Chapter 2

"Never mind," I said, "she'll know."

The Queen nodded. "Yes," she said meditatively, "rather nice--rather nice. Thank you very much. I'll think about it. Good-bye." She was gone.

R.F.

* * * * *

"On Monday evening an employee of the ---- Railway Loco. Department dislocated his jaw while yawning."--_Local Paper._

It is expected that the company will disclaim liability for the accident, on the ground that he was yawning in his own time.

* * * * *

NEW RHYMES FOR OLD CHILDREN.

THE CENTIPEDE.

The centipede is not quite nice; He lives in idleness and vice; He has a hundred legs; He also has a hundred wives, And each of these, if she survives, Has just a hundred eggs; And that's the reason if you pick Up any boulder, stone or brick You nearly always find A swarm of centipedes concealed; They scatter far across the field, But _one_ remains behind. And you may reckon then, my son, That not alone that luckless one Lies pitiful and torn, But millions more of either sex-- 100 multiplied by x-- Will never now be born. I daresay it will make you sick, But so does all Arithmetic.

The gardener says, I ought to add, The centipede is not so bad; He rather _likes_ the brutes. The millipede is what he loathes; He uses fierce bucolic oaths Because it eats his roots; And every gardener is agreed That, if you see a centipede Conversing with a milli--, On one of them you drop a stone, The other one you leave alone-- I think that's rather silly. They may be right, but what I say Is, "Can one stand about all day And _count_ the creature's legs?" It has too many, any way, And any moment it may lay Another hundred eggs; So if I see a thing like this (1) I murmur, "Without prejudice," And knock it on the head; And if I see a thing like that (2) I take a brick and squash it flat; In either case it's dead.

A.P.H.

(1) and (2). There ought to be two pictures here, one with a hundred legs and the other with about a thousand. I have tried several artists, but most of them couldn't even get a hundred on to the page, and those who did always had more legs on one side than the other, which is quite wrong. So I have had to dispense with the pictures.

* * * * *

ANOTHER IMPENDING APOLOGY.

"Ainsi parla l'éditeur du _Daily Herald_. Lord Lansbury a toujours été l'enfant chéri et terrible du parti travailliste anglais."--_Gazette de Lausanne._

* * * * *

"WANTED.

Small nicely furnished house, nice locality, for nearly married couple, from August 1st."--_Johannesburg Star._

We trust that no one encouraged them with accommodation.

* * * * *

* * * * *

THE MUDFORD BLIGHT.

Mary settled her shoulders against the mantel-piece, slid her hands into her pockets and looked down at her mother with faint apprehension in her eyes.

"I want," she remarked, "to go to London."

Mrs. Martin rustled the newspaper uneasily to an accompanying glitter of diamond rings. Mary's direct action slightly discomposed her, but she replied amiably. "Well, dear, your Aunt Laura has just asked you to Wimbledon for a fortnight in the Autumn."

Mary did not move. "I want," she continued abstractedly, "to _live_ in London."

Mrs. Martin glanced up at her daughter as if discrediting the authorship of this remark. "I don't know what you are thinking of, child," she said tartly, "but you appear to me to be talking nonsense. Your father and I have no idea of leaving Mudford at present."

"I want," Mary went on in the even tone of one hypnotised by a foregone conclusion, "to go and live with Jennifer and write--things."

Mrs. Martin's gesture as she rose expressed as much horror as was consistent with majesty.

"My dear Mary," she said coldly, "let me dispose of your outrageous suggestion before it goes any further. You appear to imagine that because you have been earning a couple of hundred a year in the Air Force during the War you are still of independent means. Allow me to remind you that you are not. Also that your father and I are unable and unwilling to bear the expenses of two establishments. Please consider the matter closed."

She swept from the room. Mary whistled softly to herself, then she walked to the desk and wrote a letter.

"... And that's that," she finished. "So now to business. I will send you some articles at the end of the week, and for goodness' sake be quick, because I can't stand this much longer."

When she had posted it she retired to her room and was no more seen till dinner.

They were bright articles and, like measle-spots, they appeared rapidly after ten days or a fortnight; unlike measles they seemed to be permanent. They dealt irreverently with Mudford society, draped in a thin veil of some alias material, and they signed themselves "Blight."

"Disgraceful!" snorted Colonel Martin, throwing one crumpled newspaper after another into the waste-paper basket. "Ought to be publicly burned! As if it weren't enough to find the beastly things all over the Club, without being pestered with them at home, making fun of the best people in Mudford. Bolshevism! Fellow ought to be shot! Wish I knew who he was and I'd do it myself. I _will not_ have another word of this poisonous stuff in my house. D'you hear, Gertrude?"

Mrs. Martin trailed into the hall in search of her sunshade.

