Chapter 3

IV.--_SURREJOINDER FROM "HONEST JOHN."_

"My 'theory' ain't a bit wot the B.B. says it is. My 'theory' is that it's mean, and unfair, and unperfessional to curry favour with one's present backers by 'olding hup one's old pals to public redicule for doing wot we 'elped 'em to do, and at the time praised 'em _for_ doin'. I call that 'hitting below the belt!' And I believe every 'onest and manly Pug from FIGG to SAYERS would ha' said ditter to ''Onest JOHN.' That's all, Gemmen!"

(_Comment of the I.B.H. "Bosh! JOE's style of hitting is no doubt uncomfortable--for the Old 'Un and his pals. THAT'S EXACTLY WHY WE LIKE IT! What's the use of hitting above the belt only when the foe's only vulnerable below it? We rejoice to see the B.B. knocking the sawdust out of the Grand Old Fistic Fetish, and squelching the cant and claptrap out of 'Honest JOHN.'"_)

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STORICULES.

VII.--GAZEY.

"You're the fust pineter whort I've knowed," said JULIA SANBY, demurely. "Father works at a plumber's, but 'e ain't industr'us. 'E ain't a good man. An' mother drinks. Orful!"

JULIA SANBY had consented, in consideration of money received, to let me make a sketch of her. She was a tall thin child, with a dirty and very intelligent face, great grey eyes, and long reddish hair. She was very bright and talkative; and yet she amazed me by being distinctly sanctimonious. She looked critically round my studio on her entrance.

"You ain't got no tex' 'ung up," she remarked, disparagingly. "We 'as two tex' in our kitching. I 'ung 'em up myself. An' father beat me for it. But I didn't keer, 'cos I knew I wos doin' good."

She pressed her thin lips together, and looked like a mangled martyr.

"Do you go to Sunday School?" I asked, as I got to work.

"I goes reggler, an' I'm first in the School, and I knows more colics than any of 'em, excep' teachers. I ain't like GAZEY."

"Who's GAZEY?"

"She's a girl what I 'ites. She's a bad girl. We calls 'er GAZEY, 'cos it's short for GEHAZI; but that ain't 'er real nime. She's a liar. She's allus tellin' lies--seems as if she couldn't storp doin' it." JULIA SANBY sighed sadly.

"What kind of lies?"

"She don't tell no lies to get 'erself out of nothin'; 'cos she's so bad that she don't keer whort rows she gets inter. But she tells other sorts. She just sits up on the fence what goes roun' the green, an' mikes up things, an' a lot of the children ain't got no more sense than to sit roun' an' listen to 'er. That just mikes 'er worse. She sits theer, a-tellin' stories, an' sweerin' they're all true. You never 'eard such stories."

"What are they all about?"

"Mostly about gran' things an' wunnerful things--kings, an' carridges, an' angels, an' firewux, an' dreams what she says she's 'ad. An' she'll sweer they're true. My word, it is wicked of 'er! She's allus pretennin' to be things what she ain't, too. One Sat'dy arf'noon she said she was a steam-injun. An' she got 'old of a little boy, BOB COLLINGS, and said 'e was the tender. An' BOB COLLINGS 'ad to foller close be'ind 'er all that arf'noon, else she'd a' nigh killed 'im. 'E got rather tired, because she kept runnin' about, bein' a express an' 'avin' cerlishuns. Lawst of all she wived 'er awms about, and mide a kind o' whooshin' noise. 'Now,' she said, 'my biler's bust, an' I'm done for!' So she lay flat on the wet groun', an' the tender went 'ome to 'is tea."

"What's she like to look at?"

JULIA SANBY confessed, with apparent reluctance, that GAZEY was very pretty. "She's prettier nor I am, nor any of the other childrun roun' 'ere. She's got golding 'air, an' blue eyes. But I 'ite 'er, 'cos she's so bad, an' 'cos she mikes the other children bad. I don't never listen to none of 'er mike-ups now."

"Would she let me make a sketch of her?"

"Dunno. You wouldn't like 'er. She's low in the wye she talks. The new curick don't like 'er. Nobody don't like 'er."

Now, just in this sentence, I fancied that the sanctimoniousness of JULIA SANBY had become mixed with some real feeling. I also reflected on the fact that, although most children are egoists, JULIA SANBY seemed to take more pleasure in talking about GAZEY than in discussing herself. I had distinct suspicions.

