Chapter 2

But it was in battle that their wild appetite for information was most amazingly displayed. At moments when nobody knew where anybody else was or whether the ground underneath him was likely to remain in that sector more than a few moments or be detached and transferred to another, they would send by telephone or by a runner wild messages for an exact _résumé_ of the situation. It was at such times, I think, that some of those eminent war correspondents recently knighted would have done yeoman service in the front line. I can imagine them telephoning somewhat after this manner, in answer to the querulous voice:--

"All hell has broken loose in front of us. The earth shivers as if a volcano is beneath our feet. The pock-marked ridges in the distance are covered with the advancing waves of field-grey forms. Our boys are going up happily shouting and singing to the battle. Sorry, I didn't quite catch what you said about being in touch on the right. The brazen roar of the cannon is mingled with the intermittent rattle of innumerable machine guns. Eh, what? What?"

Yes, I think the Brigadiers would have liked that. But, alas, it could not be. And now they have gone, with their passion for questions, never to return, or never till the next A.C.I. cancels the last.

"And now no sacred staff shall break to blossom, No choral salutation lure to light,"

as SWINBURNE put it; or

"All the birds of the air fell a-sighin' and a-sobbin' When they heard of the death of poor Cock Robin,"

as No. 1 platoon of A Company used to sing. Ah, well.

EVOE.

* * * * *

A COUNTRY NIGHT PIECE.

THE darkness my footsteps were swathed in Is drenched with a luminous spray; For a chain's length the kerbstone is bathed in A spindrift of silvery grey; By the roadside is mistily glimmering A wall phosphorescent with pearls, All glancing and dancing and shimmering Like star-dust that swirls.

Where the high-road dips down to the dingle, A coppice in arabesque gleams Whose traceries melt and commingle, Like ghost trees in moon-fretted streams, As the tremulous glamour sweeps o'er it And skirts the inscrutable sky; Then, Fairyland flitting before it, The car flashes by.

* * * * *

Sport in Ireland.

"In a collision between his vehicle and a tramcar yesterday a passenger was injured and removed to hospital.

For other Sporting News see Page 6."

_Irish Paper._

* * * * *

"----'S SIPPING AGENCY, LTD."

_Le Réveil_ (_Beyrouth_).

A popular establishment, we feel confident.

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

THE TAKING OF TIMOTHY.

TEA was over, a clearing was made of the articles of more fragile virtue, and Timothy, entering in state, was off-loaded from his nurse's arms into his mother's.

"Isn't he looking sweet to-day?" said Suzanne. "It's really time we had him photographed."

"Why?" I asked.

"Well, why do people as a rule get photographed?"

"That," I said, "is a question I have often asked myself, but without finding a satisfactory answer. What do you propose to do with the copies?"

"There are dozens of people who'll be only too glad to have them. Aunt Caroline, for instance----"

"Aunt Caroline one day took me into her confidence and showed me what she called her scrap-heap. It was a big box full of photographs that had been presented to her from time to time, and she calculated that if she had had them all framed, as their donors had doubtless expected, it would have cost her some hundreds of pounds. While her back was turned I looked through the collection. Your photograph was there--and mine, Suzanne."

"Anyhow, we shall want one to keep ourselves. Think what a pleasure it will be to him when he grows up to see what he looked like as a tiny baby."

I called to mind an ancestral album belonging to my own family that I had carefully kept guarded from Suzanne precisely for the reason that it contained various presentments of myself at early ages in mirth-compelling garments and attitudes; but of course I could not now urge that chamber of horrors in opposition to her demand.

"Besides," she went on, "we needn't buy any copies at all if we don't like them. Snapper and Klick are continually worrying me to have Baby taken. Once a week regularly, ever since the announcement of his birth appeared, they've rung me up to ask when he will give them a sitting. Sometimes it's Snapper and sometimes it's Klick; I don't know which is which, but one of them has adenoids. We can't do any harm by taking him there, because they say in their circulars they present two copies free and there's no obligation to purchase any."

