Chapter 2

In careless comfort let my days be spent! And, maiden, mutual happiness shall reign; The crash of crockery I'll not lament Nor (when I fain would sing) will I complain Though you should raise the far from dulcet strain; But with a sweet content I'll bless the day My legionary came, and came to stay.

* * * * *

"LOST, large retriever dog, flat-coated; when pleased or expectant he grins, showing all his teeth; information leading to his recovery will be rewarded."--_Glasgow Herald_.

It is supposed that he has been studying the portraits of "Variety" ladies in the illustrated papers.

* * * * *

"He must, said Mr. Thomas, urge men to recognise that, in the present state of the country, it was imperative that soppages should be avoided."--_Liverpool Paper_.

Excellent advice; but in the present state of the country, unless one wears waders, extremely difficult to follow.

* * * * *

"WANTED.--A suitable match for a well-connected and refined Suri widower of 37; healthy and of good moral character; monthly income about 500 rupees. Possesses property. Late wife died last week."--_Indian Paper_.

It is a sign of the truly moral character to be definitely off with the old love before you are on with the new.

* * * * *

"The five main points in the Prime Minister's programme are: (1) Punch the ex-Kaiser."--_Sunday Times_ (_Johannesburg_).

The other four don't matter, but we wish to take the earliest opportunity of denying this totally unfounded suggestion. Mr. Punch is not the ex-Kaiser, and never was.

* * * * *

* * * * *

A LITTLE FAVOUR.

Maisie was terribly upset when she lost her gold curb bangle (with padlock attached) between the hospital and the canteen. The first I knew of it was seeing a handbill offering two pounds' reward on our front gate, with the ink still damp, when I came home to lunch. There was a similar bill blowing down the road. My wife had some more under her arm and she pressed them on me. "Run round to the shops," she said; "get them put right in the middle of the windows where they'll catch everybody's eye."

The first shop I entered was a hosier's. Since drilling in the V.T.O. I have acquired rather a distinguished bearing. Shopkeepers invariably treat me with attention. The hosier hurried forward, obviously anticipating a princely order for tweeds at war prices. I hadn't the courage to buy nothing. I selected the nearest thing on the counter, a futurist necktie at two-and-six-three, and, as I was leaving the shop, turned back carelessly. "By the by, would you mind putting this bill in your window?" I said.

His lip curled. "This is a high-class business. We make it a rule--no bills," he said.

At the butcher's next door there were several customers. They all gave way to me. I made purchases worthy of my appearance and carriage, half an ox tail and some chitterlings. Then I proffered a handbill. The man in blue accepted it and, before I had opened my lips, returned it to me wrapped round the ox tail. I was too taken aback to explain. In fact, when he held out his hand, I mechanically gave him another bill for the chitterlings.

At the next shop, a fancy draper's, I acted with cunning. In the centre of the window, on a raised background of silver paper, was displayed a wreath of orange-blossom veiled with tulle. I bought it. The young ladies were hysterical. "May I ask permission to put this little handbill in its place?" I said. They appealed to the shopwalker. "In the absence of the head of the firm I cannot see my way to accede to your request," he said. "At present he is on the Rhine. On his demobilisation I will place the matter before him if you will leave the bill in my hands." I left it.

I skipped a gramophone emporium and a baby-linen shop and entered a fishmonger's. Here I adopted tactics of absolute candour. "Look here," I said, "I haven't come to buy anything. I don't want any fish, flesh or red-herring, but I should be no end grateful if you would stick this bill up for me somewhere."

"Certainly, Sir, as many as you like," said the proprietor heartily.

Gleefully I gave him two. One he stuck on a hook on top of a couple of ducks, and it flopped over face downwards on their breasts. The other he laid in the middle of the marble counter, and the next moment his assistant came along and slapped an outsize halibut on it.

I went into a jeweller's next and purchased a gold curb bangle (with padlock attached).

"You clever old thing," said Maisie; "you'd never tell one from the other, would you? Mine's a tiny bit heavier, don't you think? I've just found it in the soap-dish. I'll change this for a filigree pendant. All my life I've longed for a filigree pendant"

* * * * *

"For 85 tons of blackberries, gathered last autumn, Northamptonshire elementary school children were paid £2,380, 3d. a lb."--_Daily Paper_.

The young profiteers!

* * * * *

"Splendid imitation almond paste for cakes can be made as follows: Take four ounces of breadcrumbs, one small teaspoonful of almond essence, four ounces of soft white sugar, and one well-eaten egg to bind the mixture."--_Answers_.

The difficulty is to get the egg.

* * * * *

_APRÈS LA GUERRE_.

