Chapter 2

Her guests had come from Clubs and Courts And Halls of wealthy Jews; As they surveyed my running shorts I felt my courage ooze, While conscious power, grown out of sorts, Leaked through my canvas shoes.

* * * * *

Then I re-travelled South by West Inflated with a joy Which in the suit I called my best No buffet could destroy; I may remark I'd come full-dressed From lunch at the Savoy.

But when the hills began to shout I coloured to the roots, And when the valleys cried, "Get out!" To the last word in suits, My joy, displaced by sudden doubt, Leaked through my spatted boots.

* * * * *

Of the mysterious Marconigrams:--

"They may be the effort of sentiment beings in some neighbouring planet to communicate with us."--_Evening Paper._

Can we have broken in on a conversation between _Venus_ and _Mars_?

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

A CONFLICT OF EMOTIONS.

(_With the British Army in France._)

"I've seen rivetters at New York pie-foundries and stew-specialists on North Sea trawlers," said Percival severely, "but I never realised how monotonous feeding could be till I got into a Mess controlled by Binnie."

Binnie puffed his pipe severely, being of the tough fibre which enables Mess Presidents to endure. Frederick, who had been silent, rose from his seat, heaved a distressing sigh and left the room.

"There's the moral that adorns the tale, you--you public danger!" continued Percival, indicating Frederick's retreating figure. "Look to what a condition that once bright youth has been brought by your endless stews and curries."

"Not a bit of it," answered Binnie lightly. "Frederico could eat patent breakfast food and toasted doormats without taxing his digestion. His complaint is the tender passion. I recognise the symptoms."

"It looks like an acute attack, anyhow," said Percival, rising, "and prompt counter-irritants are indicated. But I'll confirm your diagnosis first."

Inside Frederick's quarters the sound of regular and sustained sighing suggested that the sufferer was in the throes of a spasm of melancholy. Percival entered and narrowly escaped being drawn into the vortex of a particularly powerful inspiration.

"Freddy, old pard," he said kindly, "why so _triste_? If the trouble's financial, my cheque-book is unreservedly at your service. Havin' no balance at the bank I've no use for it myself."

"It's not that--at least not worse than usual," groaned Frederick.

"Then tell me all about it."

"It's a long story," commenced Frederick.

"Let me off with a synopsis," interrupted Percival.

"Once upon a time," continued Frederick, "there was a big war, which made quite a stir in the daily papers and was a common subject of discussion in the clubs. There were many casualties, amongst them being a blithe young laddy who came down to the Base with a fractured maxilla caused by nibbling an M. and V. ration without previously removing the outside tin--or something of the sort. He was sent to hospital and devotedly tended by a Sister of exquisite beauty--such a figure and such hair! It wasn't exactly auburn and not exactly burnished bronze--"

"And it wasn't pale puce and it wasn't ultramarine," broke in Percival impatiently. "Tell me what it was, not what it wasn't."

"I can't. It baffled description. Well, they drifted apart; but often afterwards, when that young laddy was studying his Manual of Military Law in his lonely dug-out, the image of Sister Carruthers glowed on the printed page. But I never met her again until the other day, when I was having a gentle toddle round Quelquepart and saw her gliding along the quay. Something gripped me by the heart; I took my courage in both hands and spoke to her.

"'Don't you remember me, Sister?' I said. 'It was you who nursed me in No. 99 General.'

"She looked at me coldly.

"'As you are the third young officer who has adopted a similar method of introduction this afternoon,' she said, 'you must forgive me if I ask for some confirmation.'

"'Surely you haven't forgotten?' I cried. 'You drew me a sweet little design in dots and dashes to hang over my bed. When I was evacuated to England I wanted to thank you, to ask if we might meet again, but you thrust a clinical thermometer between my teeth and told me not to speak till you gave me permission. Then you left me, and I was whisked away to the boat clinging grimly to the thermometer, inarticulate and heartbroken.'

"'And I presume your object in speaking to me to-day is to return the thermometer?' she said primly.

"That's where I took the full count," continued Frederick, sadly. "If I could have produced any old thing in the thermometer line my _bona fides_ would have been established an' I could have gone ahead like cotton-mill shares. Instead of which, she'd said Good-day and gone while I was thinkin' out explanations. Since that time I've been parading Quelquepart simply bristling with thermometers, but I've never met her again."

"The old Army fault of unpreparedness," remarked Percival. "You ought to go to hospital."

"Don't be juvenile! What have hospitals to do with heartache?"

"Everything, if you go to the right one--the one where your ministering angel ministrates, for instance."

"Percival, old ace," said Frederick, with admiration, "you'll rank among the world's great thinkers yet. Turn on the current again and tell me what is my complaint."

