Chapter 2

It must not be thought that I underestimate the value of education as a general principle; indeed I earnestly beg of Mr. FISHER, should these lines chance to meet his eye, not to be in any way discouraged by them; but I have been driven to the conclusion that there is such a thing as over-education, and that it has dangers. When you have read this story I think you will agree with me. It is rather a sad story, but it is very short.

The population of my poultry-yard was composed of five hens and Umslumpogaas. The five hens were creatures of mediocrity, deserving no special mention--all very well for laying eggs and similar domestic duties, but from an intellectual point of view simply napoo, as the polyglot stylists have it. Far otherwise was it with Umslumpogaas. He was a pure bred, massive Black Orpington cockerel, a scion of the finest strain in the land. Indeed the dealer from whom I purchased him informed me that there was royal blood in his veins, and I have no reason to doubt it. One had only to watch him running in pursuit of a moth or other winged insect to be struck by the essentially aristocratic swing of his wattles and the symmetrical curves of his graceful lobes; and the proud pomposity of his tail feathers irresistibly called to mind the old nobility and the Court of LOUIS QUATORZE. Pimple, our tabby kitten, looked indescribably bourgeois beside him.

But it was not the external appearance of Umslumpogaas, regal though it was, that endeared him to me so much as his great intellectual potentialities. That bird had a mind, and I was determined to develop it to the uttermost. Under my assiduous tuition he progressed in a manner that can only be described as astonishing. He quickly learned to take a letter from the post-girl in his beak and deliver it without error to that member of the family to whom it was addressed. I was in the habit of reading to him extracts from the daily papers, and the interest he took in the course of the recent war and his intelligent appreciation of the finer points of Marshal FOCH'S strategy were most pleasing to observe. He would greet the news of our victorious onsweep with exultant crows, while at the announcement of any temporary set-back he would mutter gloomily and go and scratch under the shrubbery. On Armistice day he quite let himself go, cackling and mafficking round the yard in a manner almost absurd. But who did not unbend a little on that historic day?

Perhaps his greatest achievement, however, was the mastering of a system of signals, a sort of simplified Morse code, which we established through the medium of an old motor-horn. One blast meant breakfast-time; two intimated that I was about to dig in the waste patch under the walnut trees and he was to assemble his wives for a diet of worms; three loud toots were the summons for the mid-day meal; four were the curfew call signifying that it was time for him to conduct his consorts to their coop for the night; and so on, with special arrangements in case of air-raids. Not once was Umslumpogaas at fault; no matter in what remote corner of the yard he and his hens might be, at the sound of the three blasts he would come hastening up with his hens for dinner. I was most gratified.

And then came the disaster. I was sawing wood one morning in the saddle house, and Umslumpogaas and his wives were sitting round about the door, dusting themselves. All was peaceful. Suddenly down the lane which passes the gate of my yard appeared a large grey-bodied car. Some school-children being in the road the driver emitted three loud warning hoots of his horn. In an instant Umslumpogaas was on his feet and, his wives at his heels, making a bee line for the gate. By the time he reached it the car had passed and was turning the corner that leads to the village, when the driver again sounded his horn thrice. With an imperious call to his wives to follow, Umslumpogaas set off at full speed in pursuit, and before I had fully grasped the situation my entire poultry-yard had vanished from sight in the wake of that confounded motor-car. And it is the unfortunate truth that neither Umslumpogaas nor a single member of his harem has been seen or heard of since. It is as bad as the affair of the _Pied Piper_ of Hamelin.

I said at the beginning that this was rather a sad little story. Taking into consideration the present price of new-laid eggs it amounts more or less to a tragedy, and I put it down to nothing but the baleful effects of over-education.

* * * * *

* * * * *

GARDENING NOTES.

_Meconopsis cambrica_ (Welsh Poppy). Owing to the wide popularity of the energetic daughter of the PRIME MINISTER we understand that the authorities at Kew have decided to re-name this plant _Meganopsis_.

_Digitalis_.--The spelling of the homely name of this well-known plant is to be altered in the Kew List to _Foch's-glove_; the suggestion of an interned German botanist that _Mailed Fist_ would be more suitable not having met with the approval of the Council of the Royal Horticultural Society.

* * * * *

"SPAIN'S REPUBLICAN PARLIAMENT.

Lisbon, Wednesday.--It would seem that the Cabinet just formed by Senhor Tamagnini Barbosa will have in the next Parliament a moderate Republican majority."--_Liverpool Daily Post_.

No other journal seems to have noticed the re-annexation of Portugal by Spain.

* * * * *

"The task of fitting the square men created by the war into square holes is certainly going to be one of tremendous magnitude."--_Lancashire Daily Post_.

From some of the new Government appointments we gather that the PRIME MINISTER gave up the task in despair.

