitable tablet--at the sight of which Simpson was overheard to say "_Mon Dieu_!" for (probably) the first time in his life.

"You know, all these are olive trees, you chaps," he said every five minutes. "I wonder if there are any olives growing on them?"

"Too early," said Archie. "It's the sardine season now."

It was at Cannes that we saw the first oranges.

"That does it," I said to Myra. "We're really here. And look, there's a lemon tree. Give me the oranges and lemons and you can have all the palms and the cactuses and the olives."

"Like polar bears in the arctic region," said Myra.

I thought for a moment. Superficially there is very little resemblance between an orange and a polar bear.

"Like polar bears," I said hopefully.

"I mean," luckily she went on, "polar bears do it for you in the polar regions. You really know you're there then. Give me the polar bears, I always say, and you can keep the seals and the walruses and the penguins. It's the hall-mark."

"Eight. I knew you meant something. In London," I went on, "it is raining. Looking out of my window I see a lamp-post (not in flower) beneath a low grey sky. Here we see oranges against a blue sky a million miles deep. What a blend! Myra, let's go to a fancy-dress ball when we got back. You go as an orange and I'll go as a very blue, blue sky, and you shall lean against me."

"And we'll dance the tangerine," said Myra.

But now observe us approaching Monte Carlo. For an hour past Simpson has been collecting his belongings. Two bags, two coats, a camera, a rug, Thomas, golf-clubs, books--his compartment is full of things which have to be kept under his eye lest they should evade him at the last moment. As the train leaves Monaco his excitement is intense.

"I think, old chap," he says to Thomas, "I'll wear the coats after all."

"And the bags," says Thomas, "and then you'll have a suit."

Simpson puts on the two coats and appears very big and hot.

"I'd better have my hands free," he says, and straps the camera and the golf clubs on to himself. "Then if you nip out and get a porter I can hand the bags out to him through the window."

"All right," says Thomas. He is deep in his book and looks as if he were settled in his corner of the carriage for the day.

The train stops. There is bustle, noise, confusion. Thomas in some magical way has disappeared. A porter appears at the open window and speaks voluble French to Simpson. Simpson looks round wildly for Thomas. "Thomas!" he cries. "_Un moment_," he says to the porter. "Thomas! _Mon ami, il n'est pas_----I say, Thomas, old chap, where are you? _Attendez un moment. Mon ami_--er--_reviendra_"--He is very hot. He is wearing, in addition to what one doesn't mention, an ordinary waistcoat, a woolly waist-coat for steamer use, a tweed coat, an aquascutum, an ulster, a camera and a bag of golf clubs. The porter, with many gesticulations, is still hurling French at him.

It is too much for Simpson. He puts his head out of the window and, observing in the distance a figure of such immense dignity that it can only belong to the station-master, utters to him across the hurly-burly a wild call for help.

"_Où est_ Cook's _homme_?" he cries.

A. A. M.

* * * * *

"THE GREAT CONFLICT.

1886----1914----?

The End is Not Yet.

To-morrow."

_Observer._

Well, well! After twenty-eight years we can wait another day.

* * * * *

"ESSAY CLUB: _March 1st_. The Poetry of John Masefield, _or_ Vegetarianism--is it more Humane?"--_Time and Talents._

Less blood-stained, anyhow.

* * * * *

From a letter in _The Natal Mercury_ headed "Butter through the Post":--

"We send it to Donnybrook by the quickest method, i.e., on the post-card."

We have often found some on our post-cards.

* * * * *

THE GALLANT SONS OF MARS.

["A troop of the Queen's Bays, 2nd Dragoon Guards, while galloping past the Royal Pavilion at Aldershot, observed a woman fall from her bicycle in a faint.

"They instantly drew rein, and, dismounting, assisted her to the 5th Dragoon Guards orderly room, where they vied with each other in giving her every possible attention.

"She speedily recovered and was able to resume her journey to Farnborough."--_Daily Paper._]

* * * * *

* * * * *

THE WILD SWAN.

(Lament on a very rare bird who recently appeared in England and was immediately shot.)