"Digestive trouble," said Percival promptly. "There's already been rumours about, and you'll be doing a public service by going to dock with dyspepsia. Binnie will be so stricken by remorse that he'll at once start providing the Mess with decent food."

"Then for your sakes I'll rehearse the symptoms. But my curse will be on your head if I get to the wrong hospital."

It was unfortunate that the M.O. was in an unsympathetic mood next morning. He thumped Frederick on the lower chest and pooh-poohed the idea of hospital. "All you want is a few of these tablets," he said, "and you'll be fit as nails in a day or two."

Frederick crawled away dispiritedly to confide in Percival. That sapient youth counselled perseverance.

"You must go right off your feed," he said. "Let the doc. see you feebly pecking and he'll soon get alarmed. In the meantime I'm off to give Binnie critical accounts of your appetite and send him to market right away."

Only a burning passion and stealthy bars of chocolate could have sustained Frederick through the next few days. To sit down to breakfast with a healthy appetite and refuse his egg and rasher put the biggest possible strain on his constancy. His task was made doubly difficult by the scheming of Percival, who was constantly inciting Binnie to procure fresh delicacies.

"You've crocked poor Freddy," he said; "and there will be others going the same way if you don't improve the messing. Now I saw some nice plump chickens to-day in the...."

Thus harried, that evening Binnie provided a dinner that almost reduced Frederick to breaking-point. Only the fact that the M.O. was sitting opposite gave him strength to refuse the soup and fish, to trifle with the chicken and turn wearily from the sweet. As the savoury was being served he caught a scrap of conversation across the table.

"... to the boat to see her off for demob.," the M.O. was saying to the Padre. "Jolly nice girl--Jim Carruthers' daughter, you know."

Frederick pricked up his ears.

"I remember," said the Padre. "She used to be at 99 General."

There was no doubt who was the girl referred to. Frederick sat back in his chair with a heavy sense of disappointment and loss. He felt acutely sorry for himself. But presently above the pain in his heart there arose a stronger and more compelling feeling.

"Corporal," he said, "I think after all I'll try one of those crab patties. Or you might tell the waiter to bring in _two_."

* * * * *

* * * * *

PICTURES.

"Some likes picturs o' women" (said Bill) "an' some likes 'orses best," As he fitted a pair of fancy shackles on to his old sea-chest; "But I likes picturs o' ships" (said he), "an' you can keep the rest.

"An' if I was a ruddy millionaire with dollars to burn that way, Instead of a dead-broke sailorman as never saves his pay, I'd go to some big paintin' guy, an' this is what I'd say:--

"'Paint me _The Cutty Sark_' (I'd say) 'or the old _Thermopylæ_, Or _The Star of Peace_ as I sailed in once in my young days at sea, Shipshape an' Blackwall fashion too, as a clipper ought to be.

"'An' you might do 'er outward bound, with a sky full o' clouds, An' the tug just droppin' astern an' gulls flyin' in crowds, An' the decks shiny-wet with rain an' the wind shakin' the shrouds.

"'Or else racin' up-Channel with a sou'-wester blowin', Stuns'ls set aloft and alow an' a hoist o' flags showin', An' a white bone between her teeth, so's you can see she's goin'.

"'Or you might do 'er off Cape Stiff in the 'igh latitudes yonder, With her main-deck a smother of white an' her lee-rail dipping under, And the big greybeards drivin' by an' breakin' aboard like thunder.

"'Or I'd like old Tuskar somewhere around--or Sydney 'eads, maybe, Or Bar Light, or the Tail o' the Bank, or a glimp o' Circular Quay, Or a junk or two, if she's tradin' East, to show it's the China Sea.

"'Nor I don't want no dabs o' paint as you can't tell what they are, Whether they're shadders or fellers' faces or blocks or blobs o' tar, But I want gear as looks like gear an' a spar that's like a spar.

"'An' I don't care if it's North or South, the Trades or the China Sea, Shortened down or everythin' set, close-hauled or runnin' free; You paint me a ship as is _like_ a ship an' that'll do for me.'"

C.F.S.

* * * * *

* * * * *

EGYPTIAN DARKNESS.

"Several letters have appeared in the native Press in some of which they ask Minindirect way, as they have done, but in a indirect way they have done but in a clear clear manner which cannot be interpreted two ways."--_Egyptian Gazette._

Or, so far as we are concerned, even one way.

* * * * *

* * * * *

THE BIG-GAME CURE.

[In common with everything else, wild animals have risen considerably in price.]

In other times I might have made For those wild lands where growls the grisly, Have tracked him (with some native aid) And held a broken-hearted Bisley; Now that my Maud has murmured, "Nay," Shrinking from matrimony's tight knot, I might have acted thus, I say (Contrariwise, I might not).

