Chapter 2

The little red-brick hamlets, poised apart, And all the grandeur of the rolling leas, I longed to ask him if they brought no smart Of scarce-remembered boyhood to his heart. But I refrained; and he took cherry tart And after that two different kinds of cheese.

And then we neared a little market town Half hidden in the dale, that seemed to cling Fondly about a church of old renown; And here the fat man started and looked down And filled his tumbler to the foaming crown And held it high as if to pledge the KING.

Some memory seemed to stir within his breast As though the curtain of old days were torn, And, as he drained the glass with eager zest, "Behold," I thought, "I wronged him. In that nest, So far from turmoil, full of old-world rest (He is about to tell me), he was born.

"And now, before the antique spire hath fled, Because remembrance of his home is dear, He toasts it deeply." All my wrath was dead. Then the man smiled at me and wagged his head; "Junction for Little Barleythorpe," he said; "A week ago these points upset my beer."

EVOE.

* * * * *

AN UNPLAYED MASTERPIECE.

[The growing popularity of the one-Act play has prompted the aphorism that what is required in this class of drama is a "maximum of action with a minimum of explanation." Nevertheless the following effort has been rejected by every Manager in London--a fact which decisively answers the oft-repeated question, "Do Managers read plays?"]

SCENE--_A luxuriously furnished room in the flat of_ Violet Hazelwood. Violet _is seated, writing. The telephone on the table rings noisily._

_Violet_ (_picking up the receiver_). Hello! Yes.... It's me.... Oh, it's Reggie.... Yes, I'm at home to you.... In three minutes?... Right, I shall be here. (_Hangs up receiver._)

_Maid_ (_entering suddenly_). Sir Frank Bulkeley, m'm. (_Goes out and_ Sir Frank _enters._)

_Sir Frank._ My dear Violet---- (_A report is heard and a splintering of glass._) Confound it all, I'm shot! (_Falls on floor._)

_Violet._ Yes, he certainly appears to be shot. I'd better go and see the police about it. (_Goes out._)

_Reggie Fortescue_ (_entering precipitately_). Violet.... (_Looking round in perplexity_). Not here! She said she would be here.... She is false to me. False! I have nothing left to live for. (_Takes out a revolver, shoots himself and falls on the floor._)

_Gerald Maristowe_ (_entering cautiously through the window and carrying a rifle_). This is a devil of a risky business, this rifle practice, but Ulster must be saved somehow. I see I've broken the window. Wonder if I've done any other damage. (_Sees_ Sir Frank.) Gee! I've killed a man! (_Sees_ Reggie.) Oh, glory! I've killed two of 'em! Reggie, too, by all that's rum! I say, you know, that's pretty useful shooting.... Still, it probably means hanging, and I'm--er--hanged if I'll be hanged. Let me rather die by my own hand. (_Discharges rifle at himself, and falls on floor._)

_Violet_ (_re-entering with an Inspector and a Constable_). There he is, Inspector. (_Sees_ Gerald.) My goodness, there seem to be two now! I feel sure.... (_Sees_ Reggie.) _Three!_ Really, Inspector, I feel almost certain that when I left.... Oh, it's Reggie! My heart is broken! (_Faints._)

_Inspector._ Stand back, Clarkson; this job requires thought. (_Takes up telephone receiver._) Circus 20634, Miss.... That you Doc.? Come round at once, please.... Two or three men shot.... Right.... (_Hangs up receiver._) Clarkson, measure the exact distance between each corpse and the window. (Clarkson _proceeds to do so._ _Enter_ Doctor.) Ah, Doc., that's the little job I mentioned.

_Doctor_ (_kneeling by_ Violet). This one isn't shot; she's only fainted. She'll be all right in a minute. (_Examines_ Gerald.) Nor is this one. _He_'ll be all right in a minute. (_Examines_ Reggie.) Nor is this one. _He_'ll be all right in a minute. (_Examines_ Sir Frank.) This one is, though. Dead as a door-nail. (Violet, Reggie _and_ Gerald _rise simultaneously to their feet._) There you are! I told you so.

_Gerald_ (_aside_). Missed!

_Reggie_ (_aside_). Missed! (_Aloud_) Violet, I love you!

_Violet._ I'm _so_ glad, because I love you.

_Reggie_ (_confidentially_). Do you know, I really thought I was dead. Hello, Gerald, old son, what are you doing here?

_Gerald._ Oh, I thought I'd sort of look in, you know.