"I wonder how they make that pay?"

"Oh," said Suzanne, "they keep the copyright, you know, and then when he does anything famous they send it round to the illustrated papers, which pay them no end of money for permission to reproduce it."

"But by the time _he_ does anything famous," I objected, "won't this photograph be a trifle out of date? Supposing, for instance, in twenty or thirty years' time he marries a Movie Queen----"

Just then the telephone-bell rang, and Suzanne, as is her wont, rushed to answer it, dropping Timothy into my arms on the way.

"Hello!" I heard her say. "Yes; speaking. Yes, I was just going to write. Yes; that will do quite well. What? Yes, about eleven. Good-bye."

"Not another appointment with the dressmaker?" I inquired.

"No. Curiously enough it was Klick again--or Snapper--and his adenoids are worse than ever; I suppose it's the damp weather gets into them. So I said we'd take Baby to-morrow."

"I don't quite see the connection," I said. "Besides, aren't they catching?"

"Now you're being funny again. Save that up for to-morrow."

"What do you mean?" I asked in some alarm. "And why did you say _we'd_ take Baby?"

"Why, of course you've got to come too. You can always make him laugh better than anyone else; it's your _métier_. And I do want his delicious little dimples to come out."

"Do I understand that I'm to go through my _répertoire_ in cold blood and under the unsympathetic gaze of Messrs. Snapper and Klick? Suzanne, it can't be done."

"Oh, nonsense! You've only got to sing _Pop Goes the Weasel_ in a falsetto voice and make one of those comic faces you do so well, and he'll gurgle at once. Well, that's settled. We start at half-past ten to-morrow."

The coming ordeal so preyed upon my mind that I spent a most restless night, during which, so Suzanne afterwards told me, I announced at frequent intervals the popping of the weasel. The day dawned with a steady drizzle of rain, and, after a poor attempt at breakfast, I scoured the neighbourhood for a taxi. Having at last run one to earth, I packed the expedition into it--Suzanne, Timothy, Timothy's nurse and Barbara (who begged so hard to be allowed to "come and see Father make faces at Baby" that Suzanne weakly consented).

Arrived at our destination, Suzanne bade the driver wait. "We shall never find another cab to take us home in this downpour," she said, "and we shan't be kept long."

We were ushered into the studio by a gentleman I now know to have been Mr. Klick. He aroused my distrust at once by the fact that he did not wear a velvet coat, and I pointed out this artistic deficiency in a whisper to Suzanne.

"Never mind," she whispered back; "we needn't buy any if they're not good."

Timothy, who had by now been put straight by his attendant, was carefully placed on all-fours on a pile of cushions, which he promptly proceeded to chew. Mr. Klick, on attempting to correct the pose, was received with a hymn of hate that compelled him to bury his head hastily in the camera-cloth, and Suzanne arranged the subject so that some of his more recognisable features became visible.

"Now then," she said to me, "make him smile."

With a furtive glance at Mr. Klick, who fortunately was still playing the ostrich, I essayed a well-tried "face" that had almost invariably evoked a chuckle from Timothy, even when visitors were present. On this occasion, however, it failed to produce anything more than a woebegone pucker that foreshadowed something worse. Hastily I switched off into another expression, but with no better result.

"Go on, Father," encouraged Barbara, who had been taking a breathless interest in these proceedings; "try your funny voice."

Mr. Klick had emerged from cover and was standing expectantly with his hand on the cap.

