Chapter 2

"Yes, concrete is hard, isn't it?" I said.

"We came out at three in the morning, and arrived at our billets about seven. I knew this commission was on the _tapis_--French word meaning carpet--so I hung round not daring to turn in. At eleven o'clock I had orders to push off home to get my kit. You'll guess I didn't want asking twice. I made my way to the railhead at once in case of any hitch, and had to wait some time for a train. It was a goods train when it came, but it did quite well and deposited me outside the port of embarkation about nine o'clock at night. I walked on into the port and found the ship that was crossing next morning. I went below in search of a cabin. There was a French sailor there to whom I explained my need."

"How?" I asked, for I do not share Ernest's opinion of his mastery of the French language, but he ignored this.

"It was dark down there," he went on, "too dark for him to see that I was in a private's uniform, so I put on a bit of side and he took me for an officer."

"A French officer?"

"Very likely. Anyway he found me a beautiful cabin with a lovely couch in it all covered with plush. You would have thought I should want nothing but to be left to sleep; but no, I saw that the officer in the next cabin had a candle, and there was no candle for me. Instantly my worst instincts were aroused. I felt I was being put upon. I demanded a candle. The sailor declared there wasn't one left."

"You're sure he understood what you were asking for?"

"Yes, I know that candle is boogy, thank you. I argued with him for ten minutes and then turned in, grumbling. Queer, wasn't it?"

"Yes," I said.

I sat there for a while, thinking over Ernest's story, which had, it seemed to me, something of the tract about it.

Later the midges began to attack us.

"Aren't these midges absolutely--" I began, and then stopped, remembering Ernest's tract. It only shows, as I said to Ernest, that we may learn something even from the most unlikely people.

* * * * *

"Wanted, a strong Boy, about 15 years old, for bottling, &c. The Brewery, Brixham."

_The Western Guardian._

"Waiter, bring me a bottle of the boy."

* * * * *

"... contest the right of the Spanish authorities to intern damaged submarines seeking refuse in neutral ports."--_Star._

The Spanish authorities are expected to reply that if that is what the U-boats are after there is no need for them to leave home.

* * * * *

* * * * *

HEART-TO-HEART TALKS.

_(The GERMAN CROWN PRINCE and Fritz, his Valet.)_

_The Crown Prince (in bed and yawning)._ Is that you, Fritz?

_Fritz._ Yes, your Royal Highness. What uniform shall I lay out for his Royal Highness?

_The C.P._ You can lay out the best I have--the one of the Death's Head Hussars, with all my stars and medals. I am expecting an important visit.

_Fritz (with a meaning smile)._ If I might venture so far, I would suggest to his Royal Highness that he should wear the Trench uniform, which I arranged with the bullet-holes and the mud-splashes. It creates a greater effect, especially if the visitor be a lady.

_The C.P._ Fritz, you dog, how dare you? Very well, have it your own way and let it be the Trench uniform.

_Fritz._ I am only anxious to promote his Royal Highness's interest in every possible way.

_The C.P._ I know, I know. Only we shall have old HINDENBURG growling and grunting and looking as black as a thundercloud. I cannot imagine what my revered father sees in that old wooden effigy, whose only idea of strategy is to retreat from strong positions. That, at any rate, is not the fashion in which I have learnt war. I'm thoroughly tired of hearing of all these HINDENBURG plans, which come to nothing.

_Fritz._ Your Royal Highness is, of course, right. But what I say to myself is that the ALL-HIGHEST, your Royal Highness's most gracious father, has in all this a deep-laid design to show conclusively that all these HINDENBURG plans mean nothing, so that in the end true skill and merit may have a chance, and the chief command may be placed in the only hands that are fit to exercise it. Oh, yes, I know what I'm talking about, and everyone I meet says the same.

_The C.P._ I have always felt that that must be so. No matter, a time will come. By the way, Fritz, have you packed up the _Sèvres_ dinner-service?

_Fritz._ I have already packed six from as many different French and Belgian houses, and have sent them to Berlin, according to your Royal Highness's directions. Which does your Royal Highness refer to?