_Inspector._ Violet Hazelwood, I arrest you for the murder of Sir Frank Bulkeley, Bart., and I warn you that anything you may say will be used in evidence against you. Clarkson, stop playing with that tape and handcuff the prisoner. (Clarkson _does so._)

_Gerald_ (_aside_). Good business! That saves _my_ neck.

_Violet._ But, my dear good soul.... However, I suppose it's no use to say anything. Reggie, I can never marry you now.

_Reggie._ You couldn't in any case, my dear, because I haven't got any money.

_Violet._ You forget that you are sole heir to Sir Frank there, who had fourteen thousand a year. _I_ thought of that at once.

_Reggie._ Columbus! So I am. Well, that _is_ a dashed nuisance.

_Gerald_ (_coming forward nobly_). My dear, dear friends, I cannot allow your happiness to be wrecked in this way. I killed Sir Frank! You can be married now.

_Reggie._ Good egg! (_Embraces_ Violet.)

_Inspector._ Gerald Maristowe, I arrest you for the murder of Sir Frank Bulkeley, Bart., and I warn you that anything you may say will be used in evidence against you.

_Violet._ Oh, we must save him. What can we do?

_Clarkson._ Lady, do you remember years ago giving sixpence to a starving boy in Peckham Rye?

_Violet._ Yes.

_Clarkson._ _I_ am--that is, _was_--that boy. I will save your friend. Inspector, you know that a reward of £10,000 is offered for the capture of the anarchist Mazzio?

_Inspector._ Yes. I wish to heaven I could lay my hands on him.

_Clarkson._ I can tell you how to do so.

_Inspector._ How?

_Clarkson_ (_dramatically tearing off his wig and false moustache_). I am Mazzio! (_Turning to_ Gerald _and the others_) I shall struggle violently. While he is engaged in arresting me, you can make good your escape.

_Inspector._ Ha! Do you think I can be so easily baffled? (_Picking up telephone receiver._) There are other police in the neighbourhood.

_Violet._ Not so. (_Slashes through the telephone cord with a knife_).

_Gerald._ Bravo!

_Inspector._ Oh, well, never mind. (_Puts his head out of the window and blows a police whistle. The others look at one another in consternation._) _Now_ I think I am master of the situation.

_Clarkson._ Foiled! All the same, you are less fortunate than you imagine. When I said I was Mazzio, I lied.

_Inspector._ Prove it.

_Clarkson._ Easily. Mazzio has a scar on his left forearm. (_Rolling up sleeve._) I have none.

_Inspector._ Oh, well, never mind. I can now proceed with the arrest of the murderer of Sir Frank Bulkeley, Bart.

_Gerald_ (_aside_). I'm done for!

_Clarkson._ There _must_ be some way of escape. Doc., it's up to you to do something.

_Doctor._ With pleasure. I certify that Sir Frank died from heart disease.

_Inspector_ (_stammering_). But--but--but he's _obviously_ shot. I mean to say----

_Doctor._ I certify that Sir Frank Bulkeley died from heart disease ten seconds before the bullet struck him. You can do nothing in the face of my certificate.

_Gerald, Reggie and Violet._ Saved!

CURTAIN.

* * * * *

This Wonderful World.

"A Hamburg bookkeeper named Schute who has just celebrated his 8th birthday, has been with his employers for sixty years, while his son, his grandson, and his great-grandson are also working for them."

_The Evening News._

* * * * *

"During the last two years some marvellous 'finds' have been made at this wonderful fortress from time to time. It is intended to continue excavation work for a moth."

_Denbighshire Free Press._

They can be caught much better with beer and treacle.

* * * * *

"LIBERAL MEMBER RESIGNS.

WILL STAND AS INDEPENDENT.

London, Wednesday.--Mr. Joseph Martin, Liberal M.P. for East St. Pancras, is resigning his seat, and will recontest it as an independent South Pole under American auspices."--_Sydney Daily Telegraph._

Sir ERNEST SHACKLETON must look out.

* * * * *

Illustration: _First Caddie._ "DOES IT MAKE YER DIZZY LOOKIN' DOWN THESE 'OLES?"

_Second Caddie._ "No."

_First Caddie._ "THEN WHY DON'T YOU GO TO THE PIN SOMETIMES?"

* * * * *

THE FIRST TEE.

(_Mullion, July 17th._)

It is the place, it is the place, my soul! (Blow, bugle, blow; sing, triangle; toot, fife!) Down to the sea the close-cropped pastures roll, Couches behind yon sandy hill the goal Whereat, it may be, after ceaseless strife The "Colonel" shall find peace, and Henry say, "Your hole" ...

