Chapter 3

A struggling mass of people trying to get out, another mass trying to get in; everybody pushing and muttering, grunting and groaning; and above all the howling of the Specially Selected Band of Hustlers in their now famous and unpopular performance:--

"'Urry up off the car, please. WAIT till they're all off. Move right down the centre, please. Wot are you doin' there? Come orf it if you're comin' orf. Get a move on, please. 'Urry up on board. Come on there. RIGHT BEHIND."

A siren shrilled and we were moving again.

"Can't you set the kid down, Mother?" said a voice. "You can't carry her like that. Be quiet, 'Enry, will you."

I managed to struggle out of my seat.

"Thank you, Sir," said the man. "Sit down, Em'ly. That's better. Now you can 'old the kid. Shut up, 'Enry, will you?"

I looked for Henry and found him wedged in a forest of legs.

"I think he's afraid of being trodden on," I said.

We managed, with some effort, to extract the child and make him a little more comfortable. His father turned with a sigh of relief to me.

"Awful business travellin' with kids nowadays, ain't it?" he said.

"I can quite believe it," I said.

"Bad enough anywhere," he went on, "but on this line--well--and they stick up placards tellin' you to be patient. Patient! With a wife and two kids, and them young jackanapes at Victoria a-howling at you all the time. If there's one thing I 'ate it's bein' 'ustled." He laughed resentfully. "'Come on, get a move on.' 'Jump to it!' Shoutin' and howlin' till you don't know whether you're gettin' on or gettin' orf. Anybody'd think we was a lot of blinkin' animals."

Something clicked inside my head (I hesitate to suggest what) and the carriage and the swaying people went out of focus.

* * * * *

There was a little squad of soldiers piling arms.

"Stand clear," said the subaltern in charge.

"Stand at--ease. Stand easy. Carry on, Sergeant."

The P.T. Instructor came forward.

"Now, lads," he said briskly, "take off your equipment and your tunics and puttees and roll up your sleeves. And while you're doin' it listen to your Uncle Brown, who's goin' to give things away.

"I 'aven't took any of you lads before--(come along there, my son; we ain't syncopatin' the movements)--but I'm told you're all B.E.F. men. Well then, I expect you think you know something. So you do. You know what a Jerry looks like and what a Whizzbang sounds like. But that ain't much. You don't know me. 'Ave a good look at me. You'll 'ear what I _sound_ like in a minute."

He paused for effect and breath.

"Now you 'ave 'ad a look at me you'll know me. Not the Apollo Belgravia, but just plain Brown--Mrs. Brown's old man--that's me; and thank 'Eaven it's 'im you've got to deal with and not Mr. Brown's old woman. Now we'll get to work, lads, and 'ustle's the word."

He moved away a few paces.

"When I say 'Round me nip,'" he shouted, "I want to see a cloud of dust and a livin' statue. Round me--NIP!"

There was boxing.

"'It 'im," yelled Brown; "you ain't doin' a foxtrot! Bite 'is ear orf! Make 'is nose bleed!"

Their noses bled.

There were bayonet charges on stuffed sacks.

"Kick 'em," roared Brown, leaping round like a dervish; "make faces at 'em! I want to see ye getting uglier every minute."

They grew uglier.

Half-an-hour later the squad, limp and perspiring, lay down for a rest.

"Well, you've not done too bad," said Brown; "you're all breathin', anyway. Get dressed now, and don't be 'alf-an-hour at it. Don't forget, my lads, 'ustle's the word what makes such men as me--and you too by the time I've finished with you. I'll make it a bit stiffer to-morrow."

He strolled off.

A voice arose from the squad:--

"Anybody'd think we was a lot of blinkin' animals."

* * * * *

I came back suddenly to the carriage and the crush.

"So you've altered your ideas about hustling?" I said.

"Altered them? Why?"

"Well," I said, "I can remember a day when Mrs. Brown's old man----"

"Why, Sir, you mean to say----"

"I do," I said.

And after a time:--

"Well, good-bye, Sergeant. Awfully glad to have seen you again, and to know you don't like being hustled any more than we did."

He laughed.

"One for you, Sir," he said. "But after all you was carrying a rifle, not a bloomin' baby."

* * * * *

* * * * *

A Cool Reception.

"VISIT OF 10 WESLEYAN MINISTERS.

---- Wesleyan Church.

'Is happiness possible to-day?'"

_Provincial Paper._

* * * * *

"Nursery Governess to go to Jamaica early May; two boys ages seven and four; one able to give first lessons and music."--_Times._

Then why can't he teach the other?

* * * * *

"A UNIQUE OPPORTUNITY.

Exceptional Purchase of ---- Cigars. Weight about 1-1/2 lbs. Length 5 inches."

