Chapter 2

I trickled up to Corpse and eventually discovered Albert Edward alone, practising the three-card trick with a view to a career after the War. "You'll enjoy this Mess," said he, turning up "the Lady" where he least expected her; "it's made up of Staff eccentrics--Demobilizing, Delousing, Educational, Laundry and Burial _wallahs_--all sorts, very interesting; you'll learn how the other half lives and all that. Oh, that reminds me. You know poor old MacTavish's secret, don't you?"

"Of course," said I; "everybody does. Why?"

Albert Edward grinned. "Because there's another bloke here with a dark past, only this is t'other way about; he's a bumpkin turned sailor, Blenkinsop by name, you know, the Shropshire hackney breeders. He's Naval Division. Ever rub against those merchants?"

I had not.

"Well, I have," Albert Edward went on. "They're wonders; pretend they're in mid-ocean all the time, stuck in the mud on the Beaucourt Ridge, gummed in the clay at Souchez--anywhere. They 'come aboard' a trench and call their records-office--a staid and solid bourgeois dwelling in Havre--_H.M.S. Victory_. If you were bleeding to death and asked for the First Aid Post they wouldn't understand you; you've got to say 'Sick bay' or bleed on. If you want a meal you've got to call the cook-house 'The galley,' or starve.

"This _matelot_ Blenkinsop has got it very badly. He obtained all his sea experience at the Crystal Palace and has been mud-pounding up and down France for three years, and yet here we have him now pretending there's no such thing as dry land."

"Not an unnatural delusion," I remarked.

"Well," resumed Albert Edward, "across the table from him sits our old MacTavish, lisping, 'What is the Atlantic? Is it a herb?' I'll bet my soul they're in their billets at this moment, MacTavish mugging up some stable-patter out of NAT GOULD, and Blenkinsop imbibing a dose of ship-chatter from 'BARTIMEUS.' They'll come in for food presently, MacTavish doing what he imagines to be a 'cavalry-roll,' tally-hoing at the top of his voice, and Blenkinsop weaving his walk like the tough old sea-dog he isn't, ship a-hoying and avasting for dear life."

"They're both going on leave with you to-morrow, aren't they?" I asked.

Albert Edward nodded.

"Then their game is up," said I.

Albert Edward's brow crinkled. "I don't quite get you."

"My dear old fool," said I, "it's blowing great guns now. With the leave-packet doing the unbusted broncho act for two hours on end it shouldn't be very difficult to separate the sheep from the goat, the true-blue sailor from the pea-green lubber, should it? They may be able to bluff each other, but not the silvery Channel in mid-winter."

Albert Edward slapped his knee and laughed aloud.

* * * * *

They all came back from England last night. I lost no time in cornering Albert Edward.

"Well, everything worked just as I prophesied, didn't it?" said I. "With the first buck the old boat gave Blenkinsop tottered to the rail and--"

Albert Edward shook his head.

"No, he didn't. He ate a pound of morphia and lay in the Saloon throughout sleeping like a little child."

"But MacTavish?" I stammered.

"Oh, MacTavish," said Albert Edward--"MacTavish took an emetic."

PATLANDER.

* * * * *

* * * * *

COMMERCIAL CANDOUR.

"The post-war ---- will be the one car from which the owner with moderate ideas can obtain the minimum amount of genuine pleasure and satisfaction."--_Advt. in Trade Paper_.

* * * * *

From an account of a film-drama:--

"Horrified at his pseudanimity she agrees to the deception,"--_Provincial Paper_.

It sounds rather pusillonymous.

* * * * *

MUSICAL GOSSIP.

We are semi-officially informed on the best authority that the undermentioned nominations--some of which have already been accepted--to the thrones and chairs now vacant in various parts of the world have been made and approved by the Allied Governments.

Foremost among these is the nomination "by acclamation" of RICHARD STRAUSS as King of the Cannibal Islands. It is understood that the illustrious composer has already arrived and that a grand congress of Anthropophagi with suitable festivities is in contemplation.