* * * * *

"Wanted to purchase elephants, sound and without vice, and to sell a variety of pigeons at reasonable prices."--_Pioneer (Allahabad)._

But we doubt if the advertiser will be able to get all the elephants, however free from vice, into the old pigeon-house.

* * * * *

* * * * *

THE FINANCIER.

He had sat at the same table in the same restaurant for years--more years than he cared to count. He was not as young as be used to be.

Always when he could he sat on the comfortable sofa-like seat on the wall side of the table. When that was fully occupied he sat on the other side on an ordinary upright chair, in which he could not lounge at ease.

He sat there now discontentedly, keeping a watchful eye for vacancies in the opposite party.

Half-way through his meal a vacancy occurred. He pushed his plate across the table and went round, sinking with a sigh into the cushioned seat.

The departing customer had left the usual gratuity under the saucer of his coffee-cup. In a minute or two the waitress would collect the cup and saucer and the coins.

But the waitress was busy. The room was full and there was the usual deficient service.

He finished eating, lighted a cigarette and called for a cup of coffee. It was then, I think, the thought came to him.

The other man's cup, saucer and money were still there.

His hand fluttered uncertainly over the cloth among the crockery. There seemed to be nobody looking. His fingers slid under the other man's saucer and in a moment the money was under his own.

He rose, took his hat and bill and went.

We left soon after.

"How mean!" said my wife. "Did you see? He made the other man's tip do. Even a woman wouldn't have done that."

It seemed severe, I thought, but that is what she said.

* * * * *

"The rats were chased out of camp and their skins tanned and made into dainty purses and handbags."--_Manchester Guardian_.

The rats having in their hurry left their skins behind them.

* * * * *

"The front door of the Lord Mayor's coachman opens on to a long, narrow staircase."--_Weekly Dispatch_.

Very interesting, no doubt; but the general public would have preferred to learn something about his bow-window.

* * * * *

IN WINTER.

Boreas blows on his high wood whistle, Over the coppice and down the lane Where the goldfinch chirps from the haulm of the thistle And mangolds gleam in the farmer's wain. Last year's dead and the new year sleeping Under its mantle of leaves and snow; Earth holds beauty fast in her keeping But Life invincible stirs below.

Runs the sap in each root and rhizome, Primrose yellow and snowdrop cold, Windyflowers when the chiffchaff flies home, Lenten lilies with crowns of gold. Soon the woods will be blithe with bracken, April whisper of lambs at play; Spring will triumph--and our old black hen (Thank the Lord!) will begin to lay.

ALGOL.

* * * * *

A "DRY" STATE.

"On the declaration of the armistice with Bulgaria this Balkan-Jug stopped running."--_Observer._

* * * * *

THE NEW NAVY.

["The New Navy of small craft, created by the special needs of the War ... has every reason to be proud of its share in bringing the War to a victorious conclusion. The good wishes of the Board of Admiralty and the Royal Navy will follow the armed yachts, trawlers, drifters and motor-boats after they have hauled down the colours they flew as His Majesty's Auxiliary Patrol Vessels."

_Admiralty Message to the Auxiliary Patrol Service_.]

The Old Navy wakened and got under way And hurried to Scapa in battle array, While the drifters and trawlers looked on from afar At the cruisers and battleships off to the War; Having sped their departure with ev'ry good wish, The drifters and trawlers returned to their fish.

Do you know the sensation, so hard to explain, Of living a former existence again, With never a clue to the why or the when? Well, the drifters and trawlers were feeling it then, And the sea chuckled deep as it washed to and fro On the hulls of the battleships up in the Flow.

The Old Navy waited, the Old Navy swore, While battleships costing two millions and more Reviewed the position from starboard to port: "It's small craft again, but we're terribly short; Let us pray for the Empire whose sun never sets;" Then the fishing fleet pensively hauled in its nets.

And rolling with laughter, at varying speeds The New Navy sped to the Old Navy's needs; Unblushingly paintless, by units or lots, Came drifters and trawlers and whalers and yachts; And, heedless of Discipline Acts, I've been told, The New Navy cheerfully winked at the Old.

Without any pride but the pride of its race, The New Navy took its historical place In warfare on quite unconventional lines As hunting sea vermin or sweeping for mines, Till the sea would agree when a battleship swore That surely they'd helped an Old Navy before.

Through Summer and Autumn, through Winter and Spring The Old Navy patiently guarded the ring. The while the Auxiliaries out on the blue Were making the most of the flag that they flew, And a cruiser would call to her sister, astern, "Precocious as ever, they've nothing to learn!"

The Old Navy stretched as they got under way To take the Surrender that fell on a Day, And the drifters and trawlers looked on from afar At the cruisers and battleships winning the War, And, cheering the conquest with ev'ry good wish, Prepared to go back to their nets and their fish.

