Chapter 3

_Thursday, Feb. 20th_.--Every question put down costs the tax-payer, it is calculated, a guinea. This afternoon there were no fewer than two hundred and eighty-two of them on the Order-Paper. It would be interesting to see what effect upon this cascade of curiosity would be produced if every Member putting down a question were obliged to contribute, say, ten shillings to the cost of answering it; the amount to be deducted from his official salary. If such a rule had been enforced in the last Parliament Mr. JOSEPH KINO, for one, would have had no salary to draw.

The shortage of whisky and brandy for medicinal purposes was the subject of many indignant questions. Mr. MCCURDY, for the FOOD-CONTROLLER, stated that it had been found impracticable to allot supplies of spirits for this purpose, but, perhaps wisely, did not give any reasons. Can it be that the Government, contemplating the extension of the "all-dry" principle to this country, are anxious to give no encouragement to the "drug-store habit"?

* * * * *

THE LIMIT.

(_THE JAZZ IS REPORTED TO HAVE ABOUT SEVENTY DIFFERENT STEPS._)

I have waltzed for half a day In Milwaukee (U.S.A.), I have danced at village "hops" in Transylvania; I have can-canned all alone In a fever-stricken zone, And I've done the kitchen-lancers in Albania.

I've performed the "tickle-toe" With its forty steps or so, I have learnt a native dance in Costa Rica; I've fox-trotted in Stranraer, Irish-jigged in Mullingar, And I've danced the Dance of Death at Tanganyika.

I have "bostoned" with the best At a ball in Bukharest, I've reversed with Congo pigmies, dark and hairy; I have one-stepped in Sing-Sing And performed the Highland Fling, I have razzled in the reel at Inveraray.

I have tangoed in Koran, Danced quadrilles in Ispahan (Though I haven't done the polka in Shiraz yet); But I've followed in the train Of Terpsichore in vain, For I haven't mastered _one_ step of the Jazz yet.

* * * * *

"THE LEXICOGRAPHER'S EASY CHAIR.

"In this column, to decide questions concerning the current use of words, ----'s Dictionary is consulted as arbiter.

"'N.H.R.,' Starkville, Miss.--'What is the meaning of the word _Eothen_, and what is its derivation?'

"_Eöthen_ is Greek for 'it is used' or 'accustomed,' and is the title of a celebrated work by Alexander Kinglake."--_American Magazine_.

We fear that the lexicographer found his easy chair so easy that he did not take the trouble to get out of it to consult the dictionary.

* * * * *

THE MIDGET.

As a result of the competition in cheap miniature two-seater cars we anticipate several interesting developments and take the liberty of extracting the following items from the newspapers of the future:--

FOR SALE.--Small two-seater car, fit gentleman five feet eleven inches in height. Forty-two inches round the chest. Only been worn a few times.

Why pay a thousand pounds for a large car when you can get the same result with one of our hundred-pound Midget Cars? Our Midgets are trained to make a noise like a six-seater touring car. We undertake that you shall get the Park Lane feeling at suburban rates. Write for a free sample, enclosing six penny stamps for postage.

One great attraction in the Midget Car is that you need not use a rug to throw over its bonnet in cold weather. A tea-cosy will do.

WHAT OFFERS?--Advertiser, breaking up his collection, will sell his stud of tame mice, two goldfish and several obsolete silkworms, or would exchange for two-seater Midget with spanner.

DEAR SIR.--I have a small two-seater car. It is quite a young one. At what age can I start feeding it on greenstuff? SMITH, MINOR.

PERSONAL.--Will the individual who was driving a Midget Car which ran over old gentleman in the Strand be good enough to come forward and pay for the watch-glass which he cracked?

BE ECONOMICAL.--Our Midgets only smell the petrol. It costs no more to run a Midget than it does to run an automatic pipe-lighter.

_To the Midget Motor Car Company_.

GENTLEMEN,--With reference to the Midget Car you measured me for recently, I ought to have mentioned that I wanted patch pockets on the outside, in which to carry the tools. Yours, etc.

FOR SALE.--Owner whose two-seater car is a trifle tight under the arms wishes to dispose of his pair of white spats.

* * * * *

"Prince Eitel Fritz has been telling the Germans that his father, the ex-Kaiser, is now 'legally' dead. We must get rid of that adjective without delay."--_John Bull_.

"If you see it in _John Bull_ ..." Grammarians please note.

* * * * *

"CHRIST CHURCH, ----.--Wanted at once, for definitely Protestant Evangelical Church, light-minded colleague to share ministry."--_Record_.

A chance for our demobilised humorists.

* * * * *

* * * * *

THE MILKY MOLAR.

["Last week one of my back teeth dropped out in the middle Greek."--_Schoolboy's letter_.]