In any case to-day I shrink From thus evading Sorrow's trammels; A sense of duty bids me think How costly are the larger mammals; To kill them just to soothe my mind Would seem to savour of the wasteful, A thing all patriot poets find Exceedingly distasteful.

Not mine the immemorial cure; The voice of conscience warns me off it; I'll leave the following of the spoor To those who follow it for profit; I feel they would not thank me for Turning the jungle to a shambles, Who speculate in lions or Have elephantine gambles.

And so this poet will not roam; Remaining on his native heath, he Will seek an anodyne at home, Nor look beyond the Thames for Lethe; And if he fades away, denied The usual balm in cardiac crises, Say only this of him, "He died A prey to soaring prices."

* * * * *

* * * * *

HOW TO ACT IN EMERGENCIES.

_The Weekly Dispatch_ symposium, in which various celebrities discuss the way to act in the event of a burglar being found in the house, shows the need for a little advice in case of emergencies. We append the following very helpful hints:--

The old plan of offering a burglar a cigarette and asking him to take a chair while you telephone to the police is not now so successful as in the past. The best plan is to tackle the fellow right away. For this purpose you should step behind him, take hold of his coat and force it over his face. Then tie his left arm to his right leg across the back. Properly carried out, this method rarely fails.

* * * * *

To attract the attention of the young lady behind a post-office counter, fire a revolver three times in succession, using blank cartridges. After first aid has been rendered to the attendants step up to the counter and purchase your stamp.

* * * * *

If you should be knocked down by a taxi, don't be alarmed and try to creep out from under the thing. And don't blame the driver. Apologise to him, and, as you are being carried away, shake hands and tell him that while it was his cab it was your fault. Treated in this manner, drivers are not nearly so offensive when they knock you down the next time.

* * * * *

Should the telephone-bell ring in your house, don't get excited. Keep calm. Remember General GRANT. Remove the women and children to a place of safety, lift off the receiver and say, "Good Heavens! Whoever can it be?"

* * * * *

Let us suppose that you are being attacked by a man with a chopper. Wait until the weapon is well poised over your head. Just as he begins the down stroke step aside smartly. The hatchet will then be found buried in the ground. This means that bygones are bygones.

* * * * *

* * * * *

PETER AND JUDY.

Except for the fact that they had different sets of parents and were born some hundred miles apart, Peter and Judy are practically twins. Consequently, after an interval of three months, strenuous efforts were made by the two young mothers to bring about a proper introduction between the two wonders.

The occasion was to be one of great importance, for it was Judy's very first tea-party, marking, as it were, the dawn of her social career. For days the post-office wrestled with the correspondence necessary to bring about the meeting. The mothers, both in person and by proxy, had scoured the precincts of Kensington and Oxford Street respectively for the necessary adornments to do their offspring justice, changing their minds so often that the assistants came to take as much interest in the party as if they were going to it themselves.

And yet, when the great moment arrived and the strong silent man was borne into the room, round-eyed and expectant, he found his hostess already tired out with her first tea-party and fast asleep. He could scarcely believe his eyes; nor could Judy's scandalised father.

Peter was very good about it. He bore this chilly reception stoically, deprecating any desire to wake the sleeping beauty--deprecating, in fact, any interest in her or her cot whatsoever. Ignoring the efforts of the Big People to fix his attention by pointing him directly at the main object of the tea-party (they should have known that babies like looking the _other_ way always) he remained passively interested in a fascinating brass knob, the while getting his gloves into a satisfactory state of succulence before the Big People should take it on themselves to remove them.

At last his patience is rewarded. The hostess, sighing sleepily, is beginning to show signs of realising her responsibilities. Two immense arms, two enormous fistfuls of fingers gather her up and she is borne through the air triumphantly.... Peter and Judy are introduced.

I doubt whether any two people in this world ever displayed greater indifference. Solemnly they turn their eyes upon every other object in the room except each other. It is not until the number of permutations in which two people can look at everything is exhausted mathematically that their eyes meet at last.

Then they cut each other dead.

* * * * *

Side by side they recline on the couch. Judy, pouting with sleep, is buffeting her face with her little white boxing-gloves, while Peter stares fascinated at the fire, quite sure that social functions are not in his line. "O-o!"

With only three months' experience, Judy has not yet attained complete mastery of the art of manipulating difficult things like limbs. Inadvertently, and in excess of zeal to kick higher than any other baby, she has landed out a beautiful backhander and caught Peter hard in the tummy. Peter's eyes open wide. Creases appear on his face and widen. A cavern opens and a roar follows:--

"Ya--o-o!"

"Hullo!" (Judy looks up in amazement, for there is only one noise in the house like that, and she has the sole rights of it). "Hullo, is that me? I didn't know I was doing it"--(the roars from Peter continue)--"but I suppose I am. I must be. Let's have a lot more of this very good noise I am making--Ya--o-o!"

