Chapter 1

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PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

VOL. 152.

May 30th, 1917.

CHARIVARIA.

Mr. WILL THORNE declares that a hotel in Petrograd charged him twelve shillings for four small custards. After all, the war spirit of Russia, it would seem, is not wholly dead.

* * *

According to officials of the Food Ministry, "domestic pastry" may still be baked. The idea is that this kind of pastry tends to decrease the total number of food consumers.

* * *

Allied control officers have discovered fifteen hundred tons of potatoes hidden in Athens. The Salonika expedition is now felt to be justified.

* * *

A certain Kingston resident, when out walking, wears a white band on his hat, the with words, "Eat less bread. Do it now." Eyewitnesses report that the immediate rush of pedestrians to the tea-rooms to eat less bread is most gratifying.

* * *

"The British loaf," according to Mr. KENNEDY JONES, "is going to beat the Germans." If grit can do it, we agree.

* * *

"Allotments under cultivation in Middlesex," says a weekly paper breathlessly, "if place end to end, would reach five miles." Of course it is not thought likely that they will be.

* * *

The father of a lad charged with embezzlement explained that since the boy was struck on the head with a cricket ball he could not keep a penny novel out of his hands. Speculation is now rife as to the nature of the accidents responsible for the passion that some people entertain for our more expensive fiction.

* * *

"It is possible," says a contemporary, "that an invention will one day be forthcoming which will make a clean sweep of the submarine." Meanwhile we must expect him to go on acting like the dirty sweep he is.

* * *

To meet the paper shortage, Austrian editors have determined to economise by reducing the daily reports of victories.

* * *

_Le Matin_ states that at a Grand Council of War sharp disagreement on the conduct of operations arose between the KAISER and HINDENBURG. The Marshal, we understand, insisted upon the right to organise his own defeats without any assistance from the All-highest-but-one.

* * *

A London dairyman has been heavily fined for selling water containing a large percentage of milk.

* * *

"To tell the honest truth," said the Hon. JOHN COLLIER, giving evidence in the Romney case, "we artists do not think much of the art critics." It is this dare-devil attitude which distinguishes your real genius.

* * *

Some surprise was recently caused in Liverpool when the residents learned from the _Cologne Gazette_ that their port had been destroyed and all the inhabitants removed to another town. They consider that in common fairness the _Cologne Gazette_ ought to have given them some idea as to where they were living.

* * *

It is announced that four German War Correspondents have been decorated with the Iron Cross of the Second Class. We have always maintained that the War Correspondent, like his fighting brother, is not immune from the perils of warfare.

* * *

We are not surprised to learn that the mouth-organ is the favorite instrument among the soldiers in a certain Labour unit. The advantage of this instrument is that when carried in the pocket it does not spoil the figure like a cello.

* * *

Now that the shortage of starch supply will compel men to wear soft collars it is understood that Mr. GEORGE BERNARD SHAW, who already wears them soft, proposes to give up collars altogether, so as not to be mistaken for an ordinary man.

* * *

City business houses, it is stated, are adopting the practice of closing during the dinner-hour. The old fashioned custom of doing business and dining on alternate days had much to recommend it.

* * *

There was no sugar in England when Crécy and Agincourt were fought, as Captain BATHURST told the House of Commons recently. How the War Office did without its afternoon tea in those barbarous days it is impossible to conjecture.

* * *

The forthcoming Irish Convention is to be held, it is stated, behind locked doors. Why not add a charming element of adventure to the affair by entrusting some thoroughly absent-minded person with the key?

* * *

Lord ESHER believes that "our home-coming is not far distant." Meanwhile it is cheering to know that quite a number of our fellows are getting home on the HINDENBURG line.

* * *

"Walking canes for ladies with small round heads of ivory" are becoming increasingly popular, declared a contemporary. We ourselves would hesitate to lash the follies of smart Society in a manner quite so frank.

* * *

It appears that at the Bath War Hospital a hen lays an egg every day in a soldier's locker. Only physical difficulties prevent the large hearted bird from laying it in his egg-cup.

* * *

ZAMBI, a Zulu native, has just died at the age of a hundred-and-twelve. It seems that war-worry hastened his end.

* * * * *

* * * * *

=Professional Candour.=

From a dentist's advertisement:--

"TEETH EXTRACTED WITH THE GREATEST PAINS"

* * * * *

"Wanted.--Good cook-general, for very small Naval officer's family."

_Isle of Wight Mercury_.

Intending applicants should exercise caution. A very small Naval officer may have a very large family.

* * * * *

"£5 REWARD--Lost from Ruislip (July, 1214), half-persian dark tabby tom cat."

_Harrow Observer_.

And they tell us that a cat has only nine lives!

* * * * *

=THE PROPHETIC PRESENT.=

"There is no Hindenburg line."