Last week at the preparatory school Where Frederick learns how not to be a fool, Where he disports at ease with Greek and Latin, And mathematics too is fairly pat in-- On Tuesday morn, the subject being Greek (It always is on that day in the week), Our Frederick, biting hard, as youngsters do, Bit a Greek root and cleft it clean in two. This was a merely metaphoric bite; The next was fact, and gave the boy a fright:

For lo! there came a crumbling At the back of his mouth and a rumbling, And a sort of sound like a grumbling, And out there popped, as pert as you please, A milky back tooth that had taken its ease For too many weeks and months and years. An object, when loose, of anxious fears, It had now debouched and lost its place At the back of a startled schoolboy's face. Oh, out it popped, And down it dropped In the middle of Greek Last Tuesday week.

Yet be not afraid, my lively lad, For you shall renew the tooth you had; The vacant place shall be filled, you'll find, With another back tooth of a larger kind. But a time will come when, if you lose A tooth, as indeed you can't but choose, You must go about For ever without; And, front or back, it returns to you never; You have lost that tooth for ever and ever. So stick to your teeth and accept my apology For this easy lesson in odontology.

* * * * *

PUNCH'S ROLL OF HONOUR.

CAPTAIN A.W. LLOYD, 25th Royal Fusiliers, has been awarded the Military Cross for Distinguished Service in the East African Campaign. Before the War, for which he volunteered at once, joining the Public Schools Battalion, Captain LLOYD illustrated the Essence of Parliament in these pages. Mr. Punch offers him his most sincere congratulations upon the high distinction he has won, and is delighted to know that he is completely recovered from the severe head-wound which he received last year.

* * * * *

* * * * *

THE BEAUTIFUL WORDS.

I have to tell an unvarnished tale of real and recent life in London. When the absence of impulsive benevolence and public virtue is so often insisted upon it is my duty to put the following facts on record.

It was, as it now always is, a wet day. The humidity not only descended from a pitiless sky, but ascended from the cruel pavements which cover the stony heart of that inexorable stepmother, London. Need I say that under these conditions no cabs were obtainable? In other words it was one of those days, so common of late, when other people engage the cabs first. They were plentiful enough, full. One could have been run over and killed by them twenty times between Trafalgar Square and Piccadilly Circus, but all teemed with selfish life. Men of ferocious concentration and women detestable in their purposefulness were to be seen through the passing windows. It was a day on which no one ever got out of a cab at all, except to tell it to wait. No flag was ever up. Since the blessing of peace began to be ours these days have been the rule.

Not only were the cabs all taken and reserved till to-morrow, but the 'buses were overcrowded too. A line of swaying men, steaming from the deluge, intervened in every 'bus between two rows of seated women, also steaming. It was a day on which the conductors and conductresses were always ringing the bell three times.

There was also (for we are very thorough in England) a strike on the Tube and the Underground.

Having to get to Harley Street, I walked up Regent Street, doing my best to shelter beneath an umbrella, and (being a believer in miracles) turning my head back at every other step in the hope that a cab with its flag up might suddenly materialise; but hoping against hope. It was miserable, it was depressing, and it was really rather shameful: by the year 1919 A.D. (I thought) more should have been achieved by boastful mankind in the direction of weather control.

And then the strange thing happened which it is my purpose and pride to relate. A taxi drew up beside me and I was hailed by its occupant. In a novel the hailing voice would be that of a lady or a Caliph _incog._, and it would lure me to adventure or romance. But this was desperately real damp beastly normal life, and the speaker was merely a man like myself.

"Hullo!" he said, calling me by name, and following the salutation by the most grateful and comforting words that the human tongue could at that moment utter.

Every one has seen the Confession Albums, where complacent or polite visitors are asked to state what in their opinion is the most beautiful this and that and the other, always including "the most beautiful form of words." Serious people quote from DANTE or KEATS or SHAKSPEARE; flippant persons write "Not guilty" or "Will you have it in notes or cash?" or "This way to the exit." Henceforth I shall be in no doubt as to my own reply. I shall set down the words used by this amazing god in the machine, this prince among all princely bolts from the blue. "Hullo," he said, "let me give you a lift."

I could have sobbed with joy as I entered the cab--perhaps I did sob with joy--and heard him telling the driver the number in Harley Street for which I was bound.

That is the story--true and rare. How could I refrain from telling it when impulsive benevolence and public virtue are so rare? It was my duty.

* * * * *

* * * * *

BOOK-BOOMING.

(_WITH GRATEFUL ACKNOWLEDGMENTS TO THE LEADING MASTERS OF THIS DELECTABLE ART._)

Messrs. Puffington and Co. beg to announce the immediate issue of _Charity Blueblood_, by Faith Redfern. Speaking _ex cathedra_, with a full consciousness of their responsibilities, they have no hesitation in pronouncing their assured conviction that this novel will take its place above all the classics of fiction.

