Part 2

"Sort o' fancy name she 'ad," the sailor continued, quite unmoved by this outburst; "fact she was a bit fancy all round."

"Ha! disguised, I presume?" exclaimed the old gentleman, his discretion for a moment overcome.

"Did she float for any length of time after being torpedoed?" The thin man put the question with a legal incisiveness.

"Went to pieces like a paymaster's digestion as soon as the second mouldy got 'er. Most unnatural."

He rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand and ruminated on the peculiarity of it.

"I suppose you got dreadfully wet?" the elderly lady asked feelingly.

"Well, Mum," he said gravely, "I wasn't exactly dry. Yer see, after the show sharp squalls set in from the Sou'-west, an' me 'avin' made fast to my mate's bow awnin', I 'adn't no claim to the umbereller. So I did get a bit soused round the superstructure, but not, so to speak, flooded right down to my propeller casins."

"Dear! dear! How truly terrible."

She relapsed into silence convulsively, while the old gentleman wheezed with great ferocity and muttered something about a good answer to a d----d silly question.

"A submarine, of course?" The thin man pursued his examination relentlessly.

"So we presoomed from events which 'appened later."

"Artful them blinkin'--beg pardon, ladies--pirits is," vouchsafed a man of toil from the far end of the 'bus; "my brother wot's----"

"All this occurred at night, I assume?" the old gentleman interrupted snappily.

"Yes, Sir, it was an evenin' performance." He glanced out into the murky night. "Put me down at Sydney Terrace," he said to the conductor.

"Wy, ye're there nah," grumbled that caustic individual as he jerked sharply at the bell-cord.

"Well," exclaimed the thin man as the sailor rose to go, "I congratulate you very heartily on your good luck--very heartily indeed!"

For the first time the hero of the incident seemed to exhibit signs of impatience.

"Good luck!" he repeated sarcastically. "Call it good luck to 'ave your cap pinched out o' the 'arf-dollar seats an' then 'ave to take yer best girl 'ome in this crabbin' _chappoo_. I'm goin' to see the brass-'atted owner to-morrow, an' if 'e don't pay out I'll wreck the 'ole bloomin' theatre. Good luck, yer call it!" He swung off the foot-board and disappeared into the gloom, muttering incoherently.

* * * * *

"He--he!" tittered the flapper. It was the only audible comment on the situation.

* * * * *

"A War Office statement this afternoon reports another successful operation by Australian and New Zealand mounted troops in Egypt.

At the enemy port of Barsalmana the enemy were compelled to abandon their camp, and were then combed by aeroplane."

_Liverpool Echo._

An appropriate sequel to a brush with the Cavalry.

* * * * *

"If you stand the piano out into the room, you will want a cur-choke soup, mayonaise of lamb, macaroni with tomatoes."

_Ladies' Paper._

In the interests of the cur it would be more merciful to keep the piano in the corner.

* * * * *

QUESTION AND ANSWER.

I.

"A GENTLEMAN seeking information for forthcoming book about the recent developments and inventions in Glass and Pottery manufacture, also Bottle-making, would be pleased to hear from anyone capable of furnishing such information."--_The Times._

II.

DEAR SIR,--It is very fortunate that I caught sight of your advertisement, for I am just the man you need. You want to know all about bottles and things. I can tell you.

Let us begin with pottery.

Pottery is made in the Five Towns, a district in the Midlands to which references may be found by the industrious, using a microscope, in the works of Mr. ARNOLD BENNETT, the famous Caledonian Market salesman. How it is made I have not room here to indicate, but its effect on those who make it is to fill their lives with romance and excitement. Thus, if they don't become Town Councillors for Hanbridge they join the School Board at Hanley; and if they are not taking the new tram to Burslem they are catching the fast train to Manchester at Knype.

And now for glass.