_Advt. in Evening Paper._

But only suitable, we should imagine, for very heavy smokers.

* * * * *

"Ex-Government Bedside Tables, make Boat Cupboards, Safes, Bookcases, Wash-stands, etc., not large enough to live in."

_Provincial Paper._

Not a solution of the housing problem after all.

* * * * *

* * * * *

SCREEN _v._ STAGE.

[According to Mr. W. G. FAULKNER, who has recently interviewed CHARLIE CHAPLIN at Los Angeles, the great film comedian chiefly reads serious books on philosophy and social problems, being specially interested in the prices of food and clothing. Romantic novels have no attraction for him, and it is nonsense to say that he ever hoped to play _Hamlet_, for "he does not like Shakespeare, whose works neither entertain nor interest him."]

There is bitter grief at Stratford, on the silver Avon's marge, Where the cult of WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE is extremely fine and large, For across the broad Atlantic comes the petrifying news That the greatest film comedian does not care for WILLIAM'S Muse.

Serious problems--economics and the price of margarine-- Occupy the hours of leisure that he snatches from the screen; But the works of WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE he dismisses as inane, And he harbours no ambition to enact the princely Dane.

This momentous revelation, little birds reveal to me, Has produced a spasm of anguish in the heart of SIDNEY LEE; Wails arise from HENRY AINLEY, BENSON, LANG and MOSCOVITCH, Though so far no word of protest emanates from LITTLE TICH.

Still, by way of compensation for this ruthless turning down Of the chief Elizabethan by a neo-Georgian clown, 'Tis averred that STOLL (Sir OSWALD), in a life of storm and stress, Finds distraction from his labours in the works of WILLIAM S.

In this context I may notice that the "consequential" KEYNES From an economic survey of the cinema abstains; But this curious lacuna does not prove that he has missed CHARLIE CHAPLIN'S true importance as a sociologist.

All the same, good Viscount MORLEY is, we are prepared to state, Unaware of the existence of the peerless HARRY TATE; And the name of MARY PICKFORD doesn't palpably convey Any sort of connotation to the mind of Viscount GREY.

This is much to be regretted, but I'm not without the hope That our publicists and statesmen may enlarge their mental scope By frequenting entertainments where the pleased spectators rock At the antics of GEORGE ROBEY or the drolleries of GROCK.

So, conversely, CHARLIE CHAPLIN, in a later, mellower phase, May attain to the enjoyment of Elizabethan plays, And, when economic problems on his jaded palate pall, Recognise that there is something in our WILLIAM after all.

* * * * *

Extract from a lover's letter, read recently in court:--

"I see those self-same eyes, which are my own love's, looking at each other with all that tenderness with which they once looked into mine."--_Provincial Paper._

It would appear that the object of his affections suffered from some obliquity of vision.

* * * * *

OUR "DUMB" PETS BUREAU.

AS ONE OF FAMILY--CAT (lady), elderly; would give slight services (mousing, etc.) in return for comfortable home. No dogs. Highest refs. Strictest confidence.

* * * * *

PARROT seeks sit. with refined conversationalists. Eighty years in last place. Cause of leaving, death of owner.

* * * * *

RABBIT.--Quiet, domesticated, with family of nine, wishes to find home with vegetarians. Sleep out.

* * * * *

DOG, young, seeks home in cheerful family. Well-bred society. Children not objected to. Liberal table and good outings necessary.

* * * * *

PONY, no longer young, quiet tastes, is seeking post with family where motor is kept.

* * * * *

SOW, eleven encumbrances, wishes to board with Jewish family. Liberal table.

* * * * *

LONELY goldfish would like to meet with another similarly situated. View to partnership.

* * * * *

DONKEY, at present in seaside town, wishes post inland during holiday months. Suitable for bed-ridden invalid.

* * * * *

CANARY, powerful notes, enthusiastic singer, seeks board-residence with musical family.

* * * * *

HOMES FROM HOME--CUCKOOS coming England in April desire addresses of well-appointed nests for depositing eggs. Personally investigated.

* * * * *

AU PAIR--ROBIN, having maisonette larger than he requires (flower-pot), would like to find another to share it.

* * * * *

COCKEREL, early riser, smart, good appearance, seeks sit. in country house. Preference for one with home-farm immediately adjacent.

* * * * *

PET LAMB, the property of butcher's daughter, desires home with humane gentlewomen.

* * * * *

SPANIEL, field, rather stout but pleasing appearance, is giving up country pursuits owing to difference with game-keeper. Would join lady in carriage drives and meals.

* * * * *

PEKINESE, noble birth, would go as companion in Ducal family living in good neighbourhood. Carriage. No knowledge of Chinese required.

* * * * *

* * * * *

"EXPORT SECTION.

SIR AUCKLAND GEDDES AND OTHER PROBLEMS."