"It's so difficult," she complained _en route_, "to know what paper he's coming out in next and stop it in time;" and she wandered mournfully into the garden.

"Mary," she sighed, sinking into a chair on the lawn, "have you noticed anything peculiar in the way people speak to us lately? Of course it may be only my imagination, and yet," she hesitated, "Admiral and Lady Rogers were quite--quite formal to me yesterday."

Mary balanced her tennis racquet on her outstretched hand and laughed. "It's the local Blight, I suppose. You and Father are about the only people left who haven't been withered yet, and the others are bound to think there's something suspicious about you. Stupid of me--I didn't think of that. I'm sorry."

Her mother started. "What do you mean?" she inquired sharply.

Mary rose languidly. "However," she added graciously, "I will put that right for you next week. I have several sketches that will do."

Mrs. Martin's face registered inquiry, incredulity, indignation and apoplexy in chronological order; then the garden gate clicked and a young man walked across the lawn. Mary looked down at her mother and spoke quietly.

"I think it is time you knew that I wrote those articles. One writes about what one sees, and as long as I remain here I shall see Mudford."

"Pardon me," began the young man, arriving, "but is this Colonel Martin's house?"

Mrs. Martin made no effort to reply and Mary reassured him.

"It's like this," he continued frankly. "I'm representing _The Daily Rebel_, and I'm awfully anxious to get certain information for my paper. I was speaking to Admiral Rogers just now and he told me I should probably get it here if I tried. He said he could only give me a guess himself and I had better come to headquarters. Madam," he bowed towards Mrs. Martin, "will you kindly tell me if you are the famous ..."

Here Mary interposed. "My mother," she said serenely, "is not the Mudford Blight. Nor is my father."

The young man wheeled on her.

"Then you ...?" he queried.

Mary hesitated, questioning her mother with a glance.

"My daughter," replied Mrs. Martin in a strangled voice, "cannot possibly be the person you seek since she is not a Mudford resident. She lives in London and is only staying here till to-morrow--at the latest."

Mary smiled radiantly and sent a wire later in the afternoon.

* * * * *

* * * * *

THE GYNECOPHOBE.

"While crossing a field near Berwick a gamekeeper noticed a dear coming in his direction and he took cover in a hayrick."--_Scotch Paper_.

* * * * *

"PARLOURMAID Wanted, afternoons, 2-6.30, galvanised iron, 50 ft. to 140 ft. long x 21 ft."--_Local Paper_.

It needs a girl with an iron constitution to support such a frame.

* * * * *

"For Sale, Clergyman's Grey Costume, latest style; also Jumper, never worn."--_Irish Paper_.

The reverend gentleman appears to have jibbed at the jumper.

* * * * *

* * * * *

MOVEMENT IN THE MONEY MARKET.

DEAR MR. PUNCH,--I have been spending my holiday at a watering place, a place that fully deserves its epithet. My London daily has been my only entertainment, and towards the evening hours I have found myself wandering about the less familiar beats of it. I have become an intimate of the City Editor, and I hasten to inform you, Mr. Punch, that he has introduced me to a side of the Gay Life which I have been missing all these years. I will set out the tale of it, even at the risk of making your readers blush.

It appears that recently a feeling spread in the Market (and that all these goings-on should take place in a market adds, in my view, to their curiousness) that a crisis had been reached in monetary restrictions and things might be eased a bit. Apparently there is a circle of people in the know, and by them it was immediately appreciated what this "relaxation" implied. The first overt sign of something doing was a "heavy demand for money," a need which I too, for all my quiet domesticity, have felt from time to time. No doubt the fast City set were filling their pockets before commencing a course of "relaxation." The next development was that the Market was approached from all sides with "applications for accommodation." I can picture the merry parties rolling up in their thousands, booking every available house, flat or room, and even paying very fancy prices for the hire of a booth for a house-party.

It may give you some idea of the nature of their "relaxation" when I say that our old friend the Bank of England seems to have so far forgotten herself as to start making advances to the Government. My City Editor, who is possibly a family man, cannot bring himself to give details; he just states the fact, merely adding the significant comment that "the usual reserve of the Bank is rapidly disappearing." The effect of this example is appearing in the most respectable quarters. "All attempts are now failing," he reports, for example, "to keep the Fiduciary Issue within limits." Reluctantly he mentions a "considerably freer tendency in Discount circles."

Further he records a tendency to over-indulgence in feasting. I read of figures (I hardly like to quote this bit) becoming "improperly inflated." Will you believe me when I add that a section of those participating in the beano, whose one fear was, apparently, that it would all end only too soon, actually were heard expressing the apprehension, to quote verbatim, "that they would deflate too rapidly." "The whole tone of the Market," says my City Editor, "became distinctly cheerful," and he pauses to comment on the one redeeming feature: "War Loan remaining steady, 84-15/16 middle."