Two nominations which have been the cause of great satisfaction in diplomatic circle are those of Mr. MARK HAMBOURG to the Kingdom of Palestine, and that of M. MOISEIWITCH to the throne of the Solomon Islands. Jamborees of jubilation are already rife in the latter locality.

Sir HENRY WOOD has been simultaneously approached from two quarters. The leading citizens of Sonora have offered him the Presidentship of that interesting State. At the same time an urgent invitation has been sent to the eminent conductor offering him the throne of the Empire of Percussia. Sir HENRY'S decision is awaitod with feverish anxiety.

It is stated by the _Corriere della Sera_ that Madame MELBA, the Australian nightingale, has been chosen to preside over the Jug-jugo-Slav Republic, while Madame CLARA BUTT has been unanimously elected Empress of Patagonia.

Sir THOMAS BEECHAM'S selection from among the candidates for the throne of New Guinea, is regarded as a foregone conclusion. The famous violinist, Mr. ALBERT SAMMONS, has so far returned no final answer to the offer of the Crown of Sordinia, but it is believed that he cannot long remain mute to the touching appeal of the signatories. A favourable answer is also expected from Mlle. Jelly Aranyi, who has been nominated Queen of Guava.

On the other hand Sir EDWARD ELGAR, O.M., has steadfastly declined the Tsardom of Bulgaria, even though it was proposed to change the name of the country to Elgaria.

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* * * * *

TO AN EGYPTIAN BOY.

Child of the gorgeous East, whose ardent suns Have kissed thy velvet skin to deeper lustre And given thine almond eyes A look more calm and wise Than any we pale Westerners can muster, Alas! my mean intelligence affords No clue to grasp the meaning of the words Which vehemently from thy larynx leap. How is it that the liquid language runs? "_Nai_--_soring_--_trîf_--_erwonbi_--_aster_--_ferish_--_îp_."

E'en so, methinks, did CLEOPATRA WOO Her vanquished victor, couched on scented roses, And PHARAOH from his throne With more imperious tone Addressed in some such terms rebellious MOSES; And esoteric priests in Theban shrines, Their ritual conned from hieroglyphic signs, Thus muttered incantations dark and deep To Isis and Osiris, Thoth and Shu: "_Nai_--_soring_--_trîf_--_erwonbi_--_aster_--_ferish_--_îp_."

In all my youthful studies why was this Left out? What tutor shall I blame my folly on? From Sekhet-Hetepu Return to mortal view, O shade of BRUGSCH or MARIETTE or CHAMPOLLION; Expound the message latent in his speech Or send a clearer medium, I beseech; For lo! I listen till I almost weep For anguish at the priceless gems I miss: "_Nai_--_soring_--_trîf_--_erwonbi_--_aster_--_ferish_--_îp_."

To sundry greenish orbs arranged on trays-- Unripe, unluscious fruit--he draws attention. My mind, till now so dark, Receives a sudden spark That glows and flames to perfect comprehension; And I, whom no Rosetta Stone assists, Become the peer of Egyptologists, From whom exotic tongues no secrets keep; For this is what the alien blighter says: "Nice orang'; three for one piastre; very cheap."

* * * * *

"Napoleon was crowned Emperor of the French on December 2nd, 1804, and abdicated in 1914. On December 2nd, 1918, the papers announced the formal abdication of Wilhelm II. of Germany."--_Kent Messenger_.

WILHELM probably wishes that he had chosen the same date for his abdication as NAPOLEON.

* * * * *

When a dear little lady from Lancashire Came to London to act as a bank cashier, And asked, "Is it true 1 + 1 = 2?" They thought they'd revert to a man cashier.

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* * * * *

PARLIAMENTARY CASUALTIES.

Dear Mr. Punch,--I am told that Mr. ASQUITH considers that this has been a most unsatisfactory election. So do I. As you know, the principal function of the House of Commons nowadays is to provide amusing "copy" for the late editions of the evening papers and to give the "sketch"-writers a chance of exercising their pretty wits. As Mr. SPENCER LEIGH HUGHES once remarked in an after-dinner speech to Mr. BALFOUR, "You, Sir, are our raw material."