Glass is an invisible substance made in some mysterious way. It is used for a multiplicity of things, but principally for windows and bottles. It is when used for windows that its special quality of transparency comes in so happily, for it enables you to see through. This, when it is the window of a hat shop and you are out with your wife or fiancée, is not an unmixed blessing, but at other times it can be very convenient. Thus, when looking through the window, oneself being carefully concealed behind the blind, one can see undesirable callers approaching and beat a safe retreat. Windows can also be shut, both in houses and railway carriages, and thus keep the place warm and pleasantly insanitary and comfortable. It has been said that the pure air of many German towns is due to the fact that the Germans keep their windows shut.

Glass is also used for the chimneys of lamps, which, when the wick is turned up too high, as it usually is, break. It is employed furthermore in the manufacture of glass eyes, which, as all who have visited _A Kiss for Cinderella_ know, do not always match the real ones.

But the best thing that glass does is to become bottles. Bottles are of two kinds: one kind for medicine, and the less said about those the better; and the other for wine. It was a happy thought which substituted glass for the skin and leather of which earlier bottles were made, for one can now see, by holding it to the light, how little the bottle contains, and order another. The principal fault of bottles is that they are rarely big enough. A half-bottle does not contain sufficient for one, and a whole bottle rarely satisfies two. Some men are so lost to shame as to set only one bottle of wine before three or even four persons.

Before the War old bottles were used chiefly as targets in rifle saloons. Now that they have become scarce, and targets are made in Germany, they are worth money and should be carefully saved.

Glass is useful also for making glasses--the receptacles from which wine is drunk. Without glasses we should be hard put to it to consume our liquor and should have to resort to half-cocoanuts, cups, the hollow of the hand, or even sponges.

Just at the moment bottles--I mean the more genial variety--are under a cloud. It is a penal offence to sell a bottle before noon, between half-past two and half-past six, and after half-past nine at night. But they are expected to come to their own again when Peace is celebrated.

I think that is all.

Yours, etc., FIRST AID.

* * * * *

* * * * *

NURSERY RHYMES OF LONDON TOWN.

XIX.--HAYMARKET.

I went up to the Hay-market upon a summer day, I went up to the Hay-market to sell a load of hay-- To sell a load of hay and a little bit over, And I sold it all to a pretty girl for a nosegay of red clover.

A nosegay of red clover and a hollow golden straw; Now wasn't that a bargain, the best you ever saw? I whistled on my straw in the market-place all day, And the London folk came flocking for to foot it in the hay.

XX.--THE ANGEL.

The Angel flew down One morning to town, But didn't know where to rest; For they shut her out of the East End And they shut her out of the West.

The Angel went on To Islington, And there the people were kinder. If ever you go to Islington That's where you will find her.

* * * * *

Those who _do_ hold the victory--BEATTY _possidentes_.

* * * * *

Commercial Candour.

"---- & SON, WINDOW-CLEANERS. We spare no panes."

* * * * *

Our Optimists.

"As a result of Wednesday's battle the strength of the British Fleet is now greater, not relatively, but absolutely, than it was."

_Daily Telegraph._

* * * * *

Ships in WOLFF'S clothing: the "victorious" German Fleet.

* * * * *

"Villagers here are heartily congratulating Mr. Charles Gibbs on his marvellous escape from the great North Sea Battle, from one of our lost cruisers. He reached home on Sunday, and brings with him a portion of a shell that pierced his cap, and an engine of the vessel tattered in the conflict."--_Thame Gazette._

"Some" souvenir.

* * * * *

"The Germans are using guns twenty-one centimetres in length, which can be fired from railway lines and transported with facility."

_Westminster Gazette._

This appears under the heading, "Big Guns the Deciding Factor." But should it not have been "Pocket Pistols"?

* * * * *

"Talking parrots from 12s. 6d., 3 months' trial."--_Daily Paper._

After that you get used to it.

* * * * *

"WANTED, MAN for Tipping Russian Army by hand, piece work."

_Northampton Chronicle._

It should be rather a long job.

* * * * *

* * * * *

U.A.