And thence to the shocking climax: Trade Returns were unable to balance properly, and Money (to be absolutely outspoken and no longer to mince matters) got tight.

After this I was not surprised to read of "Mexican Eagles rising on the announcement of the new Gusher." Nor a little later to find the announcement, "Stock Exchange Dull." A very natural reaction.

Yours ever,

A SIMPLE WEST-ENDER.

* * * * *

PROFESSIONAL PRIDE.

Extract from a plumber's account:--

"To making good leaks in pipes, 8/6."

* * * * *

"Wanted 2 Lions male and female or either any of them. What will be the cost? Where they can be had and when can we get."--_Indian Paper._

Can any of our readers oblige this eager zoologist?

* * * * *

"An incident of an extraordinary nature befell Colonel ----, C.B., while playing a golf match at Brancaster. A large grey cow swooped down, picked up his ball and flew away with it."--_Newfoundland Paper._

Probably a descendant of the one who jumped over the moon.

* * * * *

* * * * *

ON RUNNING DOWN TO BRIGHTON.

When I consulted people about my nasal catarrh, "There is only one thing to do," they said. "Run down to Brighton for a day or two."

So I started running and got as far as Victoria. There I was informed that it was quite unnecessary to run all the way to Brighton. People walked to Brighton, yes; or hopped to Kent; but they never ran. The fastest time to Brighton by foot was about eight hours, but this was done without an overcoat or suit-case. Even on Saturdays they said it was quicker to take the train than to walk or to hop.

Brighton has sometimes been called London by the Sea or the Queen of Watering Places, but in buying a ticket it is better to say simply Brighton, at the same time stating whether you wish to stay there indefinitely or to be repatriated at an early date. I once asked a booking-clerk for two sun spots of the Western coast, and he told me that the refreshment-room was further on. But I digress.

One of the incidental difficulties in running down to Brighton is that the rear end of the train queue often gets mixed up with the rear end of the tram queue for the Surrey cricket ground, so that strangers to the complexities of London traffic who happen to get firmly wedged in sometimes find themselves landed without warning at the "Hoval" instead of at Hove. To avoid this accident you should keep the right shoulder well down and hold the shrimping-net high in the air with the left hand. If you do get into the train the best place is one with your back to the window, for, though you miss the view, after all no one else sees it either, and you do get something firm to lean up against. It was while I was travelling to Brighton in this manner that I discovered how much more warm this summer really is than many writers have made out.

Around Brighton itself a lot of legends have crystallized, some more or less true, others grossly exaggerated. There is an idea, for instance, that all the inhabitants of this town or, at any rate, all the visitors who frequent it, are exceedingly smart in their dress. Almost the first man whom I met in Brighton was wearing plus 4 breeches and a bowler hat. It is possible, of course, that this is the correct costume for walking to Brighton in. Later on I saw a man wearing a motor mask and goggles and a blue-and-red bathing suit. Neither of these two styles is smart as the word is understood in the West End.

Then there is the story that prices, especially the prices of food, are exceedingly high in Brighton. After all, the cost of food depends everywhere very much upon what you eat. I see no reason for supposing that the price of whelks in Brighton compares unfavourably with the price of whelks in other great whelk-eating centres; but the price of fruit is undeniably high. I saw some very large light-green grapes in a shop window, grown, I suppose, over blast furnaces, and when I asked what they cost I was considerably surprised. Being afraid, however, to go out of the shop without making a purchase, I eventually bought one.

But these things are all by the way. It was when I reached the sea-front at Brighton that I made the tremendous discovery which is really the subject of this article. I realised the secret of Brighton's charm. It can be stated very simply. _It lies in the number of things one needn't do there._

At little seaside resorts, such as Cockleham, there are a very limited number of things that people do, and as soon as one gets to Cockleham an irresistible inclination seizes one not to do them to-day. If anybody says it is a good day for bathing you say it is better for boating. And if they agree you wonder if, after all, golf.... And so you preserve your independence and feel rested and stave off for a little while the evil day. But only for a little. Very soon, for lack of alternative suggestions, you are bound to be dragged in and do something.

But at Brighton the number of things to do is so enormous and so varied that you can spend days and days in not doing them. On the pier alone there are something like a hundred complicated automatic machines which you needn't work; there are fishing-rods which you needn't hire, and concerts to which you needn't listen. The sea is full of rowing boats and motor- launches which you needn't charter, and the land is full of motor-brakes which you needn't board. You needn't mixed-bathe nor go and watch the professional divers, nor the fish in the Aquarium, nor the people with Norman profiles arriving in motor-cars at the hugest hotels. You can simply sit still on the beach and discuss which of these exciting things you won't do first. And while you sit still on the beach you can throw pebbles into the sea. No one has ever thrown as many pebbles into the sea in his life as he wanted to, because someone keeps saying, "Well, you must decide;" but at Brighton you can throw more than in any seaside place that I know. And, now I come to think of it, I wonder that there is no charge for throwing pebbles into the sea at Brighton. I should have thought a low wall with turnstile gates and three or four shies a penny ... but I leave this commercial idea for the Town Council to work out.

