Chapter 2

_Müller._ The ALL-HIGHEST has also said several times that our soldiers would be back in their homes before the leaves fell from the trees, and here are you and I doomed to go away from our homes in the third year of the war. It would be better, I think, if the ALL-HIGHEST did not always speak so much and tried honestly to bring us a good solid peace.

_Schultze_ (_with a deep sigh_). Peace? I do not think we shall ever have peace again. And the winning of victories seems to push it always further away from us. At that rate what is the use of victories?

_Müller._ Then you don't believe that the U-boats can starve England into surrender?

_Schultze._ Certainly I don't. Do you know anyone that does believe in that fairy story? All that the U-boats have really effected up to the present has been to bring in America on the side of our enemies.

_Müller._ That doesn't matter. The Americans have no army.

_Schultze._ Wasn't that what we said about the English? You yourself said it as loudly as anyone else at the beginning.

_Müller._ The fact is this War has gone on too long. A war for six weeks, that one can endure; but when it goes on for years--

_Schultze._ Yes, that is not so pleasant, though the KAISER is always talking about hacking through and having an iron fist and being a wall of steel and other things of that sort.

_Müller._ Oh, he! I'm tired to death of his speeches and his prancing about. Again I say I don't care who hears me. We have done enough for glory; isn't there something we can do for peace?

_Schultze._ No, nothing--and you know it. It is more likely we shall end in prison if we talk like this.

* * * * *

* * * * *

"NAVAL APPOINTMENTS.

"ROYAL NAVAL RESERVE.

"Mr. J.R. MACDONALD entered as Skipper (temp.)"--_The Times._

If this is how the Government hopes to get the Member for Leicester to Petrograd there is still the difficulty of enlisting a crew (temp.)

* * * * *

"Successful raids were carried out by us during the night east of Lagnicourt (two or three metres south of Bullecourt)."--_Evening Times and Echo._

For the sake of precision we could have wished that the measurement had been worked out to inches.

* * * * *

"Thousands on foot and in every kind of vehicle visited the grisly relic. A Sunday school teacher marched the girls of her class to the place. Some 80ft. of her nose-end is stuck aslant in the air."--_Daily Mail._

Not every woman is so well-equipped for showing contempt of the enemy.

* * * * *

"Wanted, Coachman-Chauffeur, 'Over-land' Car (Protestant), over military age."--_Londonderry Sentinel._

Whatever its religion a car of this age must be almost past praying for.

* * * * *

"The sort of women who literally make ducks and drakes of their duty as the family administrator."--_Spectator._

Having regard to the high price of poultry might not the new Food-Controller get these women to explain how they do it?

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THE BUFFER'S VINDICATION.

I haven't fought, I haven't dug, I've worn no special caps, Too little has my country, sure, had from me; _But_ I've never talked of "strafe-ing" anyone for any lapse, And I've never called a fighting man a "Tommy."

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* * * * *

THE WATCH DOGS.

LXII.

MY DEAR CHARLES,--I've become so artful these days in disguising identities under assumed names that I'm hanged if I can remember myself which of my people is which. Still I daresay your own memory isn't too good, so we'll call him Ross this time, and trust to luck that that is what we called him last time. He is that one of my friends and fellow sinners who was plugging along nicely at the Bar in 1914, and was just about to take silk, when he changed his mind, came to France and got mixed up in what he calls "this vulgar brawl on the Continent." After nearly three years of systematic warfare in the second line he has at last achieved the rank of full lieutenant, which is not so bad for a growing lad of forty-five; and is running one of those complicated but fascinating side-shows which, to oblige Their Exigencies, we have to label Queer Trades, and leave at that.

Whether his department is or is not making history it is certainly one which calls for a vast amount of special knowledge in its _personnel_. Ross, having been at the Bar, knows nothing and knows that he knows nothing, but is able to pretend to know just enough to keep his end up with Thos. J. Brown, who, disguised as a corporal, really runs the business. "Our Mr. Brown," as Ross calls him, is one of those nice old gentlemen who wear large spectacles and cultivate specialist knowledge on the intensive system. Owing to his infallibility in all details and upon all occasions he was much sought after in peace time by the larger commercial houses. When War broke out our Mr. Brown disdained peace. He made at once for the Front; but his aged legs, though encased in quite the most remarkable puttees in France, were found to be less reliable than his head, and he was held up on his way to the trenches and diverted to the stool of Ross's office.