_Inspired German Press_.

By nature they abhor the light, But here in this their latest tract Your parrot Press by oversight Has deviated into fact; If not (at present) strictly true, It shows a sound anticipation Born of the fear that's father to The allegation.

For, though the boasted "line" of which No trace occurs on German maps Retains the semblance of a ditch, It has some nasty yawning gaps; It bulges here, it wobbles there, It crumples up with broken hinges, Keeping no sort of pattern where Our Push impinges.

When the triumphant word went round How that your god, disguised as man, At victory's height was giving ground According to a well-laid plan, Here he arranged to draw the line (As _Siegfried's_ you were told to hymn it) And plant _Nil ultra_ for a sign-- Meaning the limit.

And now "There's no such thing," they say; Well, that implies prophetic sense; And, if a British prophet may Adopt their graphic present tense, I would remark--and so forestall A truth they'll never dare to trench on:-- _There is no HINDENBURG at all, Or none worth mention_.

O.S.

* * * * *

=WAYS AND MEANS.=

I met her at the usual place, and she looked much the same as usual--which astonished me rather.

"Now that we're engaged," I began.

"Oh, but we aren't," said Phyllis.

"Are you by any chance a false woman?" I asked. "You remember what you said last night?"

"I do, and what I said I stick to. But that was pleasure, and this is business."

I looked at her in sudden alarm.

"You're--you're quite sure you aren't a widow, Phyllis?"

"Quite. Why?"

"Talking of business at a time like this. It sounds so--so experienced."

"Well, if you _will_ try to settle our whole future lives in one short week-end leave, we must at least be practical. Anyway, it's just this. I'm not going to be engaged to you until there's some prospect of our getting married. I hate long engagements."

"That means not till after the War, then," said I disconsolately.

"I'm afraid it does. But when once the War's over it won't be long before you'll be able to keep me in the style to which I'm accustomed, will it?"

"Years and years, I should think," said I, looking at her new hat. "It'll take at least a pound a day even to start with."

"Three hundred and sixty-five a year," said she thoughtfully.

"And an extra one in Leap Year," I warned her.

"Did I ever tell you," she asked with pride, "that I have money of my own?"

"Hurrah!" I shouted. "You darling! How splendid!"

"Jimmy," she said apprehensively, "you aren't marrying me for it, are you?"

"How can I tell till I know how much you've got?"

"Well, at a pound a day it would take us to February 19th. You'd have to begin from there."

"What an heiress! Promise you'll never cast it in my teeth, dear, that I've got less than you. I've got enough War Loan to take us on to the 23rd and halfway through the 24th; and Exchequer Bonds and things which will see us through--er--to about 7.15 P.M. on March 31st. Then there's my writing."

"Oh," she said in a surprised tone "do they pay you for that? I always thought you gave them so much a line to put things in--like advertisements, you know."

"Madam," I answered with dignity, "when you find yourself, from April 1st until April 20th, depending each year upon my pen for the very bread you eat, perchance you will regret those wounding words."

"Well, what else?"

I shook my head.

"That's all," I said. "We don't seem to have got very far, do we? Couldn't you--er--trim hats, or take in washing, or something?"

"No--but _you_ could. I mean, we haven't counted in your salary yet, have we?"

"What salary?"

"Well, whatever they give you for doing whatever you do. What were you getting before the War?"

"Oh, nothing much."

"Yes, but _how_ much?"

"Really," I began stiffly.

"If you're ashamed to say it right out, just tell me how far it would take us."

"To about the end of September, I should think."

"Oh, dear! Three more months to go." A frown wrinkled her forehead; then her brow cleared. "Why, of course we haven't counted in the holidays."

"They aren't usually an asset."

"Yes, they are--if you spend them with your rich relations. I've got lots, but I don't think they'd like _you_ much."

"All right," said I shortly; "_keep_ your beastly relations. I shall go to Uncle Alfred for October. _He_ loves me."

"That leaves November and December," she mused. "Oh, well, there's nothing else for it--we must quarrel."

"What, now?"

"No, stupid. Every October 31st, by letter. Then I'll go home to mother, and you'll stay with Uncle Alfred some more. I hope he'll like it."

"Y-e-s," I said doubtfully. "That would do it, of course. But we shan't see very much of each other that way, shall we? Still, I suppose.... Good Heavens!"

"What's the matter?"

"Phyllis, we've forgotten all about income-tax. That means about another two months to account for."

"My dear, how _awful!_"

There was a pause while we both thought deeply.

"Couldn't you ..." we began together at last, and each waited for the other to finish.

"Look here," I remarked, "we're both very good at finding things for the other to do. Isn't there anything we could do together--a job for 'respectable married couple,' you know?"