Dear reader, have you ever been called upon to sing _Pop Goes the Weasel_ in a falsetto voice before a fractious baby, a small but intensely critical child, a stolidly contemptuous nurse, an agitated mother and a gaping photographer, with the knowledge that success or failure hangs upon your lips, and that all the time a diabolical machine in the street below is scoring threepence against you every minute or so? Of course you haven't; but possibly you may be able to enter into my feelings in this hour of trial. With a prickly heat suffusing my whole body and a melting sensation at the collar I struggled through the wretched lyric once. Timothy regarded me first with scorn and then with positive distaste. In desperation I squeaked it out again and yet again, but each succeeding "pop" only registered another scowl on the face of my offspring and another threepence on that of the cabman's clock.

I was maddened now, and Suzanne sought to restrain me; but I shook her off violently and went on again _da capo_, and was just giving vent for about the seventeenth time to a particularly excruciating "pop" when the door of the studio opened and a benevolent-looking old gentleman entered. He gazed at us all in wonderment, and, overcome by mingled shame and exhaustion, I sank into a chair and popped no more.

"Ah, Mr. Snapper," said Mr. Klick, "we were just trying to get this young gentleman amused."

Mr. Snapper, who, I should imagine, was the adenoid victim, looked first at me and next at Timothy, and then blew his nose vigorously. It was not an ordinary blast, but had a peculiarly musical _timbre_, very much like the note of a mouth-organ. It certainly attracted Timothy's attention, for he at once looked round and the glimmer of a smile appeared upon his tear-stained face.

"That's it!" cried Barbara excitedly. "Do it again."

"Oh, _please_ do," entreated Suzanne.

Mr. Snapper, adenoids or no adenoids, was a sportsman. He quickly understood what was required of him and blew his nose again and again. And with each blow Timothy's smile became wider, the dimples grew deeper, and Mr. Klick at the camera was pushing in and pulling out plates for all he was worth. At last Mr. Snapper could blow no more, and with profuse thanks we gathered ourselves, together and departed. On our arrival home the cabman, fortunately, was induced to accept a cheque in payment.

The photographs have turned out a great success. One in particular, which shows the first smile breaking through Timothy's tears, is of a very happy character, and Mr. Snapper has asked and received permission to send it to the illustrated Press under the title, "Sunshine and Shower"; and Aunt Caroline has not only been given a copy, _but has had it framed_.

Now, when I am called upon to produce a laugh from Timothy, I no longer make faces or "pop." I have discovered how to blow my nose like a mouth-organ. It's trying work, but the effect is magical.

* * * * *

* * * * *

Redintegratio Amoris.

"The Public is hereby notified that myself and my Wife Millicent ---- is together again. I got hasty and advertised her with no just cause. FITZ ----."--_West Indian Paper._

* * * * *

"This telegram had been preceded by others, which were, unfortunately, contrary to instructions at the Post Office, delivered at this office, which was closed, and, therefore, not opened."--_Irish Paper._

That, of course, would be so.

* * * * *

"At a meeting of the Child Study Society on Thursday, April 29th, at 6 p.m., Sir A. E. Shipley, G.B.E., D.Sc., F.R.S., will give a lecture, illustrated by lantern slides, on biting insects and children."

_British Medical Journal._

And we had always thought him such a kind man!

* * * * *

* * * * *

THE MINXIAD.

(_Being the scenario of a modern doggerel Epic._)

THE lady I choose for the theme of my lay Is a portent "conspicuous even to-day," For, though she was freely condemned and abhorred, She was never suppressed and she can't be ignored.

Her parents, most anxious to give a good time To their children, if only they helped them to climb, Unconsciously aiding the new Self-Expression Left all from the start to their daughter's discretion.

No nurse was allowed to rebuke her or warn her, No governess put her to stand in a corner; At six she revealed a peculiar joy In the taste of old brandy, and dressed like a boy; At eight she had read CASANOVA, CELLINI, And driven a toasting-fork into a tweeny; At ten she indited and published a story Described by _The Leadenhall News_ as "too gory." One governess after another was tried, But none of them stopped and one suddenly died. Then she went for a while to a wonderful school Which was run on the plan of the late Mrs. BOOLE; But no "ethical safeguards" could ever restrain So impulsive a heart and so fertile a brain; And a fire, for the kindling of which she was held Responsible, led to her being expelled.