It is very odd how suddenly and completely a new idea gets about. Yesterday you had never heard of it, or not in any way to take notice of it; to-day you hear about it consciously for the first time, and to-morrow it is a commonplace of conversation.

It is so with U.A.

I had, of course, heard of U.A. as a menace, a hidden terror, the old man's dread, the _bon vivant's_ heritage, and so forth. But only vaguely. No one had talked about it; I had seen the words in advertisements and had forgotten them again. I had never associated myself with them. Whatever might happen to me, U.A. would be unrepresented.

And then the blow fell. Suddenly U.A. became omnipresent. I met a friend who only last week I had found doing himself with his customary thoroughness at dinner. This evening he was dining again, but his sole companion was a chilly and depressing bottle of French natural water.

"What is this?" I asked. "War economy?"

"No," he said; "merely U.A."

I should have thought little of that were it not that half-an-hour later I overheard two men talking about the difficulty of getting rid of U.A. once it had established itself.

Another man, to whom I complained of some trifling discomfort, said it was probably U.A.

An hour later I was sitting at a farce which, like all the farces in London at the present moment, is the funniest thing ever staged--only this, if the management is to be believed, is more so; and the only thing I was able to laugh at was a joke about U.A.

The next morning I received a letter from a solicitous relation warning me to be more careful or I should be at the mercy of U.A.

And to crown all I went to see a doctor about something really quite negligible, and, after beginning by conjecturing that it was due to U.A., he ended by feeling certain of it.

He asked me a hundred questions about myself, and after every reply he said either, "That's U.A.," or "U.A. again."

"Almost everything that is wrong with people," he said finally, "is caused by U.A."

I came away feeling thoroughly fashionable, but also dejected beyond words, for he had condemned me to a _régime_ from which every spark of happiness was excluded.

I have since become a source of embarrassment to my friends, for more than half the nice things that everyone else eats and all the nice things that they drink are denied me. U.A. forbids.

Wine--oh no. Spirits--not on your life. Underdone beef--poison. Tobacco--very unwise. And so forth.

As for my own kitchen, which does not think very quickly, it considers me mad; and after one of the melancholy meals that are now my lot I am disposed to agree.

The question I ask myself is, Which is it to be--a long life of joyless food and no U.A., or a shorter but merrier life with U.A. thrown in? And "What's the harm in a little U.A. anyway?" I say as I light a forbidden cigar.

However I answer the great problem, of one thing I am certain, and that is that with all this U.A. about there ought to be a restaurant with enough intelligence to provide an anti Uric Acid menu.

* * * * *

From a description of the German assaults at Verdun:--

"The last regiment, which attacked in ass formation, was terribly handled."

We understand that it was not led by the CROWN PRINCE in person.

* * * * *

"THAT the new Service Act will decimate the Hythe Town Band.

THAT when the call has been answered there will only be five members left."

_Kentish Express._

The present strength of the Hythe Town Band appears to be 5-5/9: five men and five tailors?

* * * * *

* * * * *

THE SAFETY-VALVE.

The trouble started a week ago, when the eagle eye of a Very Great Man chanced on a piece of paper lying in the neighbourhood of our camp. On being hastily summoned, I could not offhand give any reasonable explanation of its presence. To any lesser personage I should undoubtedly have proved it to belong to one of the A.S.C. people who live next door; but as it was I could only agree that it was a piece of paper, and as such was serving no useful purpose.

Two days later the blow fell. The V.G.M. would inspect the camp, and us in full marching order, the following day.

In the meantime we had learnt that several neighbouring camps had been tried thus, found wanting, and soundly strafed. From them we gleaned some useful hints:--

(1) That any unnecessary oddments, human or other, left lying about in the camp would be certain to elicit caustic comment;

(2) That tired or dissipated-looking animals, soiled harness or lustreless buttons would probably bring about atmospheric changes on parade; and

(3) That pieces of paper would mean indefinite home leave for somebody.