"Could you remember any of GAZEY's stories?"

"Might, p'raps."

"Go on, then. Tell me one."

She began a story, which was obviously an improvisation, with little incidents taken from other stories added to it. It was full of the wildest imaginings. She told it without the least nervousness or embarrassment. Her assumption of demureness and sanctity vanished utterly. She became vivid and dramatic. "An' I'd tike my gorspil oath it's all true," she added, at the conclusion, as if from force of habit.

"JULIA SANBY," I said, "GAZEY has not got golden hair nor blue eyes, neither is she pretty. _You_ are GAZEY."

"I swear I ain't. I'm a good girl, and knows my colics; GAZEY's something orful."

"Very well," I answered, and went on finishing the sketch, as though I took no interest in her. After a few seconds' silence, she added, quite calmly,

"Owdjer know? I can pretend proper, cawn't I? But I 'adn't never talked about myself as if I was someone else afore. That pickshur ain't much like me."

"It will be when it's finished. Come to-morrow at the same time."

"Do you think I'm a liar?"

"You're either a liar or an artist, but I'm not sure which."

GAZEY put on her exceedingly frowsy hat. "The new curick needn't a bin so cock-sure about it then. G'mornin'."

* * * * *

THE LATEST FROM BOBBY.

(_AN INTERCEPTED LETTER._)

_Schoolhouse, Swishborough._

_Thursday._

DEAREST DARLING MOTHER,

I was so glad to get the hamper, and it has done me much good, all the fellows were pleased with the cake, and the sardines were first-rate, and the potted stuffs were awfully good. I am sorry you forgot the bottles of acidulated drops, but you can send them in the next hamper as soon as you like. There are only sixty-two days to the holidays--1688 hours including nights! Isn't that jolly!

And now, my dear Mother, I want to write most seriously to you upon a matter of great importance. You know I have been doing "Music" as an "extra." Well, it does not agree with me. The fact is, it is an hour every week in my playtime, when the Doctor says it is good for my health that I should be enjoying myself. And "Music" is an extra, like "Sausages for breakfast." And, of course, one has to think of all that. How hard dear Papa works to get his living; and, of course, I oughtn't to waste anything, ought I? Well, I really think I could give up "Music." After all, it's awful rot, and only fit for a pack of girls! So this is the great favour I'm going to ask you--and mind you say "Yes." May I give up "Music," and take up "Sausages for breakfast" instead?

Always your most loving Son, BOBBY.

* * * * *

IF THE FASHION SPREADS.

SCENE--_Interior of a Fashionable Church. The Incumbent has read the Banns of Marriage between JOHN PLANTAGENET DE SMITH and MARY STUART DE BROWN, and asks the usual question._

_Counsel_ (_rising in pew_). I beg to object.

_Incumbent_ (_surprised, but self-possessed_). You will be good enough to communicate with us in the Vestry, at the end of the service,

_Counsel_. But I prefer to raise my objections at once. I may say, Reverend Sir, that I am here on behalf of Mr. JOHN PLANTAGENET DE SMITH, who is my client. I am instructed by the Messrs. CAPIAS of Bedford Row, and I contend that since the Members of the London County Council have instructed counsel to appear on their behalf at meetings in which they themselves act judicially, the right extends to Places of Public Worship.

_Incumbent_. Perhaps we might hear you later. If you were kind enough to raise your objections in the Vestry, it would be--

_Counsel_ (_interrupting_). Pardon me, that would scarcely be satisfactory. We do not wish any hole-and-corner agitation. I am instructed by my client to say, that he courts the fullest investigation. Now, the facts are these:--

[_Gives the facts, and ends an eloquent speech with a magnificent peroration._

_Incumbent_. In consequence of the rather long argument of our dear and learned brother, the customary quarter of an hour's sermon will not be given on this occasion. [_Curtain._

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AL FRESCO OPERA.--_Cavalleria Rusticana_ at the Royal Shaftesbury, and _Le Rêve_ in the Winter (Covent) Garden kept by Ex-Sheriff DRURIOLANUS. "About the latter," says Sir DRURIOLANUS, "some enthusiasts quite _rave_. See?" (_Exit Ex-Sheriff, to note this down for the forthcoming Pantomime._)

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