Chapter 2

Haynes, who came next, insisted on first making his dying speech from the window, for, as he pointed out to Sister, when people allowed themselves to be inserted alive into machines of this type there was every likelihood of their reappearing at the other end in the form of sausages. Seymour handed Sister a bulky package labelled "WILL" before starting, and most of us managed to be mildly humorous in some way or other.

Mrs. Ropes, on the lawn, enjoyed it all immensely; and so did Ansell, who was standing beside her with an air of detachment. Sister's eagle eye singled him out.

"Come along, Mr. Ansell," she called. "I see you--your turn next. No shirking."

"I'm not in this, Sister," he answered loftily.

"Oh, indeed! And why not?"

"Because I sleep on the verandah. If there's a fire I simply get out of bed and step into the garden."

"Oh, no, you don't," put in Seymour. "That would be entirely contrary to regulations. The official method of escaping from burning buildings is down the official chute. In case of fire your correct procedure will be to double smartly upstairs, commend your soul to Providence in a soldier-like manner, and toboggan smartly down."

(Have I mentioned that Seymour is an Adjutant?)

"That's right, Captain Seymour," said Sister from above. "Bring him up under escort if necessary."

After the patients came Miss Ropes, and after her the domestic staff, beginning with the less valuable members and working up gradually to Dutton and Cook. It was possible to trace the progress of the younger and slighter maids by a swiftly-descending squeal, while that of the more portly was visible as a leisurely protuberance. At last Cook was the only one left--Dutton was not feeling quite up to performing the journey. She was a new cook, and very precious. She had all the generous proportions of her profession, and with them went a placid temper and a great sense of personal dignity.

"Oh, Cook," said Miss Ropes, "_you_ needn't go down, you know, unless you want to."

There are times when official regulations must be sacrificed to diplomacy. But Cook was in high good humour, and quite determined on doughty deeds. Miss Ropes said no more.

The task of getting a wide cook into a narrow canvas tube proved quite unexpectedly difficult; and, when it was accomplished, so far from sticking out her elbows as brakes, she had to press them close to her sides in order to move at all. With the aid of a friendly pressure applied to the top of her head by Sister she got slowly under way. The chute bulged portentously. The bulge travelled a few feet; then it stuck and became violently agitated. Sister clutched at the top of the chute, while Dutton hung manfully on to the other end.

"Don't struggle," said Sister in a stern professional voice. "Keep your arms still, and you'll come down all right." A muffled screaming and a dangerously increased agitation of the chute was the only reply. Cook had quite lost her head and was having violent hysterics. Three or four of us raced upstairs to aid Sister in keeping the top end of the apparatus from jerking free, while several more went to the assistance of the flustered Dutton.

Cook ceased to struggle for a moment, but only through exhaustion; for when Sister seized the opportunity to repeat her advice a fresh paroxysm came on, and everybody "stood to" at their posts again. Miss Ropes conceived the idea of attaching a cord to Cook's armpits and hauling her up again by main force. She dashed into the house, and found a demoralised kitchen-maid calling incoherently for help down the telephone.

Meanwhile Cook had had her worst spasm. We hung grimly on to the chute, dismally confident that something would have to give way soon. Suddenly there was a rending sound; the seam of the canvas ripped open and a gaping slit appeared, through which Cook's freed arm flapped wildly. Then the arm disappeared as the body to which it was attached gathered momentum; and when Miss Ropes appeared with a length of cord she was just in time to see her retainer return to the world--alive, but practically inside out.

As soon as Cook recovered her breath it was apparent that her temper was no longer placid. Forgetting entirely that it was by her own choice that she had made the trip, she gave us all to understand that she believed the whole incident to have been specially arranged for her humiliation. She gave notice on the spot, and staggered indignantly to the house to pack her box, leaving her employer once again face to face with the Servant Problem.

* * * * *

THE ARTISETTE.

(_An Engineering School for Women has been started in Scotland._)

What if my lady should appear In a mechanic's grimy gear? I shall not squeamishly decline To figure at her shrine.

If Vulcan's smoky sway precludes An assignation in the woods, I shall not linger less elate Outside the foundry gate.

When she knocks off at eventide I'll flutter fondly to her side, And demonstrate that grease and oil Can't loosen love's sweet coil.

Most tenderly my tongue shall wag To Amaryllis on the slag, Whilst I endeavour to confine Her horny hand in mine.

* * * * *

PERSONAL.

"Pat. Don't be disappointed. Nothing amis. Iris."--_Calcutta Statesman_.

Only a letter gone astray.

* * * * *

"Apartments (furnished and unfurnished) to be let, outside air radius."--_Daily Telegraph_.

A little suffocating, perhaps.

* * * * *

"If a million quarter acres in the country were left uncultivated, the result would be that a quarter of a million acres would be left uncultivated."--_Scotch Paper_.