Over the sea (ye maids) a wild swan came; (O maidens) it was but the other day; Men saw him as he passed, with earnest aim To some sequestered spot down Norfolk way-- A thing whose like had not been seen for years: _Lament, ye damsels, nor refuse your tears_.

Serene, he winged his alabaster flight Neath the full beams of the mistaken sun O'er gazing crowds, till at th' unwonted sight Some unexpected sportsman with a gun Brought down the bird, all fluff, mid sounding cheers: _Mourn, maidens, mourn, and wipe the thoughtful tears_.

Well you may weep. No common bird was he. Has it not long been known, the whole world wide, A wild swan is a prince of faerie, Who comes in such disguise to choose his bride From those of humble lot and tame careers, _Of whom I now require some punctual tears_.

Wherefore, I say, let every scullion-wench Grieve, nor the dairy-maid from sobs refrain; The sad postmistress, too, should feel the wrench, And the lone tweeny of her loss complain; Let one--let all afflict the listening spheres: _Deplore, ye maids, his fate with rueful tears_.

It was for these he sought this teeming land, High on the silvery wings of old romance; One knows not where; he had bestowed his hand, But e'en the least had stood an equal chance Of such fair triumph, o'er her bitter peers _And the sweet pleasure of their anguished tears_.

O prince of faerie! O stately swan! And ye, whose hopes are with the might-have-beens, Curst be the wretch through whom those hopes have gone, Who blew your magic swain to smithereens; Let your full-sorrows whelm his stricken ears; _Lament, ye damsels, nor refuse your tears_.

Dum-dum.

* * * * *

_The Lady's Realm_ on a new film:--

"The cost from first to last amounted to £12,000 ... The entire cast--an enormous one, numbering eight thousand people ... visited Rome and the Nile."

This decides us where to spend our holidays. To do Rome and the Nile for £1 10s. a head is not a chance to be missed.

* * * * *

It has been asked, "Where were the police?" Here is the answer:--

"The six cuts appeared to have been inflicted with the cutting edge of a chopper, and the seventh with the flat part of the end of the copper."--_Manchester Guardian._

_Robert (putting his foot through the picture)_: "May as well make a job of it."

* * * * *

THE LATEST VELASQUITH.

* * * * *

ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

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

_House of Commons, Monday, March 9._--When on conclusion of Questions the PRIME MINISTER rose to move Second Reading of Home Rule Bill, House presented appearance seen only once or twice in lifetime of a Parliament. Chamber crowded from floor to topmost bench of Strangers' Gallery. Members who could not find seats made for the side galleries, filling both rows two deep. Still later comers patiently stood at the Bar throughout the full hour occupied by the historic speech. A group more comfortably settled themselves on the steps of the SPEAKER'S Chair. The principal nations of the world were represented in the Diplomatic Gallery by their ambassadors. As for the peers, they fought for places in limited space allotted to them with the energy of messenger-boys paid to secure places in the queue of first night of new play at popular theatre.

Entering while Questions were in progress PREMIER was received with rousing cheer. Renewed with fuller force when he stood at the Table to discharge his momentous task. That the enthusiasm was largely testimony to personal popularity and esteem appeared from what followed. Weighed down with gravity of responsibility, as he unfolded his plan he found lacking the inspiration of continuous outbursts of cheering that usually punctuate important speeches by Party leaders.

Radicals and Nationalists were prepared to accept his concessions to Ulster feeling; but they did not like them. REDMOND'S declaration that the PREMIER "has gone to the very extremest limits of concession" drew from Ministerialists a more strident cheer than any accorded to their Leader as he expounded his plan.

Consciousness of this significant luke-warmness reacted upon PREMIER. He spoke with unusual slowness, further developing tendency of recent growth to drop his voice at end of sentence.

BONNER LAW studiously quiet in manner, moderate in speech. Nevertheless, perhaps therefore, made it clear that PREMIER'S overtures, unloved by his followers, will not be welcomed by Opposition. CARSON, who had enthusiastic reception from Unionists, flashed forth epigram that put Ulster's view in a phrase.

"We don't want sentence of death," he said, "with a stay of execution for six years."