He began by putting some searching and dreadfully intelligent questions to Ross; dissatisfied with Ross's answers, he concentrated his mind on the business for twenty-four consecutive hours, at the end of which period he was the master of it in more senses than one. Since that time Ross has ensured the efficient running of his office by keeping out of it when it is busy. When for appearance sake he has to be there he does as his Mr. Brown tells him, and never wastes the latter's time by arguing.

In the Army, all fleas have bigger fleas upon their backs to bite 'em. Were this not so somebody would have to act upon his own responsibility, and that, as you will admit, would make war an impossibility. Accordingly in every department there is a series of authorities, starting with "other ranks" at the bottom, proceeding in an ascending scale of dignity and worth, and disappearing through a cloud of Generals into an infinite of which no man knoweth the nature. Thus, with Ross's business (to take the tail end of it) the letter which the Corporal writes the Lieutenant signs on behalf of the Major. It is when the Major wants to do something more active that trouble arises. Let us take an incidental matter of administrative detail for example, setting it forth, as all military matters should be set forth, in paragraphs, separately numbered:--

1. Lt. Ross possessed a bicycle, motor, one. No. 54321 L/Cpl. Burt possessed feet, two, only. Ross had no occasion, ability or disposition to ride a motor bicycle. No. 54321 could neither do his business nor enjoy life afoot. Accordingly, No. 54321 rode the bicycle, while, for the purposes of what is known to better people than ourselves as Establishment, Ross owned it. But that was in the good old days, before Traffic and Police and all the Others interested themselves.

2. The first thing Traffic did was to say that all owners of motor bicycles must own cards, and produce them when demanded. That was easy: No. 54321 got the card. Then Police issued some vague but menacing literature with regard to the fate of people who stole other people's property or failed to stick to their own. There was no difficulty about this; Ross publicly fathered the thing.

3. Traffic, issuing new cards, said next that all owners of cards must also own bicycles. Realising the quandary, Ross was for saying he wouldn't play any more, but would declare a separate peace. His Mr. Brown however got up a long and intricate correspondence, at the end of which Ross was still owner and No. 54321 was still rider; both had cards, and all the authorities had, unknowingly, made themselves parties to the fraud.

Suddenly the Major declared his intention of putting the whole of Ross's establishment (including bicycle) on what he called a satisfactory basis by a series of orders which he proposed to draft himself. Ross, always ready to be put on a satisfactory basis by anybody, took note of the draft, and laid it before his Mr. Brown. The latter was aghast, and proved, by infallible reasons, the fatal results which would follow if the matter was stirred up. Ross made a careful note of the reasons, and laid them before the Major. The Major explained gently that discipline was discipline. And so Ross went to and fro between the two, until the Major said, "Really, Ross!" and his Mr. Brown said, "I'm very sorry, Sir, but there it is;" and yet Ross couldn't sack his Major, and he couldn't break away from his Mr. Brown.

He was between the Devil and the Deep Sea. What was he to do about it? Well, he just told the Deep Sea to keep calm a little longer, and went and waited outside the Devil's Mess. He saluted and asked the Devil if he'd care to come for a walk, and, the latter consenting, he led him to the Deep Sea. Then, when the Devil himself had been introduced to the Deep Sea itself, Ross slipped off and left them in his office to fix it up between themselves.

Ross dined with the Major that night, and the latter said he wasn't feeling at all well. The way Ross's Mr. Brown had licked his thumb and the lightning speed with which he had turned up exactly the right correspondence, office minute or Routine Order, had nearly given the Major heart disease. Besides, he'd lost the argument. "I was too heavily handicapped from the start," said he, "by not being in a position to lick _my_ thumb or to stick _my_ pencil behind my ear."

It was a good idea to introduce the Major and Mr. Brown, wasn't it, Charles? The Major says he was the first to suggest it, and Ross is careful to leave the credit with the Major, because he is sure that the idea really originated in the fertile and masterful brain of his Mr. Brown.

Yours ever,

HENRY.

* * * * *

* * * * *

ANOTHER IMPENDING APOLOGY.

From a South African Parish Magazine:--

"Many thanks to the Rev. ---- and the Rev. ---- for coming to St. ---- during the past month. The Rector went off to Clifton and Park Town, and enjoyed the change almost as much as the congregation."

* * * * *

"A bird flew into Willesden Court yesterday and perched above the magistrate's head.

"Alderman Pinkham: 'It's not often we 'get the bird' on the bench.'"

But the "Beak" is there all the time.

* * * * *

* * * * *

ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

_Monday, June 18th._--Arising out of the dethronement of TINO a cloud-burst of questions descended upon Lord ROBERT CECIL, who took refuge under a wide-spreading umbrella of official ignorance. Mr. LYNCH was annoyed because his question whether the Allies would oppose the foundation of a Greek Republic was dismissed as "hypothetical," but Lord ROBERT assured him that there was "nothing abusive" in the epithet. But is that so? Suppose he were to describe Mr. LYNCH as a "hypothetical statesman"?