Now, what I complain of is that on the present occasion the voters have entirely disregarded the needs of the journeymen of the Press, and have ruthlessly deprived them of the greater part of their raw material. Mr. HUGHES himself, I am glad to see, has been spared, but he fortunately had not to undergo the hazards of a contest. I tremble to think what his fate might have been if at the last moment some stodgy statesman had been nominated to oppose him.

Against humour, conscious or unconscious, the voters seem to have solidly set their faces. It was bad enough that Mr. JOE KING--who has probably helped to provide more deserving journalists with a living than any other legislator who ever lived--should have declined the contest. Question-time without Mr. KING and his unerring nose for mare's-nests will be like _Alice_ without _The Mad Hatter_. It was bad, too, that Sir HEDWORTH MEUX should have decided to interrupt the flow of that eloquence which we were forbidden to call "breezy," and that Major "Boadicea" HUNT, Mr. JOHN BURNS, Mr. TIM HEALY, and Mr. SWIFT MACNEILL should have withdrawn from a scene in which they had provided so much profitable entertainment for the gods in the Press Gallery.

These losses made it all the more incumbent upon the electors to see that the House should retain as much as possible of the remnant of its comic relief. But what do we find? Why, that practically every one of the gentlemen who made the journalist's life worth living in the last Parliament has been cruelly turned down.

For much of this grief the Sinn Feiners are responsible. They have easily accomplished what a few years ago six stalwart British constables could scarcely do and have removed the gigantic Mr. FLAVIN from his emerald bench. With him have gone nearly all his comrades; and the once-powerful Nationalist party, which for nearly forty years has been such an unfailing source of sparkling paragraphs, is reduced to the number immortalised by WORDSWORTH'S little maid.

Almost more distressing than the loss of individuals is the breaking up of Parliamentary partnerships. What is the use of Mr. HOUSTON being returned if he has no longer Sir LEO CHIOZZA MONEY to heckle? Captain PRETYMAN-NEWMAN will doubtless continue to ask questions about the shocking condition of his native country, but without Mr. REDDY'S squeaking _obbligato_, "Why isn't the honourable and gallant Member out at the Front?" they will lose half their savour. He will be as dull as Io without her gad-fly. Mr. "Boanerges" STANTON is happily still with us, but with no pacifists to bellow at I fear that his vocal chords will atrophy.

Then the famous Young Scots Trio, which has given us so many attractive "turns," has been violently dissolved. Mr. PRINGLE, whose ample supply of vitriolic invective was always at the service of the PRIME MINISTER, has been left by an ungrateful constituency at the bottom of the poll, and Mr. WATT has shared his fate. It is true that Mr. HOGGE managed to save his bacon, but without the support of _Harlequin_ and _Pantaloon_ I fear his clowning will fail to draw.

With so many of the old puppets gone I feel very lonely, and can only try to comfort myself with the hope that the new Parliament may provide some adequate substitutes. After all, so vast a machine must contain a few cranks.

Meantime I remain, Sir, with the highest respect,

YOUR PARLIAMENTARY CORRESPONDENT.

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* * * * *

THE BOOM IN ARCHITECTURE.

Since that far-away period before the War, my architectural nerve has become sadly debilitated; so when a card (bearing the name of Carruthers) was brought to me the other morning I felt quite unmanned.

"Some potential client," I observed inwardly, "who has heard of the removal of the five-hundred pound limit and has bearded me before I have had time to get the hang of T-square and compasses again."

I liked the appearance of Mr. Carruthers, and his greeting had a slight ring of flattery in it that was very soothing.

"You are Mr. Bellamy, the architect?" he said.

"I am," I replied; "at least I was before the War."

"And have a large practice?" he resumed.