_Canadian Gazette._

But we understand that the late President of the Board of Trade is no longer a problem. The last thing he did before leaving office was to issue a licence for his own exportation.

* * * * *

The Soldier Ants of New Zealand.

"Details of the distribution of the payments to soldiers' wives in lieu of separation allowances have not yet been finally approved, but the amount is to be made up to 3s. a day. Sir James Allen told a Post reporter this morning; in reply ants and 2nd lieutenants would share in the distribution."

_New Zealand Paper._

"The Defence Minister was asked by Mr. G. Witty if he would extend the payment of gratuities on behalf of deceased soldiers to sisters and cousins when the soldier had made a will to that effect."--_Same paper, later._

The reason why Mr. WITTY'S solicitude was limited to the sisters and cousins evidently was that the ants had been already provided for.

* * * * *

"Sir Oliver's personality is like that of one of the prophets of old. Venerable, white of beard and what scanty locks of hair remain, a dome-like head, over six feet in height."

_Boston Herald._

This must be the result of the American atmosphere, as we are quite certain that the last time we saw Sir OLIVER his head was not an inch over three feet in height.

* * * * *

DEMOBBED.

INDIA, 1920.

"I'm goin' home," said Hennessey, "for I've been East too long; I want the English hedges an' fields an' the English thrush's song, An' the honest English faces an' never nobody black; It's home for mine," said Hennessey, "so it's down your tents and pack. It'll pass out here For a month or a year, But not for a lifetime--no dam fear. I want my folks," said Hennessey, "an' I'm jolly well goin' back." But _I_ said, "Home's gone different an' I've somehow lost the touch, An' nobody's written for fifty years, so _they_'re not worryin' much; An' I like it here; I love it." Says Hennessey, "Well, I'm shot! Would ye die an' be buried in India?" "Well, Natty," says I, "why not?"

"East Africa, then," said Hennessey; "it's a promisin' place is that-- Money to make an' jobs galore, easy an' rich an' fat; An' think of the ridin' an' shootin' an' the camp an' the trekkin' too; _You_'ve no ties," said Hennessey; "it's the place for a chap like you. There's a grand career For a pioneer, Which is more than ever you'll see out here. East Africa's it," said Hennessey, "if the half they say is true." But _I_ said, "Blow East Africa an' slavin' yourself all day; I'm an idle man--bone idle--with a little bit saved away, An' I like them palm-tree beaches an' the warm blue sunlit sea; East India, yes, an' welcome, but East Africa--no, not me."

"Well, Palestine," said Hennessey; but I cut him short and sweet, An' "Natty," I said, "I've heard it all an' I don't want to repeat-- Jerusalem or Mombasa, Tahiti or Timbuctoo, Or careers an' pioneerin' an' the rest of it all--nah poo! It's no good, Nat, For I tell you flat I've cottoned to India an' that's just that; _Bus hogeva_; all done--finish; I'm here till the trees turn blue, For I love them early mornings, shiny an' clear an' grey, An' I love the cool o' the evening when the temple drummers play, An' the long, long, lazy afternoons, when the whole creation sleeps-- Quit it? Old man, I couldn't; I'm India's now for keeps.

"So Hennessey, you go home," I says, "an' see to the wife an' kid." "You'll follow me there one day," says he, an' I says, "Heaven forbid! I'll just be goin' about an' about an' keepin' an open mind An' sometimes doin' a job o' work, but not if I'm not inclined; An' I won't care If I'm here or there, Jungle or forest or feast or fair; I'll take it all as it comes along, as the Maker o' things designed; I'll tramp it North to the Kashmir hills an' South to the Nilgiris; I'll find my friends as I find my fun--and that's where I dam well please; An' never no _saman_ or houses or taxes or servants to send things wrong." "It wouldn't suit me," said Hennessey. "It wouldn't," says I. "So long!"

* * * * *

THE ACTRESS.

You are doubtless aware that in the successful musical comedy, _The Girl of Forty-Seven_, there is a scene in which Miss Verbena Vaine, as _Clementina_, the horse-dealer's beautiful daughter, denounces the disreputable old veterinary surgeon, _Binnett_, so whimsically played by that ripe comedian, Mr. Sid Apps.

On my first visit to the play many weeks ago an incident occurred which both enhanced Mr. Apps's reputation for spontaneous humour and highly diverted the audience.

It will be remembered that at the climax of her outburst, _Clementina_, with eyes ablaze and voice vibrating with passion, hisses, "Loathsome scoundrel, how I detest and despise you!" On the evening to which I refer a mock-submissive look came into Apps's face when these words were spoken, and he interrupted gently, "Not too much soda, Verbena," glancing with mischievous curiosity to see how she would take his humorous comment upon her emphatic utterance of this line of many sibilants.