When I had thrown a great many pebbles into the sea I began to nerve myself for the struggle of returning. Over that struggle I prefer, as the saying is, to draw a veil. Suffice it to say that it is harder to run up to Brighton than it is to run down. But whilst I was running up I made a curious and interesting discovery. I found that the spell of Brighton had cured my cold. I had lost it in the soothing excitement of wondering what not to do next. This is the true panacea.

EVOE.

* * * * *

* * * * *

RHYMES OF THE UNDERGROUND.

The story has been told to you Of good Adolphus Minns of Kew, Whose virtuous ways have won renown From Barking Creek to Acton Town.

Now with that hero's blameless life Contrast the conduct of his wife: Avoidance of egregious sins Is not the way of Mrs. Minns.

That lady, I regret to say, While bent on shopping every day, Makes no attempt to get it o'er Between the hours of ten and four.

To harassed booking-office clerks She makes irrelevant remarks, And tenders, to the crowd's despair, A pound-note for a penny fare, Or, what perhaps is even worse, Starts fumbling in a baggy purse.

She'll step aboard a Highgate train, Then check and double back again, And ask a dislocated queue If she is right for Waterloo.

The liftmen, who, you recollect, Spoke of Adolphus with respect, Are pessimistic, even for them, About the fate of Mrs. M.

Where Gertrude Minns will go when she Departs this life is not for me, Or you, or liftmen, to decree. And, any way, we needn't fret; She shows no sign of dying yet.

* * * * *

* * * * *

THE END OF THE SEASON.

The letters of the alphabet were talking.

"It's been a wonderful season," said S. "I 'm very proud of it."

"Yes," said C; "I don't suppose so much interest was ever taken in cricket before. The number of people able to spend time at a match has been the greatest ever known."

L agreed. "Even on the middle days of the week," he said, "Lord's has been packed."

"Lord's, forsooth!" O struck in. "Lord's has been empty compared with the Oval. The Ovalites have lost no opportunity of watching their heroes."

"When you say 'their heroes' you mean also mine," said H. "But they are not confined to the Oval. I have some at Lord's too; in fact, all over the country. It has been, all the best critics say, an H year." He ticked them off on his fingers. "For Surrey, HOBBS and HITCH; for Middlesex, HENDREN and HEARNE; for Yorkshire, HIRST and HOLMES; for Notts, HARDSTAFF; for Kent, HARDINGE and HUBBLE; for Worcestershire, HOWELL. And four of them," he added, "are going to play for England in Australia. It's a feather in my cap, I can tell you," H went on. "And I needed the encouragement too. No one is treated so badly as I am, especially in London, where I'm being dropped all day long or forced into company which I don't care about. Isn't that true?"

"Not 'arf!" said C, who is a good deal of a Cockney.

"There!" said H with a sigh, "I told you so."

"There's no doubt that our friend the aspirate has done it this year," said T; "but some of us are not downhearted. Look at all my TYLDESLEYS."

"We're quite willing to look at them," said C, "but don't ask us to count them. Meanwhile what about my COOK in the same county? And good old hard-working COE and COX?"

"Yes," said L, "and what about Lancashire itself--almost at the top of the tree? And LEE of Middlesex? H may have the greatest number of heroes, but we're not to be sneezed at. And even his wonderful HOBBS couldn't win the championship. It rested between M and me. I'm proud to be M's next-door neighbour."

"It's been a great season for me," said M. "I admit to being nervous on the second day of the last great match, but all's well now. What a game that was! And it's not only of Middlesex that I'm proud; if you glance at the batting averages you will notice MEAD not a great way removed from the top; and MAKEPEACE not far below him, and I hold MURRELL in special esteem."

"Yes," said R, "and if you continue to look you will find RHODES at the head of the bowling, and RUSHBY and RICHMOND in honourable places, and the steady RUSSELL with over two thousand runs to his name. There are also two brothers named RELF. Good heavens, the H's aren't everything!"

"He doesn't claim, I hope," B struck in, "that BROWN begins with H, or BOWLEY, or Bat or Ball or Bails?"

"Nor," said S, "that SANDHAM and SUTCLIFFE and STEVENS and SEYMOUR and the gallant little STRUDWICK (who, like all wicket-keepers, is so liable to be overlooked) never existed? Not to mention my latest recruit, Mr. SKEET? Some letters can be too haughty and--"

"Grasping," said G. "But all of you must be careful of me. I carry big GUNNS."