_The C.P._ I mean the one with the simple pattern of pink flowers and the coat-of-arms.

_Fritz._ Yes, that I have packed like the rest and have sent off.

_The C.P._ And the silver dishes and the lace?

_Fritz._ Yes, they have all gone.

_The C.P._ Good. And the clocks?

_Fritz._ Yes, I did in every case what your Royal Highness ordered me to do.

_The C.P._ And you packed them, I hope, with the greatest care?

_Fritz._ I did; nothing, I am certain, will suffer damage.

_The C.P._ Excellent. War is, no doubt, a rough and brutal affair, but at least it cannot be said that we Prussians do not behave like gentlemen.

_Fritz._ Your Royal Highness speaks, as always, the plain truth. How different from the degenerate French and the intolerable English.

_The C.P._ Yes, Fritz; and now you can go. Stay; there was something I wanted to ask you. Dear me, I am losing my memory. Ah! I have it. How is my offensive getting on? Has any news come in from the _Chemin des Dames_?

_Fritz._ Your Royal Highness's offensive has not advanced to any great extent. The French last night recaptured all their positions and even penetrated into ours.

_The C.P._ Did they? How very annoying. Somebody bungled, of course. Well, well, I shall have to put it right when I have time. Have you finished laying out my uniform? Yes. Then you can go.

* * * * *

THE HUMILIATION OF THE PALFREY.

Where is she now, the pride of the battalion, That ambled always at the Colonel's side, A fair white steed, like some majestic galleon Which takes deliberate the harbour tide, So soft, so slow, she scarcely seems to stir? And that, indeed, was very true of her Who was till late, so kind her character, The only horse the Adjutant could ride.

Ever she led the regiment on its journeys, And held sweet converse with the Colonel's gee: Of knights, no doubt, and old heroic tourneys, And how she bare great ladies o'er the lea; And on high hill-sides, when the men felt dead, Far up the height they viewed her at the head, A star of hope, and shook themselves, and said, "If she can do it, dammit, so can we!"

But where is now my Adjutantial palfrey? In front no longer but in rear to-day, Behind the bicycles, and not at all free To be familiar with the General's gray, She walks in shame with all those misanthropes, The sad pack-animals who have no hopes But must by men be led about on ropes, Condemned till death to carry S.A.A.,

And bombs, and beef, and officers' valises; And I at eve have marked my wistful mare By thronging dumps where cursing never ceases And rations come, for oft she brings them there, Patient, aloof; and when the shrapnel dropp'd And the young mules complained and kicked and hopp'd, She only stood unmoved, with one leg propp'd, As if she heard it not or did not care;

Or heard, maybe, but hoped to get a Blighty; For on her past she lately seemed to brood And dreamed herself once more among the mighty, By grooms beloved and reverently shoed; But now she has no standing in the corps, And Death itself would hardly be a bore, Save that, although she carries me no more, 'Tis something still to carry up my food.

A.P.H.

* * * * *

THE WAR-NOTE IN EXAMINATIONS.

Extract from Smith Minor's Scripture paper:--

"And when Jephthah saw his daughter coming to meet him he was very much upset. But he had to keep to his vow, so he gave her two months' leave and then he killed her."

* * * * * Quoting a European statesman, saying the war would be won by the last 500,000 bushels of what, Mr. Hoover said."--_New York Times_.

We trust Mr. HOOVER will hurry up with his peroration.

* * * * *

"I feel that I might claim almost a special kinship with Baron Sonnino, because I believe his mother was a Welsh lady."

_"Weekly Dispatch" Report of Premier's Speech._

"Baron Sonnino, by the way, who is of half-Scottish extraction, speaks English perfectly. How many of the master minds at our Foreign Office speak Italian perfectly?"

_"Weekly Dispatch" Secret History of the Week._

But in fairness to the "master minds" it should be remembered that few of them have the advantage of a Scotch father and a Welsh mother.

* * * * *

* * * * *

AT THE PLAY.