But scarce had the fishing fleet time to turn round When there fell on their ears a remarkable sound, And some who were present have given their word That the roll of DRAKE'S drum through the squadrons was heard; Resulted a sequel as strange as it's true, The Old Navy solemnly winked at the New.

The moral is simple but worthy of note Whenever the spirit of DRAKE is afloat, There's only one Navy when foes come to grips, And nobody knows it so well as the ships, And so when the small craft are blessed by the Board, Demurely they murmur: "_New_ Navy? Oh, Lord!"

* * * * *

OUR BEAUTY COLUMN.

(_LATEST STYLE._)

We four are _such_ friends, Estelle, Rosalie, Beryl and I. If we weren't could we sit round and say the things to each other that we do? I ask you.

It's quite a small flat we have, just the one room, but it's _so_ convenient. There's a chemist's next door, so it's no walk to get _everything_ we require.

We were sitting round our cosy fireplace, wishing it were summer or that we had some coal, when one of those thoughts that make me so loved occurred to me.

"Estelle darling," I asked, though I knew, because the box was on the mantelpiece; "how _do_ you get that lovely flush? Your nose is such a _delicious_ tint; it reminds me of a tomato."

"I owe my colour to my fur coat," replied Estelle frankly; "you've no idea how warm it keeps me. I think a natural glow is so much more becoming than an artificial one."

"By the way, Madge," put in Rosalie (I'm Madge), "as you've started the game may I ask you a question? How do you get such a lovely shine on _your_ nose?"

"Chamois leather," I replied sweetly. (You see we're such friends we love telling each other our boudoir secrets.)

"I wish I knew how you keep those cunning little curls, Estelle," sighed Beryl longingly. "_My_ hair is so horribly straight."

"It's quite easy," explained Estelle; "you can do it with any ordinary flat-iron, though of course an electric-iron is the best. If you heat the iron over the gas or fire (if any) it gets sooty, and if you've golden hair, as I have this year--well. Only," she went on warningly, "always see that you lay your curl flat on the table before you iron it."

"I wish I could get my hands as white as yours, Beryl," I said.

"You can't expect to, darling; working at Whitehall as you do your fingers are bound to get stained with nicotine. Warm water and soap is all _I_ use. First I immerse my hands in tepid water, then I rub the soap (you can get it at any chemist's or oil-shop) into the pores--you 'd be surprised how it lathers if you do it the right way--and then I rinse the soap off again. I learnt that trick from watching our washer-woman--she had such lovely hands."

"Why do you never use powder now, Estelle?" asked Rosalie. "Before the War one could never come near you without leaving footprints."

"My reasons were partly patriotic, conserving the food supply, you know, and partly owing to the mulatto-like tint the war-flour gave me. One doesn't want to go about looking half-baked, does one?"

"No," we murmured, making a pretty concerted number of it.

"But wrinkles, darling Estelle," I pleaded--"do tell us what you do for your wrinkles."

"Wrinkles," murmured Estelle, with a pretty puckering of her brow--"I haven't any left; I've given them all to you."

[EDITORIAL NOTE.--This series will not be continued in our next issue.]

* * * * *

"MUSICAL.

1916 car, nearly new, two-seater body, hood, screen, complete, £13."--_Provincial Paper_.

At that price it probably would be "musical."

* * * * *

"The latest telegrams from Berlin state that the Spartacus (Extremist) leaders are in extremis."--_Sunday Paper_,

But, confound it, that's their element.

* * * * *

* * * * *

A MILITARY EDUCATIONAL PROBLEM.

Dear Mr. Punch,--I write to ask your advice. As you know, the Army Council in its wisdom decreed that the Army, before being demobilised, must be educated. I have been chosen as one of the Educators.

My efforts to lead the Army into the paths of light and learning were crowned with success until in an evil moment I undertook to teach Private Goodbody. This genial ornament of our regimental sanitary squad is especially anxious to plumb the mysteries of arithmetic. When he had, as I thought, finally mastered the principle that if you borrow one from the shillings' column you must pay it back in the pounds' column, I set him the following sum:--

"Supposing you owed the butcher sixteen shillings and three pence halfpenny and took a pound note to pay him with, how much change ought he to give you?"

Private Goodbody scratched his head for several minutes and at last decided that he did not know.

"But come, Goodbody," I urged, "surely it's quite easy." And I repeated the question.

"I don't know, Sir; I don't never have no truck with butchers," he declared emphatically. "I leaves that 'ere to the missus."

"Ah!" I said, "and how does _she_ get the money to pay him?"

"_I_ gives it 'er," said Goodbody.

"What does she do with the change?" I asked next.

"Gives it back to me, I reck'n," he answered.