"Why, of course--caretaking! We'll look after ducal mansions in the silly season, when everybody's out of town. Then we'll see simply heaps of one another."

"Yes," I agreed. "And then in the evenings, when you've scrubbed the steps and the woodwork and polished the brass and dusted the rooms and cleaned the grate and cooked the meals and tidied the kitchen, and I've inspected the gas-meter and fed the canary, or whatever it is a he-care-taker does, we'll dress ourselves up and go and sit in the ducal apartments and pretend we're 'quality.'"

"And impress our relations by asking them to dinner there," added Phyllis. "I think it's a lovely idea. We don't seem to be going to have much money, but we _shall_ see life. I'm beginning to be quite glad I listened to you yesterday, after all."

* * * * *

=An Accommodating Creature.=

"A Respectable woman wants situation as dairymaid, laundress, or fowl."

_Cork Constitution_.

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

=THE WATCH DOGS.=

LXI.

My Dear CHARLES,--Have I ever, in the course of these SECRET and CONFIDENTIAL despatches, called your lordship's attention to the existence, the very marked existence, of our Hubert, "the little Captain," who, being out of the battle for the moment, relies upon argument for argument's sake to keep up his circulation? It has been said of him that he spends his office time in writing superior letters to his subordinates and insubordinate letters to his superiors; but that, I think, is over harsh. In any case, as he has now run short of grievances, and the authorities of the B.E.F. regard him as a joke and like him best when his little temper is hot, his fights out here have for some time lacked reality. I fancy that he was merely in search of a _casus belli_ when, being on leave in the U.K., he conceived the idea of a day's extension and stepped round to the War Office to demand same as of right.

But the War Office, Charles, is not as other places and War Officers are not like the common sort. Hubert, arriving in his best fighting trim, was at once ejected by the policeman at the door. He underestimated the importance of that official and his office, otherwise he would not have adopted the just-dropping-in-to-have-a-chat-with-a-friend-inside attitude. From the constable's cold response he realised that, in tackling the W.O. single-handed, he was attempting a big thing, whereas the W.O., in tackling him, was not under the same disadvantage. Then he did what was unusual with him; he paused to think before resuming the offensive. What he wanted, he felt, was big guns. The House of Commons caught his eye and reminded him of politicians. He recalled a slight acquaintance with one of the more important of these and went round to call upon him personally. It was not his idea to obtain any such authority as would demolish all opposition at the W.O.; he just hoped to get a personal chit, which would act as a smoke barrage and at least cover his advance right into the middle of the enemy defences.

So Hubert asked for the politician in person, but only got his secretary. This gentleman, having elicited that Hubert's train for France left at 5 P.M., regretted that the politician would not be visible till 6. This opposition warmed Hubert's blood; he asked for a statement in writing. After some little discussion he got it, since the secretary, for all his caution, could see no harm in an unofficial note, addressed to no one in particular, and stating merely that Hubert wanted to see the politician and the politician was out till 6 P.M.

The little captain is one of those who state their grievances to themselves, when no other audience is available. During his return journey to the W.O. mental processes of no little heat and significance took place in his busy head, he putting up an overwhelming case to show why his leave ought to be, and must be, extended. The force of this case gave him such a burning sense of justice as to carry him, this time, safely past the policeman.

Five rows of barbed wire, two of them electrified, would be but a poor substitute for the barriers of the W.O. Before you set foot on the staircase you have to produce a ticket, and it is supposed that the porter, who has the forms to be filled in, forfeits a day's pay every time he parts with one. Hubert, gradually losing confidence, wrote upon the form all he could think of about himself, and handed it to the porter, who received it with reluctance, read it with suspicion, and disappeared with a grunt. What he did with it is not known; probably someone got into communication with the B.E.F. to know if such a person as Hubert existed, and, if so, why? Meanwhile Hubert had good time to realise that no one loved him and that this was cold brutal war at last.

Bit by bit the porter drifted back and gave Hubert his form, now stamped and become his ticket. The porter having finished with him, he passed on and, after many wanderings, found the door of the room where his sentence would be passed. Bracing himself up and clearing his throat, he prepared to knock and enter. Fortunately, however, his audacious intention was observed by an official and frustrated. He was commanded to write something more about himself in the book provided for that purpose, and to go on waiting. Being now an expert at writing and waiting he did as he was bid, spending the next few hours of his life remodelling his case in less fierce and glowing terms.

At last the door of the room persuaded itself to open and let out a real red god, who looked upon Hubert, took an instant dislike to him, relieved him of his ticket and went in again. During the ensuing period of suspense the last vestige of Hubert's personality departed from him.