"THE BETTER 'OLE."

I must congratulate Mr. CHARLES COCHRAN on his courage in transforming the Oxford Music-hall into a home of "the legitimate," and still more on his good fortune in securing for the initiation of his new venture the play which Captain BRUCE BAIRNSFATHER and Captain ARTHUR ELIOT have written round the adventures of "Old Bill." In form it resembles a _revue_, but I prefer to call it a play, because it possesses a plot, distinct if slight--an encumbrance banned by most _revue_ producers; and because it contains an abundance of honest spontaneous fun. The authors start with the advantage, if it be an advantage, that the principal characters are already familiar to the audience through the medium of Captain BAIRNSFATHER's popular drawings; but they have not been content with reproducing their well-known, now almost hackneyed, adventures, but have added many others which are new and yet "come into the picture."

Their greatest piece of luck was in finding a comedian exactly fitted to fill the part of the humble hero. Mr. ARTHUR BOURCHIER as _Old Bill_ is absolutely "it." His make-up is perfect; he might have stepped out of the drawing, or sat for it, whichever you please. But, much more than that, he seems to have exactly realised the sort of man _Old Bill_ probably is in real life--slow-speaking and stolid in manner, yet with a vein of common-sense underlying his apparent stupidity; much addicted to beer and other liquids, but not brutalized thereby; and, while often grousing and grumbling, nevertheless possessed almost unconsciously of a strong sense of duty and an undaunted determination to see it through. It is a tribute to the essential truthfulness of Captain BAIRNSFATHER'S conception and Mr. BOURCHIER'S acting that one comes away from _The Better 'Ole_ feeling that there must be thousands of _Old Bills_ at the Front fighting for our freedom.

Admirable work is done, too, by Mr. TOM WOOTTWELL as _Bert_, the incorrigible amorist, for whom each new girl is "the only girl," and who has an apparently inexhaustible supply of identity-discs to leave with them as "sooveneers"; and by Mr. SINCLAIR COTTER as _Alf_, the cynical humourist--"Where were you eddicated, Eton or Harrod's?" is one of his best _mots_--who spends most of his time in wrestling with an automatic cigar-lighter. I think it would be only poetical justice if in the concluding scene, when _Old Bill_ comes into his own, the authors were for once to allow _Alf_ to succeed in lighting his "fag."

Of the many ladies who add charm to the entertainment I can only mention Miss EDMÉE DORMEUIL, who as _Victoire_ has an important share in the plot and saves _Old Bill's_ life; Miss GOODIE REEVE, who sings some capital songs; and Miss PEGGY DORAN, who looks bewitching as an officer of the Woman Workers' Corps. The music, arranged by Mr. HERMAN DAREWSKI, is catchy and not uncomfortably original: and the scenery, designed by Captain BAIRNSFATHER, gives one, I should say, as good an idea of the trenches as one can get without going there. In fine I would parody _Old Bill_ and say, "If you knows of a better show, go to it!"

L.

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

TO A MODERN MUSE.

O Metaphasia, peerless maid, How can I fitly sing The priceless decorative aid To dialogue you bring, Enabling serious folk, whose brains Are commonplace and crude, To soar to unimagined planes Of sweet ineptitude.

Changed by your magic, common-sense Nonsensical appears, And stars of sober influence Shoot madly from their spheres. You lure us from the beaten track, From minding P.'s and Q.'s, To paths where white is always black And pies resemble pews.

Strange beasts, more strange than the giraffe, You conjure up to view, The flue-box and the forking-calf, Unknown at any Zoo; And new vocations you unfold, Wonder on wonder heaping, Hell-banging for the over-bold, And toffee-cavern keeping.

With you we hatch the pasty snipe, And all undaunted face Huge fish of unfamiliar type-- Bush-pike and bubble-dace; Or, fired by hopes of lyric fame, We deviate from prose, And make it our especial aim Bun-sonnets to compose.