"Well," I continued, "if you don't know how much change there ought to be when you give her a pound and she spends sixteen shillings and three pence halfpenny, how do you know she gives you back the right amount?"

Private Goodbody eyed me with something suspiciously like contempt.

"If my missus started playin' any o' them monkey tricks on me, givin' the wrong change an' sich, I'd put it acrost 'er," he said.

And there the matter rests for the present. I feel that I should not lead Private Goodbody any further into the intricacies of his subject until he has solved my problem. This he resolutely professes himself unable to do, and begs to be allowed to leave it and plunge into the giddy vortex of the multiplication table.

Yours faithfully, MENTOR.

* * * * *

"A cable message of 100 words from London to Johannesburg to-day, at 2s. 6d. a word, costs £1 10s."--_Evening Paper_.

We suppose the Post Office makes a reduction for taking a quantity.

* * * * *

THE WIND.

The day I saw the Wind I stood All by myself inside our wood, Where Nurse had told me I must wait While she went back through the white gate To fetch her work ... I don't know why, But suddenly I felt quite shy With all the trees when Nurse was gone, For quietness came on and on And covered me right round as though I was just nobody, you know, And not a little girl at all... But _then_--quite sudden--HER torn shawl Came through the trees; I saw it gleam, And SHE was near. Just like a dream She looked at me. Her lovely hair Was waving, waving everywhere, And from her shawl--all tattery-- There blew the sweetest scents to me. I didn't ask her who she was; I didn't _need_ to ask, because I _knew!_ ... That's all ... She didn't wait; She _went_--when Nurse called through the gate.

* * * * *

"HOT WATER BATTLES--Best quality rubber, from 4/3 each." --_Parish Magazine_.

A new kind of tank warfare, we suppose.

* * * * *

* * * * *

THOUGHTS IN COMMITTEE.

The War decays; the Offices disperse, And after many a bloomer flies the don; All kinds of Bodies perish with a curse, And only my Committee lingers on, Still rambles gaily in the same old rings, Still sighs, "At any rate, we are at one"; Yet even here, so catching, are these things, Something, I think, is going to be done.

For me, I would not anything were done, But would for ever sit on this soft seat Each sweet recurrent Saturday, and run An idle pencil o'er the foolscap sheet, The free unrationed blotting-pad, and scrawl Delightful effigies of those who speak, But not myself say anything at all, Only be mute and beautiful and meek ...

Are there not Ministers and ex-M.P.'s, A Knight, a Baronet, a Brigadier? Is it not wonderful to be with these, To watch, and after in the wifely ear Whisper, "This morning I exchanged some words With old Sir Somebody, who thought of Tanks; I saw the Chairman of the Board of Birds; I said, 'How are you?' and he answered, 'Thanks'"?

So let us sit for ever--and expand; Let us be paid, not properly, but well. Let more men come, all opulent and bland, So that we qualify for some hotel, So that, as all the Constitution grows From little seeds long buried in the past, We too may be a part of it! Who knows? We may become a Ministry at last.

And if indeed our end must be more tame, Let large well-mounted photographs be made Of this high gathering, and let each name Beneath each face be generously displayed, That I may say, when penury has crept Too near for decency, to some old snob, "_That_ was the kind of company I kept When England needed me"--and get a job.

A.P.H.

* * * * *

"Good Servants of all kings required at once.--Apply Mrs. ----'s Registry."--_Provincial Paper_.

There should be a good supply, as several monarchs have lately given up housekeeping.

* * * * *

"REQUIRED, ROMPOTER, to float £50,000 company for manufacturing bricks for reconstruction. Curiosity mongers please refrain."--_Daily Paper_.

But for the warning we should have been sorely tempted to inquire what a "Rompoter" may be.

* * * * *

{The Foreign Office has announced that Press Correspondents' messages about the Peace Congress will not be censored.}]

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* * * * *

THE WAR DOGS' PARTY.

I am a plain dog that barks his mind and believes in calling a bone a bone, not one of your sentimental sort that allows the tail--that uncontrollable seat of the emotions--to govern the head. I voted Coalition, of course. As a veteran--three chevrons and the Croix de Guerre--I could hardly refuse to support the man who above all others helped us war dogs to beat the Bosch. But to say that I am satisfied with the way things are going on--that's a mouse of a very different colour, as the phrase goes. A terrier person who claims to own the PRIME MINISTER and has been very busy demanding what he calls our invaluable suffrages buttonholed me the other day outside the tripe shop and commenced to tell me all the wonderful things that we dogs would get if we only elected a strong Coalition Government--better biscuits, larger kennels, equal rabbits for all and I don't know what else. But when I asked him plainly, "Are you in favour of keeping out the dachshunds?" the fellow hedged and said the question was not so important as some people seemed to think, and that financial interests had to be considered.