"_On ne sait jamais le dessous des cartes_," as the perplexing dialect of the aborigines of this country would put it. William and I, when we used to discuss after-the-war prospects o' nights in the old days, were more or less resigned to a buckshee year or two of filling shell-holes up and pulling barbed wire down. Instead of which we all go about the country taking in each others' education. No one, we gather, will be allowed to go home until he has taken his B.A. with honours. And after that--But it would be better to begin at the beginning.

It began within ten days of the signing of the armistice, assuming the shape of an official inquiry from Division, a five-barred document wherein somebody with a talent for confusing himself (and a great contempt for the Paper Controller) managed to ask every officer the same question in five different ways. They cancelled each other out after a little examination and left behind merely a desire to discover whether or not each officer had a job waiting for him on his return to civil life. William and I took the thing at a gallop, stuck down a succinct "Yes. Yes, No, No. Yes," subscribed our signatures and returned the documents--or so William proposed to do--"for your information and necessary inaction."

"They're getting deuced heavy about these jobs, aren't they?" observed William a day or two later. "The Old Man wants to see us all at orderly-room for a private interview--he's got to make a return showing whether his officers have got jobs waiting for them, if not, why not, and please indent at once to make good any deficiencies. Hullo, what's this?"

It happened to be William's mail for the day--one large official-looking envelope. It turned out to be a document from his old unit (he had entered the Army from an O.T.C.), headed, "Resettlement and Employment of ex-Officers: Preliminary Enquiry." It was a formidable catechism, ranging from inquiries as to whether William had a job ready for him to a request for a signed statement from his C.O. certifying that he was a sober, diligent and obliging lad and had generally given every satisfaction in his present situation. In case he hadn't a job or wanted another one there were convenient spaces in which to confess the whole of his past--whether he had a liking for animals or the Colonies, mechanical aptitude (if any), down to full list of birth-marks and next-of-kin. William thrust the thing hastily into the stove. But I observed that there was a cloud over him for the rest of the day.

However, we both of us satisfied the examiner at the orderly-room, though the renewed evidence of a determined conspiracy to find work for him left William a trifle more thoughtful than his wont. Shades of the prison-house began to close about our growing joy, "These 'ere jobs," remarked William, "are going to take a bit of dodging, dearie. Looks to me as though you might cop out for anything from a tram-driver to Lord Chief. Wish people wouldn't be so infernally obliging. And, anyway, what is this--an Army or a Labour Exchange?"

As the days wore on the strain became more and more intense. William's old school had contrived an association which begged to be allowed to do anything in the world for him except leave him for a single day in idleness. And what time the Army was not making inquiries about his own civil intentions and abilities it was insisting on his extracting the same information from the platoons. William grew haggard and morose. He began looking under his bed every night for prospective employers and took to sleeping with a loaded Webley under his pillow for fear of being kidnapped by a registry office. He slept in uneasy snatches, and when he did doze off was tormented by hideous nightmares.

In one of them he dreamt he was on leave and walking through the City. At every doorway he had to run the gauntlet of lithe and implacable managing directors, all ready to pounce on him, drag him within and chain him permanently to a stool--with the complete approval of the Army Council. In another he was appearing before a tribunal of employers as a conscientious objector to all forms of work.

The last straw was when the Brigadier caused it to be made known that if any officer was particularly unsettled about his future he might be granted a personal interview and it would be seen what could be done for him. William sat down with the air of one who has established a thumping bridgehead over his Rubicon and wrote to the Brigadier direct and as follows:--

"SIR,--I have the honour to hope that this finds you a good deal better than it leaves me at present. In case you should be in any uncertainty over your prospects on return to half-pay, I shall be happy to grant you a personal interview at my billet (Sheet 45; G 22a 3.7.) and see whether anything can be arranged to suit you. I may add that I have a number of excellent appointments on my books, from knife-boy to traveller to a firm of mineral water manufacturers. For my own part my immediate future is firmly settled, thank you. For at least three months after my discharge from the Army I have no intention of taking up any form of work.

"I have the honour to be, Sir,

"YOUR OTHERWISE OBEDIENT SERVANT, ETC."

* * * * *

The court-martial was held last Thursday and sentence will be promulgated any day now. Medical evidence certified William as sane enough to understand the nature of his offence, but as the War is over it is unlikely that he will be shot at dawn. William himself is confident that he will be cashiered, a sentence which carries with it automatic and permanent exclusion from all appointments under the Crown. "That makes a tidy gap in the wire," says William hopefully. "They won't even be able to make a postman of me. With a bit of luck I'll dodge the unofficial jobs--I get that holiday after all, old bean."

* * * * *

"HUNTING. THE DANGER OF KICKING HORSES."--_Times._

Generally the shoe is on the other foot.

* * * * *

"The Falkirk iron fitters, by an overwhelming majority, have opposed the forty-hour week and have agreed to a forty-four hour week."--_Provincial Paper_.

Bravo, Falkirk!