On the strength of her fine pyromaniac rage For a season or two she appeared on the stage; Her dancing was crude and her voice was a blank, But she carried it off by superlative swank, And married a swarthy and elderly milli- Onaire who was killed in an earthquake in Chile. A militant during the Suffrage campaign, In the War she adopted the cause of Sinn Fein, And, according to credible witness, was seen In the thick of the fighting at Easter, '16. Escaping arrest by a dexterous dodge She became a disciple of OLIVER LODGE, Gave lectures on Swedish and Swiss callisthenics, Eurhythmics (DALCROZE) and Ukrainian eugenics. Last, married in haste to a Bolshevist don, She dyed her hair green and was painted by JOHN, Eloped with a squat anthropophagous Dago And finds a fit home in Tierra del Fuego.

* * * * *

"TEMPERANCE WOMEN OF ALL LANDS.

ONE PROPOSES KNEELING OUTSIDE HOUSE OF COMMONS."

_"Star" Headlines._

We have read the article carefully, but the Member to whom this Leap-Year proposal was made is not mentioned.

* * * * *

* * * * *

ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

_Monday, April 19th._--Primrose day in the House of Commons was more honoured in the breach than the observance. Barely a dozen Members sported Lord BEACONFIELD'S favourite flower (for salads), and one of them found himself so uncomfortably conspicuous that shortly after the proceedings opened he furtively transferred his buttonhole to his coat-pocket. Among those who remained faithful were Lord LAMBOURNE (in the Peers' Gallery), who had for this occasion substituted a posy of primroses for his usual picotee, and, quaintly enough, Mr. HOGGE, who had not hitherto been suspected of Disraelian sympathies.

For a Budget-day the attendance was smaller than usual. But it was large enough to prevent Mr. BILLING from securing his usual seat. The SPEAKER, however, did not smile upon his suggestion that he should occupy one of the vacant places on the Front Opposition Bench, and curtly informed him that there was plenty of room in the Gallery. Thither Mr. BILLING betook himself, and thence he addressed a question which Mr. HOPE, the Minister concerned, was unable to catch, his ears not being attuned to sounds from that altitude.

Otherwise Question-time was chiefly remarkable for the loud and continued burst of cheering from the Coalition benches which greeted Mr. WILL THORNE'S suggestion (_à propos_ of LENIN'S industrial conscription) that "it would be a very good thing to make all the idlers in this country work." Mr. THORNE seemed quite embarrassed by the popularity of his proposal, which did not, however, appear to arouse the same enthusiasm among his colleagues of the Labour Party.

It was four o'clock when Mr. CHAMBERLAIN rose to "open the Budget" (he clings to that old-fashioned phrase), and just after six when he completed a speech which Mr. ASQUITH (himself an ex-Chancellor of the Exchequer) justly praised for its lucidity and comprehensiveness.

Mr. CHAMBERLAIN could not on this occasion congratulate himself (as his predecessors were wont to do) on the accuracy of his forecasts. He had two shots last year, in Spring and Autumn, but both times was many millions out in his calculations. Fortunately all the mistakes were on the right side, and he came out with a surplus of one hundred and sixty-four millions (about as much as the whole revenue of the country when first he went to the Exchequer) to devote to the redemption of debt.

But that did not content him. For an hour by the clock he piled up the burdens on the taxpayer. His arguments were not always consistent. It is not quite easy to see why, because ladies have taken to smoking cigarettes, an extra heavy duty should be imposed on imported cigars; or how the appearance of "a new class of champagne-drinkers" justifies a further tax upon the humble consumer of "dinner-claret."

Nor is it easy to follow the process of reasoning by which the CHANCELLOR convinced himself that the Excess Profits Tax, which last year he described as a great deterrent to enterprise and industry, only, justifiable as "a temporary measure," should now be not merely continued but increased by fifty per cent.