Here is not only a Thing of Beauty, but a Joy for Ever, wrought by elfin fingers, fashioned of gossamer threads at once fine and prehensile. Yet so Gargantuan and Goliardic that the reader holds his breath, lest the whole beatific caboodle should vanish into thin air and leave him lamenting like a Peril shut out from Paradise.

But this is more than a Paradise. It is a Pandemonium, a Pantosocratic Pantechnicon and a Pantheon as well. For here, within the narrow compass of 750 pages (price 7s. 11¾d.), we find all the glory that was Greece and the grandeur that was Rome; the Olympian serenity of HOMER, the pity and terror of ÆSCHYLUS, the poignancy of CATULLUS, the saucy mirth of ARISTOPHANES, the sanity of SHAKSPEARE, the _macabre_ gruesomeness of BAUDELAIRE, the sardonic _rictus_ of HEINE and the geniality of TROLLOPE. All this and much more.

Here, as we turn every page, we expect to meet _Rosalind_ and _Jeanie Deans_, _Tom Jones_ and _Aramis_, _Mr. Micawber_ and _Madame Bovary_, _Eugenie Grandet_ and _Colonel Newcome_, _Casanova_ and _Casablanca_, _Consuelo_ and "CAGLIOSTRO," and, if we do not meet them, we encounter new and more radiant figures, compared with whom the others are as water to wine.

Here, with its bliss and agony, its cacophony and cachinnation, is Life, such as you and I know it, not life in absolute _déshabillé_, but enveloped in the iridescent upholstery of genius, sublimated by the wizardry of a transcendental polyphony.

Here, soaring high above the cenotaph in which the roses and rapture of our youth lie entombed in one red burial blent, we see the shimmering strands of St. Martin's Summer drawn athwart the happenless days of Autumn, with the dewdrops of cosmic unction sparkling in the rays of a sunshine never yet seen on land or sea, but reflecting as in a magic mirror that far off El Dorado, that land where Summer always is "i-cumen in," for which each and all of us feel a perpetual nostalgia.

Here, in fine, gentle reader, is a work of such colossal force that to render justice to its abysmal greatness we have ransacked the vocabulary of superlative laudation in vain. SWINBURNE, compared to the needs of the situation, is as a shape of quivering jelly alongside of the Rock of Gibraltar. And here, O captious critic, is a Wonderwork which not only disarms but staggers, paralyses and annihilates all possibilities of animadversion, unless you wish to share the fate of Marsyas, by pitting your puny strength against the overwhelming panoply of divine and immortal genius.

* * * * *

"A bricklayer's labourer was remanded yesterday on a charge of stealing, as bailee, two matches, value £3, the property of the Vicar of ----."--_Provincial Paper_.

We fear there has been bad profiteering somewhere; even in London they have not touched that price.

* * * * *

"Howells' new violin conato (E flat), which followed, is sincere music ... whatever there is it is possible to bear."--_Times_.

The fololwing of a conata, like the bombination of a chimæra, apparently puts some strain upon the attention of an audience.

* * * * *

_LE FRANÇAIS TEL QUE L'ON LE PARLE._

It was on my journey to Paris that I ran across little Prior in the train. He too was going, he said, on Peace Conference work. His is a communicative disposition and before we had fairly started on our journey he had unfolded his plans. He said the Conference was bound to last a long time, and as a resident in a foreign country he had a splendid opportunity to learn the language. He meant, he said, to get to know it thoroughly later on. He then produced his French Pronouncing Handbook.

I thought I knew French pretty well until I saw that book. It gave Prior expressions to use in the most casual conversation that I have never heard of in my life. It had a wonderful choice of words. Only an experienced philologist could have told you their exact origin.

The handbook had foreseen every situation likely to arise abroad; and I think it overrated one's ordinary experiences. I have known people who have resided in France for years and never once had occasion to ask a billiard-marker if he would "_Envoyer-nous des crachoirs_." Most people can rub along on a holiday quite cheerfully without a spittoon; but then the handbook never meant you to be deprived of home comforts for the want of asking.

Nor did it intend, with all its oily phraseology, that you should be imposed on. There is a scene in a "print-shop" over the authenticity of an engraving which gets to an exceedingly painful climax.

A good deal of reliance is placed on the innate courtesy of the French. For it appears that, after an entire morning spent at the stationer's, when the shop-keeper has discussed every article he has for sale, you wind up by saying, "_Je prendrai une petite bouteille d'encre noire,_" and all that long-suffering man retorts is, "_J'voo zangvairay ler pah-kay,_" which is not nearly so bolshevistic as it looks.