The audience was greatly delighted by this effect. Miss Vaine failed completely to maintain the _rôle_ of the indignant beauty and turned her back to the footlights to hide her face, though her laughter was betrayed by the shaking of her handsome shoulders. There was a pause of some moments before she resumed, "My father shall know of this," and so forth.

Last week, when Doris, my niece, chose that I should take her to see _The Girl of Forty-Seven_, I was not unwilling again to enjoy Apps's humour. I listened with especial care as we approached the scene in the play to which I have referred. Perhaps he would employ some still more successful gag. At last came _Clementina's_ outburst. "Loathsome scoundrel, how I detest and despise you!" she exclaimed with vehemence. "Not too much soda, Verbena," replied the comedian gently, with a mischievous glance of curiosity. The actress gave a look of amazement, then quickly turned her back to the audience, where she stood for some moments with her face in her hands and her shoulders shaking, the audience laughing aloud with delight. The action of the play was delayed for some moments before Miss Verbena Vaine resumed her part.

* * * * *

Another Sinecure.

"Wanted, Housemaid, £45, for three in family, three maids; no children; good room; all time off usual."--_Morning Paper._

* * * * *

The Domestic Problem.

"----'s Registry have ladies waiting here daily, 2 to 4.30, for all kinds of maids (with or without experience)."--_Scotch Paper._

We don't doubt it for a moment.

* * * * *

"Councillor ----: Can we afford to allow the town to be in real jeopardy every hour?

The Chairman (to the Brigade Captain): Did you have to take the horses away from a funeral the other day, when there was a call?

Brigade Captain: We had to wait until the funeral party got back."

_Local Paper._

"Where are the gees of the Old Brigade?" "Gone to a funeral, Sir," she said.

* * * * *

* * * * *

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

(_By Mr. Punch's Staff of Learned Clerks._)

Countless readers, fusionists and others, will be glad to have Mr. HAROLD SPENDER'S sparkling abstract of the more romantic passages in the life of _The Prime Minister_ (HODDER AND STOUGHTON). The first half of the book describes the upbringing and early battles of this man of peace, Rose Cottage at Llanystumdwy with "Uncle Lloyd"--there is a touching picture of the courage, wisdom and unselfishness of this grand old man--the little attorney's office at Portmadoc, squire- and parson-baiting _passim_, capture of Carnarvon Boroughs, guerilla tactics in the House, suspension, recognition, pacifism, office, original budgeting, Limehousing (very reticently indicated), social reform. Then War and the supreme opportunity for the energy, persuasiveness, adroitness and determination which must extort even from opponents the tribute of admiration. Not a dull page; occasionally an obscure one. None of your cold and calculated criticism for Mr. SPENDER. Have idols clay feet? Well, not this one, thank you. And it is an attitude which enables him to convey to the reader something of the irresistible personal magnetism of his distinguished friend, and the courage which delights in riding the storm and is at its best in the tight corner (one might suspect the PREMIER of holding the view that if there were no tight corners it would be necessary to invent them). The summary of the War period is admirably done. The history of events leading to the formation of the second Coalition Government--and the third--is again tactfully presented. It would be unreasonable to suppose that all of Mr. SPENDER'S verdicts and estimates will be unchallenged by historians. But it is unlikely that the PREMIER will find a more competent hagiographer.

* * * * *

A story that so far violates the conventions as to start with a mother whose moral instability is a worry to her children, and a hero who longs to be a practical builder despite a parental command to follow art--such a tale can at least claim the merit of originality. Mr. J. D. BERESFORD would be fully justified in claiming this and much more for _An Imperfect Mother_ (COLLINS). Here is an interesting, fascinating and certainly unusual story, in which only two characters are of any real moment, _Cecilia_, the imperfect mother, embodiment of the artist temperament, egotistical almost to inhumanity, who abandons her dull husband and boring daughters to "live her own life"; and _Stephen_, the son, who alone can give her a half-sympathetic, half-resentful understanding. You see already the cleverness of Mr. BERESFORD'S conception. Really, it is just this that works (at least for me) its undoing. His characters are fashioned with the nicest ingenuity; the positions into which he so dextrously manipulates them compel your interest and delighted wonder; but never once do they touch your emotions, and never once can you see them as anything but the creations of a highly talented brain. This is the more strange because Mr. BERESFORD'S people are as a rule so convincingly real. Perhaps to some degree the effect of artifice is due to the author's exclusive preoccupation with his central character. _Cecilia's_ husband, her daughters, the home of her early married life, are shown to us only by the light of her flashing personality; this withdrawn, they simply cease to exist. On the whole, therefore, I should call _An Imperfect Mother_ a highly entertaining example of pure intellect, admirable but uninspired, which for my own part I enjoyed amazingly.

* * * * *