Circumstances provided TIM HEALY'S opportunity. Seized it with both hands. On behalf of Liberal Party, PREMIER proposed the vivisection of Ireland. JOHN REDMOND consented. Plan submitted was that four counties of Ulster might, if they pleased, be excluded from operation of Home Rule Act for period of six years.

"Would any sane Britisher," TIM asked, "embark upon civil war for the difference between six years and 666 years?" As he mentioned the Number of the Beast TIM turned to regard the Irish Leader perched in corner seat at top of Gangway. "Why should not the hon. gentleman give up that, as he has given up everything else? The remains of his principles ornament every step of the Gangway."

_Business done._--Second Reading of Home Rule Bill moved. Debate adjourned for indefinite period.

_Tuesday._--Prospect of CHANCELLOR OF EXCHEQUER brought up at Bar by RANDLES and CASSEL attracted big House in spite of trial opening in mid-dinner-hour. As the quarters of an hour sped benches continued to fill up till, when LLOYD GEORGE rose to offer his defence (which speedily merged into form of attack), there were fully live hundred present.

Prisoner indicted on grounds of repeated inaccuracy, particularly on account of ineradicable tendency to speak disrespectfully of dukes. Nothing could be nicer than manner of prosecuting counsel. They were there to discharge a public duty as champions of the truth, vindicators of desirable habit of abstention from exaggeration.

"I am," said RANDLES, "not here to be personally disagreeable to the CHANCELLOR OF THE EXCHEQUER, whom I have always found genial and courteous."

As for the junior counsel, he was affected almost to tears in prospect of task jointly committed to him.

"I do not wish," he said in his opening sentence, "to make anything I say more offensive or unpleasant than--than the necessities of the case warrant."

Ribald Radicals laughed loudly at this way of putting it. With the more sober-minded its ingenuousness had favourable effect, maintained throughout admirable speech.

No one enjoyed the affair more than prisoner at the bar. Like his great prototype, LLOYD GEORGE is never so happy as when, with back against wall, he turns to face an attacking host.

"Reminds me of days that are no more," said the MEMBER FOR SARK, looking on animated scene from modest quarters on a back bench. "Feel thirty years younger. Am transported as by a magical Eastern carpet to times when DON JOSÉ rushed about the country, fluttering his Unauthorised Programme, bearding barons in their dens, lashing out at landlords, and unceremoniously digging dukes in the ribs, what time a pack of scandalised Tories barked furiously at his heels. LLOYD GEORGE is an able man, courageous to boot, endowed with gift of turning out sentences that dwell in the memory, delighting some hearers, rankling in hearts of others. After all, he is but a replica, excellently done I admit, of the greatest work of art in the way of Parliamentary and political debate known to this generation."

Even while SARK murmured his confidences to his neighbour they were pointed by dramatic turn in lively speech. Among charges of inaccuracy specially cited was LLOYD GEORGE'S description of the Highland clearances, whereby, he asserted, "thousands of people were driven from their holdings by the exercise of the arbitrary power of the landlord." "I will give you an authority for that," he said, and proceeded to read a passage of burning eloquence, in which multitudes of hardworking, God-fearing people were depicted as driven from the land that had belonged to their ancestors, their cottages unroofed, themselves turned out homeless and forlorn.

"Who said that?" scornfully inquired an incautious Member seated opposite.

Quick came the reply. "The Right Honourable Member for West Birmingham," the CHANCELLOR answered in blandest tones.

Followed up this neatly inserted thrust by quoting from Tory newspapers, platform and Parliamentary speeches what was said of DON JOSÉ in those his unregenerate days. Some of them curiously identical with those in use just now for edification and reproof of another public man.

_Business done._--CHANCELLOR OF EXCHEQUER indicted for habitual inaccuracy, gross and unfounded personal attacks on individuals. Vote of censure negatived by 304 votes against 240.