Examined and found correct.

* * * * *

Extract from a speech by Lord SELBORNE:--

"In that ouse Capital was very fully represented--he thought over-represented."--_Daily Telegraph_.

The printer seems to have thought so too, when he cut the capital out.

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

NIGHTMARES.

I.

OF A FORM MASTER WHO DREAMS THAT HE HAS CALLED ON THE WAR CORRESPONDENT OF "THE DAILY MAIL" FOR A LITERAL TRANSLATION OF THE CÆSAR'S _DE BELLO GALLICO_.

"_Omnis Gallia in tres partes divisa est._" Is it fanciful to say of the three parts into which all Gaul is divided that by their colours may they be known, the blue, the brown and the ghastly, ghoulish, intolerable, bestial, but, thank God, passing, grey? Yes, thank God, the blight of greyness cannot last long; even now the scabrous plague is being burnt up and swept back and overwhelmed by the resistless flood, eager yet cautious, persistent yet fiery, of the blue and the brown. Hideous, pitiable, soul-searing are the scars that it leaves in its mephitic wake, but the cleansing tide of the brown and the blue sweeps on, and the healing wand of time waves over them, and soon the shell-holes and the waste places and the abominations of desolation are covered with little flowers--or would be if it were Spring.

The Spring! No one knows what depth of meaning lies in that little word for our brave fellows, what intensity of hopes and fears and well-nigh intolerable yearnings it awakens beneath the cheery insouciance of their exteriors; no one, that is, except me. They tell me about it as they pass back, privates and generals, war-hardened veterans and boys of nineteen with the youth in their eyes not yet drowned by the ever-increasing encroachments of the war-devil; all are alike in their cheerful determination to see this grim and bloody business of fighting to an honourable end, and alike, too, in that their souls turn frankly, as might children's, for refreshment and relief to the kindly breast and simple beauties of Mother Nature.

The key-note of their attitude is given in the sentence, spoken dreamily and as if in forgetfulness of my presence, by a Corporal of the R.G.A. as I cleaned his boots--it was an honour. "The blue--the blue--the blue--and the white!"

He was gazing skywards. I could see nothing but grey clouds, but I knew that his young eyes were keener than mine, that he had learnt to look into the inmost heart of things in that baptism of fire, that travail of freedom, where desolation blossoms and hell sprouts like a weed. Through the grey he could discern the triumph of the blue and the white of peace, when the work of the brown shall be done. It was an allegory. More he told me, too, in his simple country speech, so good to hear in a foreign land: of the daisies in the yard at home, of the dandelions on the lawn, of his pet pig: things too sacred to repeat here. And he told me that the great event on the Front now is the Autumn glory of the trees. Then he departed, and as he went he broke into deep-throated, Homeric laughter, and I--I understood: he was mocking Death. Even thus does laughter yap at the heels of that dishonoured king out here.

* * * * *

TO THE BOOD.

A SODDET.

[Our poet has caught a severe cold through having spent the night in the cellar.]

BOOD, whose autubdal spleddour, as of dood, Shides od frob set of sud to dawdigg bord, Gradt be this bood, o bood, to calb by bood With agodisigg apprehedsiod tord,

Illube dot with thy beabs the biddight burk, Whed through the gloob the Huddish biscreadts Cobe sdeakigg, bedt od their idhubad work Of bobbigg slubberigg dod-cobbatadts.

Or if thy labbedt gleabs thou bayst dot blidd, Thed bay they aid our airbed add our guds; Its bark bay every barkigg bissile fidd, Bay dought be dode abiss, dor dode be duds.

So bayst thou baffle burderous WILLIAB'S plad, Add all attebts of that bad badbad bad.

* * * * *

* * * * *

ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

_Monday, November 5th._--By way of celebrating Guy Fawkes Day the Government announced their intention of compensating, up to a limit of five hundred pounds, any householder whose property has been damaged in air-raids. How soon he will cage his "monkey" will depend upon the Treasury, which is morbidly anxious lest in its transactions _bis dat qui cito dat_ should be literally illustrated.

The official price of potatoes is still unsettled. According to his own statement the FOOD CONTROLLER is only waiting for the decision of the War Cabinet. "On the contrary," said Mr. LAW, "the Cabinet is only waiting for Lord RHONDDA." It seems to be another case of the Earl of CHATHAM and Sir RICHAUD STRACHAN; and in the meantime the potatoes are rotting.

Provided that no scarcity of gas for other purposes is caused the Government see no objection to its use for the propulsion of motor-cars. On receiving this information Mr. PEMBERTON BILLING at once ordered a Zeppelin attachment to his famous torpedo-shaped car. No other gas-consumer will suffer, as he is prepared to keep the apparatus inflated from his own retorts.