The duet produces a crescendo astounding to them both, for there has never been a noise so wonderful as this in all their experience. Then to Judy a very strange thing happens. She pauses for breath, but the noise goes on. "This is amazing--how do I do it?..."

She joins in again--and then Peter stops. He too is puzzled vaguely. However, bother introspection, the concert proceeds, both artists doing their level best. Now one of them pauses, now the other, and at length serious doubts begin to creep in. There is something queer afoot-- something....

The matter resolves itself. Turning suddenly they behold each other, both yelling splendidly. Amazement! Cavern confronts cavern! Face to face they roar their hardest, demanding the reason for this strange phenomenon, "this other me who does when I don't."

They pause--their mouths remain agape. Slowly they close and smiles succeed. Joy! A _reasonable_-sized face at last. What a relief after the enormous faces, the great mouths, the Cyranese noses of the Big People who are wont to come and peer. Here at last is a true face, a face that--no, they both agree not to dwell unduly on the discovery.

Indifferent to each other once again they regard the special objects of their attention, their hands waving gently in the air, seeking the fairies that babies' hands are always trying to catch.

Ha! their hands have met.

"Hoo! It's a _reasonable_ hand. It's got proper fingers, not stumps of bananas."

"Moreover," says Peter politely, "if you care to take advantage of my offer you will find that it is properly moistened, succulent and suitable to a baby's taste. You needn't mind; I prepared it myself."

"Goo! Gool-gur!" All is peace and chuckles. Hand-in-hand they survey their mothers. "_Our_ mothers, yours--mine. Ha, ha--he, he--goo!"

The inner thoughts of the two babies may be hidden from me (I accept the punishment), but I know--I _know_ what the two mothers are thinking of. Twenty years hence, a paragraph in _The Times_: "Peter--Judy--" Oh, you fatuous mothers!

L.

* * * * *

"Public interest remains unabated in the remarkable occurrences at the poultry-house farm at Brickendon, where spirit rappings in the morse code have been heard for weeks past.... One question put to the spirit last night was 'How many people are outside?' And the reply was 'Rorty,' which proved to be correct."--_Liverpool Paper._

And possibly furnishes some clue to the identity of the spirit concerned.

* * * * *

* * * * *

MORE INTENSIVE PRODUCTION.

When first I learned to play the fool In various (unaccepted) verses There was, I found, one golden rule For poets who would line their purses. "If ye," it ran, "to wealth would mount, For silk attire would change your tatters, Mere quantity will never count; Quality is the thing that matters."

Broadly this precept, too, was laid On grosser forms of human labour; _E.g._, on Jones's antique trade, Or Brown, the sausage-man, his neighbour; Until of late, throughout a land Reeling from strikes and "reconstruction," A cry was heard on every hand, A clamour for "Increased Production."

While "makers," then, gird on their might And merchants buzz like bees in clover; When Jones is sawing day and night And Brown shows twice his last turnover; Shall I not follow where they've led And, at the PREMIER'S invitation, Double my output, Mr. Ed.?-- I look for your co-operation.

* * * * *

"'Oh, to be in England now that Noel's near.'

So, one might adapt one of Kipling's lines."--_Indian Paper._

What do they know of BROWNING who only KIPLING know?

* * * * *

"LADY wishes to travel in exquisite lingerie."--_Daily Paper._

By all means; but why should she be content to wear an inferior quality when she is stationary?

* * * * *

AT THE PLAY.

"MR. TODD'S EXPERIMENT."

A new terror--or else a new attraction--has been added to the British Drama. Mr. WALTER HACKETT has brought the scent of the cinema across the footlights. When he wants to inform you of certain episodes in the hero's past career, or let you know what he is doing when he is out of sight, he throws the main stage into darkness and lights up a smaller one on which he gives you as many as six little tabloid plays within the play.

Such a scheme has its obvious conveniences for the playwright, and should greatly simplify the difficulties of stage-craft. Those introductory statements which are required to explain the opening conditions and need such adroit handling will no longer be necessary. You just put everybody wise by a series of _tableaux parlants_. No longer need the author worry about the best way of conveying to his audience the details of any action that takes place off the stage; he just turns on a playlet and there it is. Altogether, with a couple of the unities disposed of, he ought to have a much easier time.

On the other hand he is going to have trouble with his principal stage and put his actors to the inconvenience of playing in a painfully congested area. Thus, in _Mr. Todd's Experiment_, the permanent scene was the hall of a house, with a large tapestry occupying more than half of the wall. Lurking behind this tapestry was the stage for the tabloids, and the general company had to crowd themselves into the remainder or wander forlornly about in the space in front of the tapestry. The playlets again are almost bound to be just concentrated episodes, probably elemental in theme and certainly elementary in treatment.