_Thursday._--Major JOHN AUGUSTUS HOPE, late of the King's Royal Rifle Corps, nearly had his breath taken away at Question time. Close student of methods of WORTHINGTON EVANS, _Mrs. Gummidge_ of Parliamentary life, not yet recovered from depression as he sits below Gangway "thinking of the old 'un" (MASTERMAN). The Major has of late displayed much industry in devising abstruse conundrums designed to bring to light dark places in working of Insurance Act. In MASTERMAN'S enforced and regretted absence, duty of replying to this class of Question on behalf of Minister undertaken by WEDGWOOD BENN, whose sprightly though always courteous replies greatly amuse both sides.

To-day the Major fired off, as it wore from a mitrailleuse, volley of minute questions involving prolonged research on part of Minister to whom they were addressed. Before the smoke had quite cleared away BENN rose, remarked, "I assure the honourable and gallant gentleman he is totally incorrect," and resumed his seat.

The Major gasped. After devotion of precious time to looking up material for his conundrums, after skill and labour bestowed in shaping them, was this the result? Every hair on his head bristled with indignation. His voice choked with anger. His eye, accustomed to survey other battlefields, gleamed on the laughing faces that confronted him. Unseemly merriment increased as he attempted to put Supplementary Questions, which got unaccountably mixed up between Section 72 of the National Insurance Act, 1911, and the provision of Insurance Regulations (No. 2) (Scotland).

If the Major survives shock more will be heard of this.

_Business done._--In Committee on Army Estimates.

* * * * *

A BOOK OF THE DAY.

_The Life-Story of a Turnip._ By Ato Mato, F.R.V.S. Illustrated in colour. Messrs. Tuber, Root and Co. Price 3s. net.

(Reviewed by A. D. Ryan, M.A.)

There have been autobiographical studies of the animal world; why not of the vegetable? This is a delightful monograph, executed with consummate skill and verisimilitude throughout. The author, who holds the Professorship of Cereal Metaphysics at the University of Tokio, has devoted the greater part of his life to the study of the vegetable kingdom; and we need hardly remind our readers of the exceedingly interesting treatise, entitled "The Psychology of the Cabbage," which appeared in a recent issue of the _Carnifugal Quarterly_.

It is indeed time for a more scientific treatment of vegeto-animal phenomenon; and Mr. Mato is the pioneer of a science which, we hope, will soon receive the attention which it undoubtedly deserves. The present volume is in its way a masterpiece. The author has successfully avoided treating his subject from a too human point of view, and we are paying him a very high compliment when we say that the more we study the work the more we are impressed with what we may best describe as the "vegetability" of the writer's mind. The book is racy of the soil; it is written in a charming and convincing style, and bears the stamp of imaginative originality. An acquaintance to whom we lent the book admirably expresses the impression we had formed of it by saying that it might have been written by EUSTACE or HALLIE MILES. It is characterised throughout by the lofty and detached spirit in which a cultured turnip would view the troubled course of mundane events. The sentiments expressed on such questions as Woman Suffrage, Home Rule, LLOYD GEORGE'S land policy, though inevitably Radical in tendency, are admirably sane and unbiassed. We cannot do better, if we would convey to our readers some conception of the general tone of the work, than quote the opening paragraph:--

"I was born of humble but worthy parents, but the first years" [weeks?] "of my existence were embittered by the loss of both father and mother. My father, who was then in the prime of life, was torn one day from the bosom of his family, tied up in a sack, and taken with some two hundred fellow-sufferers to a slaughter-house, where he was cruelly butchered. Still more tragic was the end of my dear mother. Like my father she was dragged away from her native soil. She was then hurled into an empty shed, where for many days she languished, deprived of both food and light. At last she was thrown into a tumbril with some five hundred unfortunates, carted to a neighbouring farm, thence deported in strict captivity to COVENT GARDEN, and finally conveyed to the sumptuous household of Mr. BERNARD SHAW, who devoured her in three gulps."

From this poignant passage the reader may see for himself the profound understanding which Mr. Mato has brought to bear on his theme. We commend this book to all lovers of nature.

* * * * *

THE CINEMA HABIT.

The writer of "The Ideal Film Plot," which appeared in a recent issue of _Punch_, has quoted an "authority" (anonymous) for the approval of his scenario. It is quite evident that this "authority" (so-styled) must belong to the plebeian ranks of the film-world. It cannot reside in _our_ suburb.