By the scheme of the Boundary Commissioners, the roll of the Commons, already a hundred per cent. too big for its accommodation, is to be increased by some thirty Members. Various suggestions for enabling the new-comers to assist at debates have been proposed. "Dug-outs" under the existing benches, whence they could poke out their heads between the legs of other Members, and "painters' cradles" depending from the ceiling, or the galleries, are among the most popular.

In the circumstances it is not surprising that the HOME SECRETARY strenuously resisted the proposal of the London representatives to give another couple of Members to "the hub of the universe," as Mr. WATT, momentarily forgetting the claims of Glasgow, handsomely called it. Among a number of minor concessions, Mr. THEODORE TAYLOR'S plea that Batley should be associated with Morley "because they have had many a tussle at cricket" could not be resisted.

_Tuesday, November 6th._--A statement that the great War Savings meeting at the Albert Hall cost £3,500, chiefly for the expenses of delegates, shocked the thrifty conscience of Mr. HOGGE, who hoped Mr. BALDWIN would discourage the PRIME MINISTER'S meetings if they were so expensive. Mr. BALDWIN did not condescend to answer him or he might have observed that the delegates in question were voluntary workers who by their exertions had helped to raise over a hundred millions for the prosecution of the War.

Mr. TILLETT, the newly-elected Member for North Salford, took his seat, and there was general cheering as, under the safe-conduct of two amply-proportioned friends, Little Ben was introduced to Big Ben.

When Mr. BALFOUR informed Mr. JOWETT at Question-time that the only commitments of Great Britain to France are contained in the Treaty of Alliance of September 5th, 1914, which has been duly published, he knocked the foundation from under the subsequent peace-debate. But that did not prevent Mr. LEES SMITH from making a long speech, on the assumption that by promising to help France to recover her ravished provinces we had improperly extended the objects of the war. Mr. MCCURDY, who shares with Mr. LEES SMITH the representation of Northampton, plainly hinted that if his colleague cared to visit his constituents they would be delighted to present him with a specimen of the local manufacture.

The speeches of Mr. BALFOUR and Mr. ASQUITH, though well worth hearing, were hardly needed to complete the rout of the Pacifists; and, in the division on the Closure, the men who are prepared (in Mr. FABER'S pungent phrase) "to take the bloody hand of Germany" made a very poor muster.

_Wednesday, November 7th._--I am inclined to echo Lord SALISBURY'S regret that Labour has no direct representative in the Upper House. The proletarian peer, if there were one, would have been both surprised and delighted to hear how the non-proletarians, without exception, spoke of his class.

My imaginary peer would have been especially edified by the speech of Lord MILNER, whom a small but noisy section of the Press persists in describing as more Prussian than the Prussians. Not under-estimating the difficulties in the way of a frank and full understanding between Capital and Labour, he nevertheless believed that they would be overcome, because he had an abiding faith in the mass of his fellow-countrymen. Not quite what one expects of a British Junker, is it?

_Thursday, November 8th._--When tonnage is so scarce it seems odd that room can still be found for consignments of wild animals. Mr. PETO drew attention to a coming cargo, including two hundred avadavats, the little birds about which _Joseph Surface_ was so contemptuous, and six hundred monkeys--"sufficient," as he pleasantly observed, "to fill this House."

For once Mr. BILLING expressed a widely-held opinion when he questioned the propriety, in present circumstances, of holding the LORD MAYOR'S Banquet. Mr. BONAR LAW'S solemn assurance that he only accepted the invitation on the distinct understanding that the feast would fall completely within the FOOD CONTROLLER'S regulations, was not altogether convincing. Members were anxious to know the exact dimensions that Lord RHONDDA has laid down for the turtle-ration.

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* * * * *

GILBERT.

We are all very fond of Gilbert. There are, however, one or two things about him which even his best friends will admit make it hard for us at times to remember how much we really love him. Sometimes he seems almost too good to be true. Yet I have known wet horrible days in the trenches when the sight of him coming smiling down the line, exuding efficiency and enthusiasm at every pore, has made his fellow-officers positively dislike him.

For, alas, he is one of those dear overzealous fellows whom in moments of depression we stigmatise as "hearty." He has even been known to be hearty at breakfast; to come trampling into the dug-out with that blinking old smile on his face, expressing immense satisfaction with life in general at the top of a peculiarly robust voice; to tread on his captain's toes and slap his next-door neighbour heartily on the back, and then to explain to a swearing and choking audience how splendidly he has slept, and what a topping day it is going to be.

Never has Gilbert been known to spend a bad night; he is one of those fortunate animals who can go to sleep standing and at five minutes' notice, and start snoring at once. If you try to sleep anywhere near him, you dream of finding yourself in Covent Garden station, trying to board endless trains which roar through without stopping--that's the kind of snore it is.

And now it is time I told my story.