Caddie, give me my driver, caddie, The sun shines hot, but there's half a breeze, Enough to rustle the tree-tops, laddie, Only supposing there were some trees; The year's at the full and the morn's at eleven, It's a wonderful day just straight from Heaven, And this is a hole I can do in seven-- Caddie, my driver, please.

Three times a day from now till Monday week (Ten peerless days in all) I take my stand Vestured in some _dégagé_ mode of breek (The chess-board touch, with squares that almost speak), And lightly sketch my Slice into the Sand, As based on bigger men, but much of it unique ...

Caddie, give me my driver, caddie, Note my style on the first few tees; DUNCAN fashioned my wrist-work, laddie, TAYLOR taught me to twist my knees; I've a beautiful swing that I learnt from VARDON (I practise it sometimes down the garden-- "My fault! Sorry! I _beg_ your pardon!")-- Caddie, my driver, please.

Only ten little days, in which to do So much! _E.g._, the twelfth: ah it was there The Secretary met his Waterloo, But perished gamely, playing twenty-two; His clubs (_ten little days!_) lie bleaching where Sea-poppies blow (_ten days!_) and wheeling sea-birds mew ...

Caddie, give me my driver, caddie, Let us away with thoughts like these; A week and a-half is a lifetime, laddie, The day that's here is the day to seize; _Carpe diem_--yes, that's the motto, "Work be jiggered!" and likewise "What ho!" I'M NOT GOING BACK TILL I'VE JOLLY WELL GOT TO! Caddie, my driver, please.

A. A. M.

* * * * *

"The 'Gunboat' and his manager, Mr. Buckley, lounged out on the beautiful old English lawn among the rose bushes and drank in the sunshine."--_Daily Mirror._

What offers from brewers, distillers, etc., to name the particular beverage which they drank in the sunshine?

* * * * *

"Sir James Key Caird, the millionaire duke manufacturer of Dundee."--_Montreal Gazette._

His yearly output is singularly small.

* * * * *

Illustration: THE SEX'S PROGRESS.

From "WOMEN AT PRIZE-FIGHTS" TO "WOMEN IN THE RING" SHOULD BE AN EASY STEP IN THE UPWARD MOVEMENT.

* * * * *

THE PUNCHER'S GRIEVANCE.

"You journalist chaps just spoil us," said Puncher Pete, when I called upon him yesterday at his training camp. "You draw us into conversation, stick down our remarks in your note-books, and then make us out to be the biggest boasters on the face of the earth. It's not right.

"For instance, you've got it on the tip of your tongue to ask me if I think I'll lick Jimmy Battle next Thursday. Well, of course I'll lick him. Jimmy's a good boy, but he can't stay, and then _he_ hasn't gone twenty rounds with three blacks, as I have. But what's my opinion matter to you? Why make me shout it out like a cock on a steeple?

"Yes, I shall beat Jimmy. Six rounds will cure him. All right. Very well then. Leave it at that.

"One of your fellows called upon me two days ago. 'Pete,' he said, 'they say you're ill.' 'You tell 'em to mind their own ills,' I gave him back. Ill, indeed! If I were ill could I walk my forty miles a day and think nothing of it? Could I lift Harry Blokes there with one hand and hold him above my head? D'you suppose a sick man could do _this_?"

The Puncher seized a skipping-rope and did marvellous things with it. Then he smashed lustily at a punch-ball, left, right, left, right, duck, bing! "Here, Harry!" he cried. His sparring partner approached, bruised but beaming. The Puncher knocked him down.

"I seem ill, don't I?" said Pete, turning to me. "But what's it got to do with all you chaps, anyway? Wait till Thursday. Then you'll find out whether I'm ill or not. And even if I was ill Jimmy couldn't do it. Jimmy's got as good a punch as the next man, I'll say that for him. If he gets it in it would fell an ox. But can he get it in? Not next Thursday.

"Now, see here, you're not going to draw any words from me about the coming fight. You may draw others. I refuse. Let's get right off this fight and on to other things.

"After all, fighters are modest chaps. When I knocked Torpedo Troop out in three rounds last April for a purse of £5,000 and the Championship of Nova Scotia I didn't go bragging. I might have said that this was the first time that the Torpedo had ever had his eyes closed. Well, I didn't. What's more, I never shall. Tell your reader that!