I wonder did the ancients prove Responsive to your spell, Or, riveted to Reason's groove, Against your charms rebel. And yet some senator obese, In Rome long years ago, May have misnamed a masterpiece _De Gallo bellico_.

We know there were heroic men Ere AGAMEMNON'S days, Who passed forgotten from our ken, Lacking a poet's praise; But, though great Metaphasiarchs Have doubtless flourished sooner, I'm sure their raciest remarks Have been eclipsed by S-----r.

* * * * *

THE LIMIT.

"The daily cost of the war has shown an alarming tendency to mount, and has gone beyond the 700 millions which some folk thought must be the limit a few months ago."

_Sussex Daily News._

* * * * *

"Junior Assistant wanted to Grocery, Spirit and Provision business; send copy references and salary expected."--_Irish Paper._

Quite a promising idea for getting more capital into a business.

* * * * *

INVENTIONS.

"Amongst a number of new inventions," says the _Frankfischer Tagwacht_, "is an imitation of the smell of Limburger cheese." This has caused some alarm and not a little interest in this country, as the following extracts will show:--

"Berlin Resident" states that he has too long been fed up with imitation meals, and for weeks past has had nothing to eat but holes from Limburger.

"Cynic" remarks that it is impossible for the German scientists to defeat the WOLFF wireless at inventions.

Mr. WINSTON CHURCHILL is anxious to know whether they have yet discovered a substitute for _The Morning Post_.

_The Times_ Greenwich correspondent wires: "If they have invented a method whereby a news report will make a noise like 'Passed by Censor' will they wire terms?"

* * * * *

Inscription on a French picture post-card:--

"Une locomotive abandonée devant Thiepval. One locomotive a profligate woman forepart Thiepval."

Smith minor is avenged.

* * * * *

* * * * *

ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

_Monday, August 6th._--This being Bank Holiday and the first fine day after a week's downpour, Members for the most part stayed away from Westminster. Some, it is charitably supposed, have gone to look after their allotments. Others, it is believed, have been kept away by a different reason. The taxicab-drivers, men constitutionally averse from extortion, have refused to enter the railway-station yards so long as the companies persist in exacting from them a whole penny for the privilege. Consequently some of our week-ending legislators are reported to be interned at Waterloo and Paddington, sitting disconsolately upon their portmanteaux. As an appeal to the Board of Trade elicited nothing more from Mr. G. ROBERTS than a disclaimer of personal responsibility, it is expected that redress will be sought from the Taxi-cabinet.

Mr. HENDERSON'S dual personality continues to arouse curiosity. There was some justification for Mr. KING'S inquiry whether he went to Petrograd as a Ministerial _Jekyll_ or a Labourist _Hyde_. Mr. BONAR LAW assured the House that on this occasion at least Mr. HENDERSON went purely as a Cabinet Minister, guiltless of any duplicity.

Mr. PROTHERO enlivened the discussion on the Corn Production Bill by a new clause providing that where a farmer failed to destroy the rabbits on his land the Board of Agriculture should have power to do it for him and recover the expenses incurred. Sir JOHN SPEAR expected that in some cases the rabbits secured would more than defray the cost of the capture, and declared that unless the farmer was allowed to keep the rabbits the Government would be guilty of "profiteering." As other agricultural Members appeared to share this view, Mr. PROTHERO, most obliging of Ministers, agreed to alter the word "cost" to "net cost." I hope no litigious farmer will seek to evade his liabilities on the ground that, as the Act only says "net cost," he need not pay for the ferrets.

_Tuesday, August 7th._--Those peers who were supposed to be shaking in their shoes at the thought of Lord SELBORNE'S impending revelations as to the means by which they acquired their honours might have spared their tremors. He opened his bag to-day, but no cat jumped out, not even the smallest kitten. If he had given a single concrete example of a peer who, having notoriously no public services at his back, must be presumed to have purchased his title, he would have created some effect. But the admission that all his information on the subject was confidential cut the ground from under his feet; and needless to say none of the Peers whom he hypothetically accused of buying their coronets responded to his appeal by standing forth in a white sheet and making open confession of his crime.