It happened many years ago, when the War was young and the Bosch comparatively aggressive; when our big guns fired once every other Sunday and we lived precarious lives in holes in the ground. Our Brigadier, a conscientious soldier of the old school, was dodging round our line of trenches, and had just reached the sector allotted to my company, which was also Gilbert's, when the distant buzz that generally means an aeroplane overhead made itself distinctly heard.

"Can you spot him?" said the General to his Brigade-major; "one of theirs, I suppose?"

Now it is as much as a Brigade-Major's job is worth to confess ignorance at such a crisis. So, after sweeping the skies fruitlessly with his glasses and listening intelligently to the steady drone, he said, "Yes!" with as much conviction as possible.

"Heads down," said the General sharply, "and don't move. Pass it down." And by way of example he sat heavily on my periscope and stayed gazing at the ground like a fakir lost in meditation.

Meanwhile the message was passed along, and the trench became silent as the grave. I was informed a few days later that it reached the outer battalion of the next brigade later on in the morning, and was popularly supposed to have reached Switzerland the same evening.

For about five minutes the droning continued ("Having a good look at us," said the Brigade-major in a sepulchral whisper) and then suddenly ceased with what I can only describe as an appalling snort. Almost simultaneously a tousled head was thrust out of a dug-out almost into the great man's face, and Gilbert's cheerful roar was heard by a scandalised company.

"Had a topping sleep. What's the time, someone?"

* * * * *

"Best milch cows have been sold recently for £60 in the Isle of Wight. At a meeting of the Cowes Council it was stated that at Chichester cows had sold for £73 each."--_Times_.

And now that the Isle of Wight milkers have held their indignation meeting it is expected that the anomaly will be removed.

* * * * *

* * * * *

PETER, THE TEMPTER.

Necessity does not make stranger bedfellows than some of the changes brought about by War. Who, for example--and certainly not such a born sun-worshipper as I--would ever have dreamt that a time would come when we in London and the Eastern counties would desire rain and wind with a passionate keenness once reserved solely for fine weather? Yet so it is. By reason of that foolish invention of flying we now, when we go to the window in the morning and lift the blind, are dashed and darkly thoughtful if no sky of grey scudding misery meets our gaze. "Please Heaven it pours!" we say. Just think of it--"Please Heaven it pours!" What a treachery! It may even come that we include prayers for storms in the Liturgy.

In default of bad weather we may have to Take Cover; and it is when we Take Cover that discoveries begin and long-postponed adventures fructify. For years and years, for example, I had looked down that steep hill by the Tivoli site in the Strand into the yawning cavern that opens there, and wondered about it. I had thought one day to explore it, but had never done so, any more than I have yet proceeded further towards a visit to the Roman Bath, also off the Strand, than to threaten it.

But I shall get to the Bath yet, because already, thanks to the intervention of the Hun, I have become intimately acquainted with Lower Robert Street, and the next step is simple.

In the ordinary way, short of desperate impulse and decision--unless by some happy chance I had relinquished the burden of this pen and taken happy service with one of the wine merchants who store their treasure there--I should never have entered Lower Robert Street at all, for it goes nowhere and runs under the earth, and it is damp and mouldy, and the only doors, leading to this vault and that, are locked. But for all these disabilities Lower Robert Street is, in Gotha and Zeppelin times, a very present help and refuge. There assemble, with more or less fortitude and philosophy, the denizens of the Adelphi, thankful indeed that the brothers Adam established their streets and terrace on so useful a foundation; and there twice recently have I joined them. And an odd assembly we have made, ranging as we do from successful dramatists to needy journalists, with an actress or so to keep us manly.

There for long hours have we waited until the "All clear" has sounded--or, at any rate, some have done so. As for myself, on the last occasion, taking advantage of a lull in the uproar, I crept away to bed, and, after falling into the sleep of exhaustion, had the ironical experience of being rudely awakened by the reassuring bugles and my night again ruined.

Having taken cover only in Lower Robert Street, which is open to all, I cannot with any personal knowledge speak of the camaraderie of private basements; but I suppose that that exists and is another of the War's byproducts. I take it that, in the event of a sudden alarm, no householder with a cellar would be so inhuman as to refuse admittance to a stranger, and already probably a myriad new friendships and not a few engagements have resulted. Our own camaraderie is admirable. The federation of the barrage breaks down every obstacle; while a piece of shrapnel that one can display is more valuable than any letter of introduction, no matter who wrote it. Hence we all talk; and sometimes we sing too--choruses of the moment, for the most part, in one of which the depth of our affection for our maternal relative is measured and regulated by the floridity of the roses growing on her porch.

And yet, when at last friendliness is upon the town, there are people--and not only alien Hebrews either--who have been hurrying away from London! When London has become more interesting than ever before in its history there are people who leave it!