"Take my victory over Quartermain, again. Or over Dinghy Abbs, who was down and out in the second round in spite of all the fuss that was made about him beforehand. I was a sick man at both these fights. Not a soul knew it, mind you. My wife--for I'm as fond of home life as any ordinary man, and we have a little baby--my wife used to worry terribly. She'd expect me to come home on a stretcher. But I never happened to choose that conveyance, and she don't fret any more.

"Will it be a stretcher on Thursday? I can see you want to put that question, but I'll ask you to excuse me. Next Thursday, as I've already hinted, will tell its own story, and when I say that the tale will have a happy ending for one of us who isn't too far from your ear to boast about it if he was inclined that way, perhaps you'll guess without my telling you what I mean.

"Not at all, Sir. Don't mention it. I'm always glad to have a friendly chat with anyone, and I hope you'll forgive me for refusing to talk shop."

* * * * *

Illustration: A RESORT TO THE OBVIOUS.

MR. PUNCH. "PERMIT ME, GENTLEMEN--I DON'T THINK YOU KNOW ONE ANOTHER: SIR EDWARD CARSON--MR. REDMOND. IT'S MORE THAN TIME YOU MET."

* * * * *

ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

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

_House of Lords, Monday, July 13._--CAMPERDOWN, like HABAKKUK, is _capable de tout_. Can do (is at least ready to undertake) anything. Like Lord JOHN RUSSELL, he would at an hour's notice take charge of the British fleet, whether in Home waters or on Foreign stations. Confesses with pathetic modesty that there are two things beyond his capacity. One is to find a needle in a pottle of hay; the other, to discover a teller in Division Lobby when no one proposes to tell.

To-night this last dilemma faced noble earl. Home Rule Amendment Bill before House in Report stage. MACDONELL moved amendment introducing principle of proportional representation. After long debate Question put from Woolsack. There being a few cries of "Not content!" House cleared for division.

Hereupon strange thing happened. Whilst majority of peers streamed into Content Lobby discovery was made that not only were there no tellers for the Not-Contents but no Not-Contents for the tellers. Fortunately CAMPERDOWN on the spot. Instantly took charge of the affair. According to his own narrative, which thrilled the listening Senate, he had gone into Division Lobby, "where," he added, "I stayed a long time."

Began to realise something of the feeling of the boy who stood on the burning deck whence all but he had fled. CAMPERDOWN essentially a man of action. No use mooning round deserted Lobby wondering where everybody was.

"I tried," he protested, "to find a teller for the Not-Contents, which I was not able to do. There were no Not-Contents in the Not-Contents' Lobby and there were no tellers. I do not know," he added, turning his head with enquiring pose, like _Mr. Pecksniff_ asking his pupil _Martin Chuzzlewit_ to take compass, pencil and paper, and "give me your idea of a wooden leg," "whether any of your lordships have seen an occurrence like this before. I have not."

Illustration: The shade of MASTERMAN recalls happy memories to the inconsolable WORTHINGTON EVANS.

Murmur of sympathy ran round perturbed benches. Dilemma awful, unprecedented, irretrievable. But everyone felt that CAMPERDOWN had done his duty, and that if he had failed to find Not-Contents in an empty Lobby no one else could have found them.

_Business done._--In House of Commons PREMIER announced winding-up of business at earliest possible moment with intent to meet again in "early winter" for new Session. No Autumn Session, you'll observe. Feeling against it so strong that insistence might have broken bonds that link faithful Ministerialists with their esteemed Leader. Accordingly prorogation about usual time in August, and new Session, instead of opening in February, will date from November. When we come to think of it, seems to amount to much the same thing as Autumn Session, which usually begins in mid-October. That an illusion. There will be no Autumn Session. Only we shall all be back at Westminster again in drear November.

Illustration: "He did not want these adaptations of a German system, which the CHANCELLOR OF THE EXCHEQUER seemed to have chosen."--_Lord HUGH CECIL._

_House of Commons, Tuesday._

Like RACHEL weeping for her children, the Opposition will not be comforted in respect of the continued absence of CHANCELLOR of the Duchy. 'Tis a touching trait, illustrating the high level of human nature the Commons reach. Had it been MASTERMAN'S political friends who mourned his absence, recognising in it cause of insecurity for the Empire, situation would be natural and comprehensible. It is from the so-labelled enemy's camp that lamentation is sounded. WORTHINGTON EVANS, MASTERMAN'S severest censor whilst he still sat on Treasury Bench in charge of Insurance Act, is in especial degree inconsolable. Physically and intellectually reduced to a pulp--using the word of course in Parliamentary sense.