* * * * *

"The announcement of the augmentation of the British beet in the Mediterranean appeared exclusively in the 'Sunday Express.'"--_Daily Express_.

It doesn't seem anything to boast about.

* * * * *

"WANTED.--On a farm, two capable European young or middle-aged girls."--_South African Paper_.

There are lots of girls answering this description, but the difficulty is that most of them are too shy to admit it.

* * * * *

"M. Clemenceau ... speaks English with rare perfection, having spent years in the United States."--_Daily Paper_.

"M. Clemenceau, speaking in excellent English, said 'Yes.'"--_Sunday Paper_.

What he really said, of course, was "Yep."

* * * * *

QUESTION AND ANSWER.

"What _are_ you, Sir?" the Counsel roared. The timid witness said, "My Lord, A Season-ticket holder I Where London's southern suburbs lie." "Tut, tut," his Lordship made demur, "He meant what is your business, Sir." The witness sighed and shook his head, "I get no time for that," he said.

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

ANOTHER CRISIS.

(_BY A FUTILITY RABBIT KEEPER_.)

There is a rabbit in the pansy bed, There is a burrow underneath the wall, There is a rabbit everywhere you tread, To-day I heard a rabbit in the hall, The same that sits at evening in my shoes And sings his usefulness, or simply chews; There is no corner sacred to the Muse-- And how shall man demobilise them all?

Far back, when England was devoid of food, Men bade me breed the coney and I bought Timber and wire-entanglements and hewed Fair roomy palaces of pine-wood wrought, Wherein our first-bought sedulously gnawed And every night escaped and ran abroad; Yet she was lovely and we named her Maud, And if she ate the primulas, 'twas nought.

The months rolled onward and she multiplied, And all her progeny resembled her; They ate the daffodils; they seldom died; And no one thought of them as provender; The children fed them weekly for a treat, And my wife said, "The _little_ things--how sweet! If you imagine I can ever eat A rabbit called Persephone, you err."

Yet famine might have hardened that proud breast, Only that victory removed the threat; And now, if e'er I venture to suggest That it is time that some of them were ate, That Maud is pivotal and costing pounds, And how the garden is a mass of mounds, She answers me, on military grounds, "Peace is not come. We cannot eat them yet."

So I shall steal to yon allotment space With a large bag of rabbits, and unseen Demobilise them, and in that fair place They all shall browse on cauliflower and bean; There Smith will come on Saturday, and think That it is shell-shock or disease or drink; But Maud shall dwell for ever there and sink A world of burrows in Laburnum Green. A.P.H.

* * * * *

SECRETS OF THE PEACE CONFERENCE.

"The proceedings yesterday afternoon began punctually at three o'clock. Lord Robert Cecil sat with the British delegates. M. Léon Bourgeois sat among the French delegates."--_Manchester Guardian_.

And not, as might have been thought, _vice versâ_.

* * * * *

"A thoroughly capable and energetic man wanted, who will look after a family concern: Must understand management of 25 acre farm with 10 cows, about four acres may have to be broken up. Must be an experienced brewer, capable of mashing 10 times a week, and taking entire charge of brewing operations with assistance of unskilled labour. Must be conversant with licensing laws and requirements, also present restrictions as applying to brewing; thoroughly understand and superintend wines and spirits department, direct repairs, capable buyer, general manager, organiser and foreman. Must be thorough accountant, capable of directing office and branch work, conversant with income-tax and excess profits duty practice. Able to drive, or willing to learn a 4-ton Commer lorry, must be motor-cyclist to visit branches, and manage public-houses. Absolutely essential to understand and drive oil engines.--Further particulars apply ---- and Sons."--_Daily Paper_.

What we chiefly miss is any information as to how the man is to fill up his spare time.

* * * * *

"ITALIAN SPELLING.

"There are to be streets in Athens named after President Wilson and after Mr. Lloyd George. In the 'Patris,' an Athens paper, we read that 'Wilson' is spelt 'Ouilson,' whilst 'George' is Tzortz,' 'Bonar Law' is 'Mponar Lo.'"--_Birmingham Mail_.

We bow to our contemporary's erudition, but we confess it all looks Greek to us.

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

ALL THE TALENTS.

Now that hostilities are at an end it is thought by many intelligent young subalterns that a little variety might well be introduced into Army routine.

For instance, at a General's Inspection why should not Officers' duties be allotted after this fashion?--

The Commanding Officer will bind up the Second-in-Command with a length of red tape, showing that no escape is possible from this form of entanglement.

The Adjutant will give an exhibition of paper manipulation, using various Army Forms for this purpose.

The Assistant-Adjutant will demonstrate how a morning's work may be made of the changing of a pen-nib, while still creating an impression of devoted industry.