A detailed history of a Canterbury lamb, from its purchase in New Zealand at 6-3/8_d._ a pound to its sale to the British butcher at 10-1/2_d._, was given by Mr. GEORGE ROBERTS. He threw no light, however, on the problem why it should double in price before reaching the consumer. This is engaging the anxious consideration of Lord RHONDDA, who declares that there is no adequate economic reason why Little Mary should have only a little lamb.

In the House of Commons as in a music-hall you can always get a laugh by referring to "the lodger." Whether the lodger, who is considered quite good enough to vote for a mere Member of Parliament, should also be allowed a voice in the election of really important people like town councillors was the theme of animated discussion. It ended ultimately in the lodger's favour, with the proviso that the apartments he occupies should be unfurnished. On such niceties does the British Constitution depend.

_Tuesday, June 19th._--Mr. BALFOUR received a warm welcome from all sections of the House on making his first appearance after his return from America. Even the ranks of Tuscany, on the Irish benches, could not forbear to cheer their old opponent. Besides securing American gold for his country, he has transferred some American bronze to his own complexion, and has, if anything, sharpened his faculty for skilful evasion and polite repartee by his encounters with Transatlantic journalists.

In the course of the daily catechism on the subject of air-raids Mr. MACMASTER inquired, "Why is it that Paris appears to be practically immune, while London is not?" The answer came, not from the Front Bench, but from the Chair, and was delivered in a tone so low that even the Official Reporter failed to catch it. That is a pity, because it furnishes a useful hint for Ministers. In future, when posed with futile or embarrassing questions about the War, let them follow the SPEAKER'S example, and simply say, "You must ask the KAISER!"

In a perfectly free division, in which Ministers and ex-Ministers were mixed up together in both Lobbies, woman's right to be registered as a Parliamentary elector was affirmed by 385 votes to 55. Some capital speeches were made on both sides, but if any of them turned a vote it was probably the cynical admission of the ATTORNEY-GENERAL that he was as much opposed to female suffrage as ever, but meant to vote for it because it was bound to come. This probably had an even greater effect upon the average Member, who is not an idealist, than the nutshell novelette in which Lord HUGH CECIL lightly outlined the possible future of the female politician.

_Wednesday, June 20th._--Military metaphors come naturally to the Duke of MARLBOROUGH. Yet I cannot think he was happily inspired when, in reminding the farmers of their duty to put more land under the plough, he compared the compulsory powers of the Board of Agriculture to a sword in its scabbard, and hoped there would be no necessity to rattle it. Everybody knows that the sword in question is a converted ploughshare, and that it rests with the War Office to turn it back again.

Last night fifty-five Members resisted Votes for Women. By this afternoon twenty-five of them had so far changed their minds as to protest against the limitation of the privilege to women over thirty. Major ROWLAND HUNT, convinced that women would soon vote themselves into the House, expressed a naïve preference for "young 'uns."

_Thursday, June 21st._--During Sir EDWARD GREY'S long tenure of the Foreign Secretaryship he rarely visited the House of Commons more than twice a week. Until his voyage to the United States, Mr. BALFOUR was even less attentive to his Parliamentary duties and left most of the "donkey-work"-- if one may so describe the business of answering the questions of curious Members--to Lord ROBERT CECIL. Since his return Mr. BALFOUR has developed a new zest for this pastime, and to-day for the third time in succession appeared in his place. Everybody is pleased to see him there, except perhaps the curious Members aforesaid, who find him even more chary of information than his deputy. Had not the PRESIDENT of the United States said something about Alsace-Lorraine? ventured Corporal LEES-SMITH. Mr. BALFOUR, fresh from the White House, blandly replied, "I do not propose to discuss President WILSON'S Notes."

The notion, prevalent at the beginning of the War, that every German waiter was an emissary of the KAISER, only awaiting "The Day" when he should return to take a full revenge for meagre gratuities, still subsists in certain minds. Mr. BROOKES was manifestly disappointed when Dr. MACNAMARA assured him that the aeronaut captured in the recent raid was not, as he supposed, one of these returned Ganymedes, but was making his first appearance on English soil.

* * * * *

"A small fire at a variety theatre burnt some dresses all up, but the revue went on as usual."--_Berrow's Worcester Journal._

No need to worry over little things like that.

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* * * * *

TO FIELD-MARSHAL SIR DOUGLAS HAIG.