"I certainly had a large practice formerly," I said. "With my methods and experience one ought to acquire an extensive _clientele_. I have been an architect, my dear sir, man and boy for over forty years, and have always followed the architectural fashions. In the late seventies, when little columns of Aberdeen granite were the rage--you know the stuff, tastes like marble and looks like brawn--I went in for them hot and strong, and every building I touched turned to potted meat. Then SHAW came along--BERNARD, was it? no, NORMAN--with his red brick and gables, and I got so keen that I moved to Bedford Park to catch the full flavour of it.

"Next, the Ingle-nooker's found in me a willing disciple. I designed rows of houses, all roofs and no chimneys, or all chimneys and no roofs, it didn't matter which so long as there was an ingle-nook with a motto over it. Why, after a time I got so expert that I simply designed an ingle-nook and the rest seemed to grow by itself.

"Just as the War started I had broken out in another place and was getting into my Italian loggia-pergola-and-sunk-garden stride, and then came the five-hundred pound limit and busted the whole show. In fact, when you called I was wondering whether to chuck the business and go in for writing cinema plays."

"When I want a really fashionable house built for me," said Carruthers, "I shall certainly come to you."

"Ah," I said, "you have come to see me then on behalf of a friend?"

"On behalf," he said, "of several friends."

My chest swelled visibly. "This man," I said to myself, while reaching for my Corona Coronas, "is planning a garden city, or at least a group of houses on the communal plan."

"The fact is," said Carruthers, clearing his throat, "I am a scout-master, and my troop are collecting wastepaper, and I expect you have any amount of old plans and things that you--"

I was just in time to save the cigar.

* * * * *

* * * * *

FRUITS OF VICTORY.

["Unlimited lard may now be purchased without coupon."--_Daily Paper_.]

Swiftly the shadow of William the Hun Fades from the fields that our valour has won; Totter the thrones of our many Controllers, Freedom is coming to man and his molars: Doomed is the coupon and doomed is the card, With all the embargos that hit us so hard; Now we may purchase unlimited lard.

Soon will the mud-spattered soldier be free; Soon will the sailor be home from the sea: Victory beams on the banners of Right, This is the time to be merry and bright; Stilled is the riot of shot and of shard And (what a boon to the heart of the bard!) Now we may purchase unlimited lard.

Shout for the joy of it, waving your hats; Where there are puttees will shortly be spats; Never again will we form on the right, Squad or platoon, for a sergeant's delight; So let our faces, by discipline marred, Shine with an unction that savours of nard, Now we may purchase unlimited lard.

* * * * *

BIG BERTHA OUTRANGED.

"Two Russian battleships and some cruisers set out from Cronstadt to meet the British warships in the Baltic, and were fired on from the Flemish coast."--_Yorkshire Paper_.

* * * * *

"After four incessant years across Dora's knee the peace New Year ought surely to hold something good in its kindly lap for well-strafed automobilists."--_Sketch_.

But after four years across Dora's knee the New Year is probably not thinking about its lap, but quite the reverse.

* * * * *

"The announcement of a ball in Brussels gave plenty of scope for imaginative scribes to quote, in some cases almost correctly, the lines about 'there was a scene of revelry by night.'"--"_Mr. Gossip_" in "_The Daily Sketch_."

"MR. GOSSIP," too, quotes "almost correctly."

* * * * *

It is hoped that if M. PADEREWSKI becomes President of the new Polish Republic he will experience the truth of the old proverb, _Chi va piano va sano._

* * * * *

* * * * *

THE ARMY OF ENTERTAINMENT, LTD.

As a mere soldier threatened with unemployment owing to the sudden outbreak of peace, I offer to any enterprising company-promoter an idea which should provide him with an immense fortune and myself with a congenial means of livelihood.

My suggestion is that, with the consent of Lord NORTHCLIFFE and the Allies, a slice of the old Front should be kept up _in statu quo_, and a representative assortment of troops retained to hold it on what was our side, and to carry on the War as it was in the good old days of '15, when we thought our life's work was bespoken and soldiers with boy babies raised the question of making acting rank hereditary. No enemy would be employed, experiment having proved that the existence of an enemy detracts from the enjoyment of modern war.