The Messing Officer will fry a fillet of sole by means of haybox cookery, and during the process will publicly skin a ration rabbit in such a way that not the slightest depreciation is caused in the value of 2½d. attached to a rabbit-skin.

The Officer i/e Demobilisation will demobilise you while you wait (provided you can wait long enough).

The Quartermaster will make a model of Hampton Court Maze, illustrative of the intricacies of his department, taking care that his model appropriately differs from the original in having no means of exit.

The Medical Officer will demonstrate how the huge national accumulation of No. 9 pills may be adapted to civilian purposes by using the pill _(a)_ as a fertiliser for the Officers' tennis lawn, and _(b)_ as a destroyer of the superfluous grass bordering thereon.

Company Commanders will collaborate in a display of standing on their own feet without the assistance of their respective Company Sergeant-Majors. (N.B.--Absolute silence is requested during this very delicate performance.)

The Junior Subaltern will give an exhibition of stunt saluting.

* * * * *

TO MY DRESS SUIT.

Old friend, well met! I've longed for this reunion; You've been the lodestar of this storm-tossed ship In those long hours which poets call Communion With one's own Soul, and common folk the Pip.

The foe might rage, the Brigadier might bluster. Was I down-hearted? No! My spirit soared And dreamt of you and me with blended lustre Gracing some well-spread and convivial board.

And what if now you fit askew where erstwhile Fair lines bewrayed a figure not too svelte? What if your shoulder-seams are like to burst, while A sad hiatus shows beneath the belt?

As April fills the buds to shapely beauty, As cooks fill Robert with plum-cake and tea, So, it may be, a diet rich and fruity May fill the gap that sunders you from me.

And if it fail, as I'm a, living sinner I'll save you from the gaze of scornful eyes. They say that Bolsheviks don't dress for dinner; I'll off to Petrograd and Bolshevize.

* * * * *

* * * * *

A PLEA FOR PROPORTION.

[Its contemporaries having told us all about Mr. Lloyd George's hat and how President Wilson ate a banana, _The Daily Express_ recently went one better with the headline, "Mr. Balfour joins a Tennis Club," as the subheading of its "Peace Conference Notes."]

Has it always been this way, I wonder, Did editors always display The same disposition to blunder O'er the weight of the news of the day? When simpler was war and directer, Was Athens accustomed to see In the sheets of its _Argus_ how Hector Had bloaters for tea?

If so--or indeed if it's not so-- One cannot but gently deplore That the custom of chronicling rot so Has not been expunged by the War. When the world with its horrors still stunned is And waits for vast hopes to come true, What boots it if delegates' undies Are scarlet or blue?

All facts of those delegates' labours I'm ready to read with a zest, And they must, like myself and my neighbours, I know, have their moments of rest; I do not begrudge them their pleasures, But frankly I don't care a rap If the sport that engages their leisure's "Up, Jenkins" or "Snap."

Since the founts of its wisdom present us Each morning with gems of this kind, Such matters must strike as momentous The news-editorial mind; 'Tis time this delusion was done with, High time that some voice made it clear We don't want those fountains to run with Such very small beer.

* * * * *

"A married man, aged 34 years, collided with the mail train when riding a motorcycle into Hawera on Friday. His right arm, collarbone, and blue hospital uniforms on Thursday morning."--_New Zealand Herald_.

We rather like this telescopic style of reporting. It leaves something to the reader's imagination.

* * * * *

"To Parents and Pawnbrokers.--Anyone assisting to remove the Charity Boots, marked B., from the Children's Feet, which are the property of Mr. J. B---- and his Supporters, WILL BE PROSECUTED."--_Irish Paper_.

A distressful country, indeed, where the children do not own their own feet.

* * * * *

WINCHESTER'S OPPORTUNITY.

War legislation has pressed hard on many callings, and on none more than that of the architect. But the embargo has been lifted; the ancient art is coming to its own again, and it is of happy omen that the new President of the Royal Academy has been chosen from the architects. In this context we welcome the stimulating article in a recent issue of _The Times_ _à propos_ of the Winchester War Memorial. "Are we never," asks the writer, "to take risks in our architecture?" and his answer, briefly summed up, is "Perish the thought. _De l'audace, encore de l'audace, toujours de l'audace._" It is, of course, a pity that the Winchester War Memorial scheme has not met with the unanimous approval of Wykehamists. Possibly they have reason, for while adding a new cloister, a new gateway and a new hall to the existing school buildings, it involves the pulling down of the Quingentenary Memorial Building, erected some twenty years ago, and of some old houses in Kingsgate Street. Some consider such a drastic destruction to be unfortunate, but, says _The Times_, it is "necessary if any scheme worthy of the occasion is to be carried out." Moreover it is proposed to re-erect the Quingentenary Memorial on a new site, "where it will certainly look as well as ever."