Again the door opened and another red one, even more godlike, emerged clamouring for Hubert and his blood. Had he still been in possession of his ticket (a necessary passport for egress) Hubert would have fled. There was nothing for it but to confess his identity and to hope for mercy. The god, who clearly had not more than three and a half seconds to spare, demanded an explanation of his presence. Hubert admitted that once, in a moment of impudent folly, he had thought of asking for a day's extension. The god said nothing, but a light smouldered in his eyes which intimated to Hubert that if he did not at once produce some paramount excuse for so monstrous a request the War would be held up and the military machine would be concentrated on punishing Hubert. His tongue clove to the roof of his mouth; even if it had been available it would have helped little, for it is more than mere words that the gods require. His hand searched in his pockets and produced the return half of his leave warrant, a five-franc note, a box of matches, a recently purchased paper flag and the politician's secretary's note. The first and the last were taken, the rest fell to the floor, the door closed once more and again Hubert was alone.

Hubert doesn't know what he did next; probably, he thinks, he sat down and wept, and it was his tears that induced the gods not to convert his ticket into a death-warrant, but instead to give him the slip, "Leave extended one day for urgent private business." This was clearly one of Hubert's most decisive victories. He had his day's extension solely in order to interview the politician at 6 P.M.; he was to interview the politician solely in order to obtain his day's extension. But Hubert insists morbidly that his was a moral defeat, amounting to utter suppression. He called upon the politician at 6 P.M. to thank him personally. Again he could get no further than the secretary, who, learning that Hubert's train would not depart at all that day, regretted that the politician would, on second thoughts, be out for a week. "Now if I really _had_ triumphed," said Hubert, "I should have got the secretary to put that also in writing, and should have stepped round to the War Office again to demand a further week's extension on the strength of it." This, however, he did not do.

Yours ever, HENRY.

* * * * *

* * * * *

"Southport, December 9th.--Miss ---- presented vegetarian literature and a box of vegetarian sausages to a Sale of Work in connection with the United Methodist Church, High Park. The gifts led to much thought and inquiry."--_Vegetarian Messenger_.

In spite of a natural disinclination to look a gift sausage in the mouth.

* * * * *

A CALL TO THE COW PONIES.

They sent us from Coorong and Cooper The pick of the Wallaby Track To serve us as gunner and trooper, To serve us as charger and hack; From Budgeribar to Blanchewater They rifled the runs of the West, That whatever his fate in the slaughter A man might ride home on the best.

We dealt with the distant Dominion, We bought in the far Argentine; The worth of our buyers' opinion Is proved to the hilt in the line; The Clydes from the edge of the heather, The Shires from the heart of the grass, And the Punches are pulling together The guns where the conquerors pass.

So come with us, buckskin and sorrel, And come with us, skewbald and bay; Your country's girth-deep in the quarrel, Your honour is roped to the fray; Where flanks of your comrades are foaming 'Neath saddle and trace-chain and band, We look for the kings of Wyoming To speak for the sage-brush and sand.

W.H.O.

* * * * *

=Commercial Candour.=

From an Indian trade-circular:--

"All our goods are guaranteed made of the best material and equal to none in the market."

* * * * *

"The approach of the storm was heralded by a magnificent display of, for a time, almost intermittent lightning."--_Pall Mall Gazette_.

Followed, it may be presumed, by well-nigh interrupted peals of thunder and nearly occasional downpours of rain.

* * * * *

"One always feels humiliated when one is stumped about a quite common thing.... All you could see a little way iff was that they were very dwarg and very thick, and the peculiar coloul baffled us...."

_A Country Diary in "Manchester Guardian."_

Stumped we may be by the above, but humiliated--never!

* * * * *

=PETHERTON'S PUBLICATIONS.=

A glance at a well-known publisher's window, during a recent visit to London, provided me with material for a little possible quiet amusement, and with this end in view I penned the following:--

DEAR MR. PETHERTON,--When up in town the other day I was surprised and delighted to notice in Messrs. Egbert Arnwell's window two works of yours, one on Bi-Metallism and the other on the Differential and Integral Calculus. Nothing but the prices (really low ones for such works) prevented my purchasing a copy of each book at once.

I cannot resist writing to congratulate you on the publication of these volumes, which will, I am sure, add to the instruction if not to the gaiety of nations. Of course I knew--and have had the most complete olfactory proofs--that you were a chemist of at least strong views, but had no idea that your range of knowledge was so extensive as it apparently is.

With renewed congratulations, Believe me, yours sincerely, HENRY J. FORDYCE.

By the way, what is a calculus? Could one be obtained in Surbury, or would it be necessary to order from the Army and Navy Stores?

This brought forth:--

SIR,--I greatly regret that my latest publications should have caught your eye, and look on your congratulations as a studied insult.

I should hardly expect a person of your (as I imagine) limited intellect to know anything about the scientific subjects which interest me, but I feel sure that you are perfectly aware that the calculus is abstract and not concrete.