This proposal seemed to excite more hostility than any other. But the single taxers were annoyed by the final disappearance of the Land Values Duties (the only original feature of Mr. LLOYD GEORGE'S epoch-making first Budget). Mr. RAFFAN pictured their author being dragged at the Tory chariot-wheels, and Dr. MURRAY observed that the land-taxes were evidently not allowed "on the other side of the Rubicon."

The general view was that the Government had shown courage in imposing fresh taxation, but would have saved themselves and the country a great deal of trouble if they had been equally bold in reducing expenditure.

_Tuesday, April 20th._--When a local band at Cologne recently played the "Wacht am Rhein" the British officers present stood up, on the ground (as they explained to a surprised German) that _they_ were now the Watch on the Rhine. But are they? According to Colonel BURN the Army of the Rhine is now so short of men that it is compelled to employ German civilians as batmen, clerks and even telephone-operators; and Mr. CHURCHILL was fain to admit that it would not surprise him to hear that "some assistance has been derived from the local population."

The Carnarvonshire police are peeved because they are not allowed to belong to any secret society except the Freemasons, and consequently are debarred from membership of the Royal Ante-diluvian Order of Buffaloes. Mr. SHORTT disclaimed responsibility, but it is expected that the Member for the Carnarvon Boroughs, who is notoriously sympathetic to Ante-diluvians (is not his motto _Après moi le déluge_?), will take up the matter on his return from San Remo.

Having had time to consider the Budget proposals in detail Mr. ASQUITH was less complimentary and more critical. Good-humoured chaff of the PRIME MINISTER on the demise of the Land Values Duties before they had yielded the "rare and refreshing fruits" promised ten years ago, was followed by a reasoned condemnation of the proposed increase in the wine duties, which he believed would diminish consumption and cause international complications with our Allies. The CHANCELLOR, again, had thought too much of revenue and too little of economy. He urged him--in a magnificent mixture of metaphors--to cut away those parasitic excrescences upon the normal administrative system of the country which now constituted an open tap.

_Wednesday, April 21st._--The abolition of the Guide-lecturer at Kew Gardens was deplored by Lord SUDELEY and other Peers. But as, according to Lord LEE, out of a million visitors last year only five hundred listened to the Guide--an average of less than three per lecture--the Government can hardly be blamed for saving a hundred pounds. Retrenchment, after all, must begin somewhere.

Sir DONALD MACLEAN cannot have heard of this signal example of Government economy or he would not have denounced Ministers so vehemently for their extravagance. His most specific charge was that in Mesopotamia they were "spending money like water in looking for oil."

In a further defence of the Budget proposals Mr. CHAMBERLAIN disclaimed the notion that it was the duty of the Chancellor of the Exchequer to denounce in the House the Estimates which he had approved in Cabinet. His business was to find the money. Circumstances had altered his attitude to the Excess Profits Duty, and he was now determined to stick to it. Did not a cynic once say that nothing succeeds like excess?

Mr. BARNES, who was loudly cheered on his return to the House, joined in the cry for economy. "Some departments," he declared, "existed only because they had existed."

The country clergy are without doubt the most over-rated persons in the country--I mean, of course, from a fiscal point of view. Consequently the House gave a friendly reception to a Bill intended to relieve them of some of their pecuniary burdens.

_Thursday, April 22nd._--When Dr. MACNAMARA was Secretary to the Admiralty no Minister was clearer or more direct in his answers. Now that he has become Minister he has laid aside his quarter-deck manner and adopted tones of whispering humbleness which hardly reach the Press Gallery.

He ought to take example fro Mr. STANTON, who never leaves the House in doubt as to what he means. This afternoon, his purpose was to announce that a certain "Trio" on the Opposition Benches was in league with the forces of disorder. "Bolshies!" he shouted in a voice that frightened the pigeons in Palace Yard.