It was still moonlight when our cloud of skirmishers was abroad. The camp is entirely on soft sand, so that burying is a beautifully simple operation. In every tent parties could be seen rapidly putting home-made chairs, beds, boxes, tins and cooking utensils below ground. Personally I was fastening my less sleek mules to a somewhat soiled waggon, collecting odd men who wouldn't be nice for the great to see, and despatching the lot behind a neighbouring wood. They looked very like a troupe of roving gipsies. A sentry was posted in case the V.G.M. should come round the wood, when the troupe would, with infinite stealth, track round in his wake.

Eventually the camp was an absolute picture--not a superfluous article in view; kits dressed with mathematical exactitute; cookhouse spotless, with a faultlessly attired cook fingering his implements in the manner indicated in the text-book. On the horse-lines were stablemen, assiduously raking away at wisps of straw previously laid down for the purpose.

He arrived about five minutes early, but the last tin of sardines was safely concealed, and we felt almost confident. We were inspected very minutely and asked seemingly ingenuous questions, each doubtless with a subtle trap for the unwary. I shivered when his horse pawed the ground and unearthed a bottle of Bass. I was also horrified to perceive the faces of several particularly grimy cook's mates continually popping round the edge of the wood. However, the inspection of the wagons concluded without untoward incident, and when the camp's turn came we felt we were on safe ground. We had that rare and comfortable feeling that nothing had been forgotten. I saw the Great Man start as his eye encountered the spotless scene. Then a look of grim determination was apparent as he began his tour, his glance, trained to an extraordinary pitch of perception, seeking its wonted prey. But no prey was forthcoming. Up and down the lines he went, peering into tents, digging at kits and deputing members of his retinue to test them for tooth-brushes. Exasperation gradually took the place of determination on his countenance. As he neared the end of his tour he was swelling very visibly and muttering to himself. We saw that some terrible eruption was about to occur, and we played our last card. At a sign from me a stealthy figure emerged from behind a bush, dropped a piece of orange peel and disappeared again. As the procession turned the last corner a wild light broke upon the face of the Central Figure. His step quickened as he approached the orange peel. He turned and cleared his throat. "This piece of orange peel," he began, addressing our CO., and rapidly deflating the while. The situation was saved.

We have a great reputation now, and intend to do "Inspections Complete" at a reasonable figure, inclusive of harness, bright-buttoned soldiers, guard for presenting arms, diggers, a concealed spot for unsightly men and appliances, and--our special line--a safety-valve.

* * * * *

* * * * *

BEST SELLERS.

I have seen many flag-days and met many flag-sellers. Some were false (they had flags with rusty pins and jabbed them treacherously into my best blouse), and many were frivolous (that sort doesn't trouble about old-maid customers); but of those who were neither false nor frivolous Jack and Jill stand easily first.

I saw them coming up the garden path very early in the morning, Jack in a sailor suit and Jill in a minute white frock. Their combined ages might have totalled nine--at a generous guess.

There was a furious ring at the door, and when I opened it a small brown hand was thrust in, full of flags, whose pins must have been very prickly to hold, while he of the sailor suit addressed me eagerly.

"Look! This sort's a penny. It's paper. And this sort's thruppence. It's real silk. Which'll you have?"

The hand held two silk and four paper flags. I took a silk one, and the girl nodded approval. "I think," said she, "the silk ones will _wear_ better."

While I found my purse the boy had a sudden idea, which he instantly communicated with the sincere intention of doing the best he could for me. Said he, "You'd better have the bofe. You'll want one for your--for the father." And then he had a brighter thought still. "And the childrens. This paper kind would do for them. It's no use buying _good_ ones for them, is it?"

"No, they're sure to lose them," agreed Jill. "You see, they're rather loose on their pins," she added with commercial candour.

"Else they wouldn't waggle properly," put in the boy hastily, in case I might be thinking this a defect.

"I'll take the lot," said I, "if you can tell me what it's all for."