JUNE 19TH, 1917.

Sir, though in dealing with the strong and straight Of sentiment one cannot be too thrifty, Still, after reading your despatch--the date Chimes with your birthday, _ætat_ six-and-fifty-- A humble rhymer, though denied by fate Possession of the high poetic "giftie," May yet express the hope it won't displease you To see yourself as one plain person sees you.

Some call you cold, because you are not prone To bursts of eloquence or flights of feeling; You do not emulate the fretful tone Of those who turn from boastfulness to squealing; Your temperament, I am obliged to own, Is not expansive, Celtic, self-revealing; But some of us admire you none the less For your laconic simple truthfulness.

No doubt you would provide far better "copy" To the industrious drivers of the quill If you were more emotional and sloppy, More richly dowered with journalistic skill; To make despatches blossom like the poppy You never have essayed and never will; In short, you couldn't earn a pound a week As a reporter on _The Daily Shriek_.

Frugal in speech, yet more than once impelled To utter words of confidence and cheer, Whereat some dismal publicists rebelled As premature, ill-founded, insincere-- Words none the less triumphantly upheld By Victory's verdict, resonantly clear, Words that inspired misgiving in the foe Because you do not prophesy--you _know_;

Steadfast and calm, unmoved by blame or praise, By local checks or Fortune's strange caprices, You dedicate laborious nights and days To shattering the Hun machine to pieces; And howsoe'er at times the battle sways The Army's trust in your command increases; Patient in preparation, swift in deed, We find in you the leader that we need.

* * * * *

"The temperature in Berlin yesterday was 131 degrees Centigrade, which is the highest temperature since 1848."--_Daily Dispatch._

Equal to about 268 degrees Fahr. and quite hot enough to keep the Imperial Potsdam boiling.

* * * * *

"A correspondent who knows a great deal about the coat trade says there is going to be great difficulty in obtaining coal during the coming winter."--_Torquay Times._

This will confirm the belief that the shortage of fuel is not unassociated with the vested interests.

* * * * *

"We, on the other hand, are just as much entitled, under any sane code of morals, to bombard Kerman towns as to shoot German soldiers on the field."--_The Globe._

We think, however, that the inhabitants of these Persian towns might reasonably object to such vicarious reprisals.

* * * * *

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

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

Our moorland novelists are of two schools. One of them depicts the dwellers on these heights as a superior race, using a vocabulary half Biblical, half minor-poetic, in which to express the most exalted sentiments; the other draws a picture of upland domesticity comparable to that found in a cage of hyenas. Mr. HALLIWELL SUTCLIFFE, though he is too skilled an artist to overdo the colouring, inclines (I am bound to say) so much towards the former method that I confess to an uneasy doubt, at times, whether any human families could maintain existence on the same plane of nobility as, for example, the _Holts_ in his latest romance, _Lonesome Heights_ (WARD, LOCK). These _Holts_ were a race of farmer-squires, and in the book you see their development through two generations: the masterful old man and his twin sons. This is all the tale; a simple enough record, but full of the dignity and beauty which make the reading of any story by this author a refreshment to irritated nerves. Towards the end some space is devoted to the fight to abolish child-labour in the dale mills; there is also a scandal, and the fastening of blame upon the wrong brother; no very great matter. It is for such scenes as that of the death of old _Holt_, and his last words to the horse that has thrown him, that _Lonesome Heights_ will earn its place on your library list.

* * * * *

_The Dice of the Gods_ (HEATH, CRANTON) is not, as the title suggests, something rather thrilling in the way of romantic fiction, but one of those dispassionate novels in which the author, through the medium of his puppets, gently scourges the follies of society. _William van der Beck_, whose fictional house of clay very obviously clothes the spiritual essence of the author, Mr. LUCIAN DE ZILWA, returns to his native Colombo with a liberal education, to find that the life and thought of the strange Indo-European bourgeoisie to which he belongs by birth present no alluring features. In point of fact the ambitions and hypocrisies, pretences and prejudices of the Cingalese "burgher" with the tell-tale finger-nails are merely those of Bristol or Amsterdam evolved under Colonial conditions. _Jack van der Beck_, for example, the pompous medical ass with a flourishing practice among the local nabobs, can be found in every provincial town in Europe. _The Dice of the Gods_ has no plot worthy of the name, but Mr. DE ZILWA has both satire and philosophy at his command, and a flair for atmosphere. His scenery and "props" too will be new even to the most hardened novel-reader. He paints a vivid Oriental background with which the semi-Western civilization of his characters alternately blends and contrasts rather effectively.

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