Prior said he was going to start to speak French directly he got on board the steamer--he had learnt that part off by heart already. The first remark he must make was, "Send the Captain to me at once." There is no indication of riot or uproar at this. Evidently the Captain is brought without the slightest difficulty, for in the very next line we find Prior saying, "_Êtes-vous le Capitaine?_" and he goes on to inquire about his berth.

The Captain tells him everything there is to know about berths and then apparently offers to take down his luggage, for Prior is commanding, "Take care of my carpet-bag, if you please."

They then begin to discuss the weather. "In what quarter is the wind?" asks the indefatigable Prior.

"The wind," says the Captain, "is in the north, in the south, in the east, in the south-west. It will be a rough passage. It will be very calm."

Prior does not seem to observe that the Captain appears to be hedging. This wealth of information even pleases him, and then quite abruptly he demands, "_Donnez-moi une couverture,_" because, as he goes on to explain, he "feels very sick." This gives the "Capitaine" an opportunity to escape. He says, "I will send the munitionnaire."

Undoubtedly that Captain has a sense of the ridiculous. I like the man. Anyone who could, on the spur of the moment, describe the steward as the munitionnaire deserves to rank as one of the world's humourists. But Prior is apparently in no condition to see a joke. He says he will have the munitionnaire instantly bringing in his hand "_un verre d'eau de vie._"

I was really sorry that in the bustle of embarking I lost sight of Prior and therefore could not witness the meeting between him and the Captain. It would have made me happy for the whole day.

The crossing was prolonged, for we took a zig-zag course to avoid any little remembrances Fritz might have left us in the form of mines. When we were nearing land I saw Prior again. He was stretched out on a deck-chair and looked up with a ghastly smile as he caught sight of me.

"Hullo, you're alone!" I said rather cruelly. "Is this the stage where the Captain goes to find the munitionnaire?"

Then he spoke, but it was not in the words of the phrase-book. It was in clear, concise, unmistakable English.

"Can you tell me," he asked, and behind his words lay a suggestion of quiet force of despair, "about what hour of the day or night this cursed boat is likely to get to Boolong?"

* * * * *

"Evens are moving rapidly in connection with the plan by the Government, announced only yesterday, to call a national industrial conference."--_Daily Paper_.

We are glad the odds are not against it.

* * * * *

Notice in a German shop-window (British zone):--

"Jon can have jour SAFETY RAZOR BLADES reset, throug hare experient workman any System."

The Germans seem to be getting over their dislike to British steel.

* * * * *

COMMERCIAL COMFORT.

["Mines are spottily good. Oils maintain a healthy undertone."--_Stock Exchange Report_.]

O welcome message of the tape! O words of comfortable cheer! You bring us promise of escape Into a balmier atmosphere; Though Ireland with sedition boils And shrieks aloud, "Ourselves Alone"; Still mines are good in spots, and oils Maintain a healthy undertone.

Though dismal Jeremiahs wail Of Bolshevists within our gates, And, though the Master of _The M**l_ In sad seclusion vegetates, The rising tide of gloom recoils Once the inspiring news is known That mines are good in spots, and oils Maintain a healthy undertone.

An over-sanguine mood is wrong And ought to be severely banned; Yet spots, if good, cannot belong To the pernicious leopard brand; But no such reservation spoils The sequel; doubt is overthrown By the explicit statement, "Oils Maintain a healthy undertone."

Not, you'll remark, the savage growl Of the exasperated bear, Nor the profound blood-curdling howl Of the gorilla in its lair; Nor yet the roar in civic broils That surges round a tyrant's throne-- Oh, no, the organ voice of oils Is healthy in its undertone.

O blessed jargon of the mart! Though your commercial meaning's hid From me, a layman, to my heart You bring a soothing _nescio quid_; Amid the flux of strikes and plots Two things at present stand like stone: In mines the goodness of their spots, In oils their healthy undertone.

* * * * *

Extract from a recent story:--

"Noiselessly we crept from the tent. The sands, the sea, the cliffs, were bathed in silver white by a glorious tropical moon. Noiselessly we levelled it to the ground, rolled it up, and carried it to the boat."

And that night the Gothas were foiled.

* * * * *

"The subject of a war memorial was considered at a St. Sidwell's, Exeter, parish meeting. Many suggestions were offered, among them one that the present seating in the parish church should be replaced by plush-covered tip-up seats, such as are in use at kinemas and other places of entertainment."--_Western Morning News_.

If the suggestion is adopted it is presumed that the name of the church will be altered to St. Sitwell.

* * * * *

* * * * *

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

(_BY MR. PUNCH'S STAFF OF LEARNED CLERICS._)