Lord SELBORNE was one of three heirs to peerages who a generation ago banded themselves together to resist elevation to the House of Lords. Another of them is Lord CURZON, who answered him to-night, and whose contempt for the Chamber which he now adorns seems to have grown with the years that he has spent in it. Reading between the lines of his speech a cynic could only infer that the Upper House, as at present constituted, is such a useless and superfluous assembly that it does not much matter who gets into it or by what venal ladder he climbs.

The only peers who ventured to get to close quarters with the scandal were Lord KNUTSFORD, who told a moving tale of how a potential baronet diverted £25,000 from the London Hospital to a certain party fund, and thereby achieved his purpose; and Lord SALISBURY, who declared from his knowledge of Prime Ministers that they were sick of administering the system of which Lord CURZON was so ostentatiously ignorant.

Many reasons have been assigned for Mr. CHURCHILL'S reinclusion in the Ministry, but I am inclined to think that the real one has only just been discovered. Mr. MACCALLUM SCOTT is one of the most pertinacious inquisitors of the Treasury Bench; he is also a whole-souled admirer of the Member for DUNDEE, and has written a book in eulogy of his achievements by sea and land. Mr. CHURCHILL has rewarded this devotion by appointing Mr. SCOTT his private secretary, and, as it is contrary to Parliamentary etiquette for a Member holding this position to interrogate other Ministers, has thereby conferred a distinct benefit upon his new colleagues. Mr. LLOYD GEORGE is now reported to be on the look-out for other statesmen in whom Mr. HOGGE and Mr. PRINGLE repose a similar trust, but so far without success; and it is thought that his only chance is to make Mr. PRINGLE an Under-Secretary on condition that he takes Mr. HOGGE as his _âme damnée_, or _vice versâ_.

_Wednesday, August 8th._--Lord BURNHAM shocked some of the more ancient peers by his skittish references to the coming Conference on the Second Chamber. When he expressed the hope that Lord CURZON would make an explicit statement, on the ground that their Lordships' House was in no need of a soporific, I fully expected one of the occupants of the mausoleum to rise and reprove him in the words of Dr. JOHNSON, "Sir, in order to be facetious it is not necessary to be indecent."

The advent of the feminine lawyer was rendered a little nearer when her champions successfully held up a Bill promoted by the Incorporated Law Society until the Government undertook to find time for the discussion of a measure enabling women to become solicitors. Already _Shylock_ is trembling at the prospect.

_Thursday, August 9th_.--When the House on two successive occasions rejected Proportional Representation it was generally thought that nothing more would be heard of the other proposals for securing minority representation. To-night, however, after a brisk debate, the "Alternative vote" in three-cornered contests was saved in a free division by a single vote; and it was further decided that "P.R." itself should be adopted at University elections, despite the unanimous opposition of the University Representatives.

* * * * *

THE CHOICE.

The bright August sun certainly made the dining-room paper look dingy. It was a plain, self-coloured paper, but we were rather attached to it, and didn't like the idea of a change.

But there seemed no help for it, so I arranged to leave my office early on Friday afternoon, meet Alison at the Marble Arch tube station and go with her to choose a new paper.

When we reached the wall-paperer's lair we were ushered by an immaculate personage into a room that looked more like the dining-room of a private house than a part of business premises.

"Perhaps," I said, in an awed whisper, "you don't care to have anything to do with such trifling things as--er--wall-paper?"

"Indeed we do," said the nobleman. "Most important things, wall-papers. Where did you want it for?"

"For a room in my house, of course," I said. "Not for the garden."

"Oh, not for the garden. And what sort of house is yours?" he asked.

"A very nice house," I said.

"I meant what was the style of the house--Jacobean, Georgian?"

"Brixtonian rococo outwardly," I said, "as far as I can judge; but very snug inside. No doubt you could show us something we should like which would also satisfy your sense of propriety."

"I think it might be managed," he said, waving his hand towards two or three giant books of patterns.

"What we want," I said, "is something meaty."

"Ah, for the dining-room," he said.