As he is too unnerved to dwell upon subject, BARNSTON and HAYES FISHER to-day take it up. Want to know how long a state of things most painful on their side of the House is to continue? PREMIER makes light reply. Points out that it's no new thing for a Minister to fail to find a seat, the globe meanwhile serenely revolving on its axis. In 1885 and in 1892 the Duchy was unrepresented on the Treasury Bench.

A more striking case, overlooked by PREMIER, of a Minister long struggling with adversity at the poll finding the door of House of Commons bolted and barred is familiar to Lord HALSBURY. Appointed Solicitor-General in 1875 HARDINGE GIFFARD did not take his seat till the Session of 1877. Crushed at Cardiff, left in the lurch at Launceston, hustled at Horsham, named as a probable starter at every election race in the three kingdoms taking place within a period of eighteen months, he persuaded the blushing borough of Launceston, on a second wooing, to yield to his advances.

Oddly enough, when at last he came to the Table to take the oath, he found he had mislaid the return to the writ, production of which is indispensable preliminary. Was nearly turned back, a calamity averted by discovery of the document in his hat on a bench under the Gallery where he had awaited SPEAKER'S summons to the Table.

But precedents are nothing when the bosom is deeply stirred.

"Can't the CHANCELLOR of the Duchy make an effort to secure a seat?" BARNSTON asked in tremulous voice.

"He has made two already," retorted the practical PREMIER.

Then came along WATT, with cryptic inquiry breaking silence that brooded over Ministerial benches.

"Has the time not arrived," he asked, "to jettison JONAH, in view of the fact that nobody seems willing to swallow him but the whale?"

House left thinking the matter over.

_Business done._--House of Lords passed Third Reading of transformed Home Rule Amendment Bill. In the Commons Budget Bill again dealt with in Committee. Sharp strictures from both sides. But Ministerialists who had come to criticise remained to vote in its favour. Majority accordingly maintained at normal level.

_Wednesday._--SON AUSTEN, who little more than a fortnight ago left the House Member for East Worcester, returned to-day representing the division of Birmingham where his father sat impregnably throned for uninterrupted period of twenty-nine years. As he walked up to Table to take the oath and sign afresh the roll of Parliament, was hailed by hearty burst of general cheering.

This rare. Common enough for one or other political party to welcome recruit to its ranks. On such occasions, the other side sit silent, save when especial circumstances elicit responsive bout of ironical cheering. To-day's demonstration afforded striking recognition of genuine merit modestly displayed.

Ever a difficult thing for young Member to be son of distinguished father also seated in the House. Position to be sustained only by exercise of qualities of mind and manner rarely combined. Whilst his father yet enthralled attention and admiration of House by supreme capacity SON AUSTEN successfully faced the ordeal. After DON JOSÉ'S withdrawal from the scene his son's advance to a leading place in the councils of his party and the estimation of the House was rapid. Within limits of present Session he has shown increased power as a debater, promising attainment of still loftier heights. Ever courteous in manner, untainted by the "new style" deplored by PREMIER, he, though an uncompromising party man, has made no personal enemies among any section of his political opponents.

_Business done._--House of Lords threw out Plural Voters Bill on second time of asking. Commons still in Committee on Budget.

* * * * *

Illustration: A REVOLTING TASK.

THE WAITER'S EARLY-MORNING JOB.

* * * * *

"Hearne and Mead, the not-outs of Monday, were separated at 80, their partnership having yielded 441 in forty-five minutes."

_Daily Mail._

The spectators, we suppose, could stand the strain no longer.

* * * * *

DIPLOMACY.

(_Yawning, though rude, is, according to the doctors, an extremely healthy exercise._)

I have a friend who wrote a book And begged me to peruse it, And bluntly state the view I took-- Encourage or abuse it. I want, he said, the truth alone, But said it in a hopeful tone.

Perceiving there was no escape, With Chapter I. I led off; Page 2 provoked my earliest gape, At 3 I yawned my head off, At 4 I cast the thing away Unto some dim and distant day.

For weeks I racked my harassed brain For something kind and ruthful, To spare his feelings and remain Comparatively truthful (I'm very often troubled by My inability to lie).

"Dear Charles," I wrote him in the end, "I fear no contradiction When I declare that you have penned A healthy work of fiction. I am, I candidly admit, A sounder man through reading it."

* * * * *

"Captain Turner only got a single when J. W. Hearne bowled him, and lunch was taken.