"You c'n see," said Jack, "it's on the back of them," and he poked one round. "'For Woun-ded He-roes,'" he read out with pride and great deliberation.

"_He_ can't read very well," said Jill, who was a wee bit jealous. "It doesn't mean dead. It only means wounded."

But Jack smiled at me understandingly, refusing to argue with anything so small as Jill, and they departed, counting the spoil.

At the gate Jack turned and came back. "If you have more than four children," he said earnestly, "I could bring you some more paper ones."

I think they must have had a successful day.

* * * * *

"BAPTISMAL TROUSERS AND GOWNS

FOR MINISTERS.

Used throughout Wales for 40 years."

_Baptist Times._

As the posters should have said, "It is worse than unpatriotic, it is bad form, to wear new clothes in war-time."

* * * * *

THE EPIGRAM.

George and I had been discussing the prospect for elderly and slightly shop-soiled _littérateurs_ under present circumstances. The result was not wholly enlivening.

"If I had a few hundreds clear," said George at last, "I'd give up Fleet Street and start a farm. I've always loved the country."

"My dear George," I answered, speaking slowly, "for a man to take a farm because he loves the country is to make a master of what should remain a mistress."

Just like that. Because I was going slowly I was able at the last moment to substitute the word "mistress" for "servant," which would have been merely banal. Not till then did I recognise the bright perfection of the completed remark. No wonder George stared enviously.

"What's that out of?" he asked.

"Nothing as yet." But I had already determined that it should not long remain unset. I mean, in these days one simply can't afford to go chucking gems about in gratuitous conversation. The difficulty was what exactly to do with it.

The sparkling _causerie_ was my first idea. That evening I refilled my fountain-pen, opened a fresh packet of foolscap, and began:--

"AGRICULTURE AND ÆSTHETICS.

"It has been wittily observed that for a man to start farming because----"

But there the adverb began to worry me. After all, perhaps it wasn't quite so witty as I had hoped, or at least others might not think it so. And in any case I got no personal credit. Subsequent pages recorded other attempts, as--"Who was the cynical philosopher who----?" or "It may perhaps be objected by the prudent that for a man to start----"

After this I must have decided against starting at all, for nothing more came of the _causerie_.

My next attempt took the form of fiction. I resolved to enshrine the masterpiece in a short story. "The Farm that Failed" seemed to me, and does still, an attractive title. You see the idea of it? Pastoral humour; George, as an amateur husbandman, scored off by sheep and confused by cows. Arrival of town friend, _Amber Dextrius_, on visit. Some sort of love interest. And finally the Epigram. "Ah, my dear fellow," said _Dextrius_, as he flung away his cigarette, "after all you have only proved the great truth that----" And so on.

It looked promising. I hardly know why I abandoned it. Perhaps the love interest proved an obstacle. Perhaps I feared lest George (that good sort) should detect himself and be hurt. Anyhow it got no further.

The inspiration that followed had even less fortune. It is represented by a sheet headed:--

"THE BUCOLICS.

(_A Fantastic Comedy in Five Acts._)

[ACT I.--_Morning-room of_ Lord Amber Dextrius' _house in Hill Street, W. A large luxuriously-furnished apartment. Doors in right and left wall. Two doors in back wall. Three windows also in back wall. The light is that of a brilliant morning in May._]

_Enter_ Lord Amber, _a handsome faultlessly-dressed man of about five-and-thirty. He walks towards the door_ L."

But he never reached it. Perhaps an entire ignorance of what he should do when he got there paralysed him, as it did his creator. After all, you can hardly run a five-Act comedy on stage directions and a single epigram, though I admit that the attempt has been made.

So there the thing rested. From time to time I had wild ideas of advertising it in the literary papers: "For sale, original epigram, mint condition, wide application, never been used. Cheap; or would accept typewriter, or workable film-plots." But even then I might have no offers. I began to think that my little property was going to prove unrealisable.

But only yesterday something happened.