The little army, commanded by a General, himself an employé of the Army of Entertainment Co., Ltd., would conduct operations for demonstration purposes. Visitors would be charged admission to the Company's zone, and pay extra for any particular stunt show arranged for their benefit.

It would be necessary to acquire a strip of country running right back to the coast, if realism should be the aim of the directors, otherwise it would be impossible, to show an A.M.L.O. in action, or some interesting types of Headquarters, or laundry Colonels winning the D.S.O.

I have in mind a highly entertaining General who might be willing to accept the position of G.O.C. for the Company--one of those desperate old gentlemen whose joy was to stalk about busy areas and strafe the domestic and sanitary arrangements of batteries and battalions. He is of picturesque appearance and would afford the best comic relief. This General would be attended by the usual assistants, traditionally housed, clothed and fed, but, the division being run as a commercial venture, it would be a matter for consideration by the directors whether these young gentlemen should receive a salary or pay a fee.

Some visitors might well be so delighted with soldiering, free from the annoyance of enemy action, that they would wish to make a long stay and experience all its variations, beginning perhaps with the P.B.I, (or Pretty Busy Infantry) in a mud-hole in the front line, and passing through all the stages of the normal military career till they arrived at the Divisional Chateau. Should anyone desire to survey life from the altitude of an R.T.O. (Railway Transport, not Really Tantalising Officer, as supposed by some) it might be arranged for him, in the interests of realism, to improvise information as to trains for the benefit of other visitors.

Appropriate rations would be included, in the entrance money, while there might be canteens for the sale of such extras as bootlaces and penholders. Visitors would not be allowed to bring money into the area, but would be given the usual books of cash withdrawal forms, entitling them to obtain small sums from the field cashier--if they could find him. As a field cashier of experience would be employed and possibly act in collusion with the R.T.O., these sums of money might be regarded as prizes, and would create a pleasant excitement without amounting to any great expense for the Company.

Those willing to pay high prices would have arranged for them such displays as "normal artillery activity," pukka strafes, S.O.S. bombardments or barrages chaperoning infantry advances, while balloons might be set on fire, dumps blown up, or leave cancelled at special rates. There might also be an assortment of inexpensive and amusing side-shows, such as a Second-in-command trying to check a monthly return of dripping, or a conscientious gunner calculating the correct corrector corrections.

Should an application be received from any person anxious to experience war from the "Receipts" end he would be granted free entry to the area on the far side of the line, protected grand-stands being erected, from which, on suitable payment, spectators could study his deportment. A short stay in the "enemy's area" during a strafe might be recommended for politicians and arranged by their constituents.

Space forbids further detail. It remains only for a Company to be formed--affiliated perhaps to the Bureau of Information--a detailed prospectus issued and applications invited for posts under the Army of Entertainment, Ltd.

I shall myself be willing to serve the Company in the capacity of a Town Major on condition that a suitable town is provided.

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* * * * *

WISE WORDS FOR BIRDS.

Dear Mr. Punch,--While lately turning over some old family papers I came across a number of maxims in rhyme which seem to me to be worthy of publication at a time devoted to good cheer. The form appears to be the same as that expressed in the familiar couplets on the woodcock and the partridge; but these variations on an old theme have at least the merit of freshness and originality.

I begin in order of magnitude with the ostrich:--

"If an ostrich had but a woodcock's thigh It would only be some three feet high. If a woodcock had but an ostrich's jaw It would have to be carved with a circular saw."

The foregoing lines clearly enforce the important lesson of contentment with the existing order. This moral is perhaps less implicit in the lines on the peacock:--

"If a peacock had but the nightingale's trill It would make all prima donnas feel ill. If the nightingale had but the peacock's tail It would merit a headline in the _Mail_."

Contentment again is the keynote of the couplets on the owl:--