Chapter 2

II.--PEACOCKS.

Peacocks sweep the fairies' rooms; They use their folded tails for brooms; But fairy dust is brighter far Than any mortal colours are; And all about their tails it clings In strange designs of rounds and rings; And that is why they strut about And proudly spread their feathers out.

R.F. * * * * *

"Wanted.--Good stage electrician. No good stage electrician."--_The Stage_.

There ought to be no difficulty in finding the latter.

* * * * *

CROSS COUNTRY.

A Commander in the Senior Service is the man who gets things done; and long experience has formulated for him a golden rule: "If you want to get things done you must _see_ them done." This laudable maxim applies in a lesser degree to all his subordinates, right down to the newly-joined boy, who can't very well help seeing _some_ things done, unless he makes a habit of working with his eyes shut--a practice which does not appeal particularly to P.O.'s.

The Commander of His Majesty's Battleship _Ermyntrude_ is far from being an exception to the rule; he is a martyr to it. So are his officers. In their enthusiasm they have let the rule run riot. You will soon see that for yourself.

The idea germinated in the practical head of the gunner. It pushed its way into the upper air under the plain cap of the A.P. It budded under the (slighted tilted) head-dress of Number One, and blossomed forth into a full-blown project under the gilded oak-leaves that thatch the Bloke.

He said, "The ship's company will run across country."

The ship's company girded up its loins and awaited further orders.

The course was decided upon. It ran from the signalling station on the south of the island straight to the town on the north. There was no possibility of making a mistake, because you could see the semaphore from anywhere, and you would know when you got to the town because the road stopped there. The various divisions of the ship were to compete against each other. If you came in first you were to be given a ticket numbered "one"; if second, a ticket numbered "two," and so on; and the division which had the smallest total of pips at the end would be the winner.

At 8.15 the ship's pinnace landed the gunner on the town jetty at the north end of the island. He had come to deal with the competitors when they arrived at the winning-post. He had brought with him the bo'sun and the carpenter, his own mate, the bo'sun's mate and the carpenter's mate, four P.O.'s, the sergeant of Marines, a few leading stokers and half-a-dozen hands; fifty fathoms of hawser-laid four-inch white rope; six stout stakes (ash); bags, canvas, twelve (one to collect the tickets earned by each division); and one thousand eight hundred tickets, numbered from one to one thousand eight hundred. (There were only six hundred and fifty runners, but it is well to be on the safe side.)

He dug his stakes into the ground in a V-shaped formation just beyond the place where the road ended and almost opposite the first cottage. Further north he posted his canvas bags, which he fixed at a convenient height above the ground by depending them from the necks of his subordinates. He then rigged his rope around the stakes in such a way that the runners, entering the wide end of the V, would be shepherded one by one through a narrow aperture at the bottom, thus avoiding all suspicion of overcrowding in giving out the tickets. He explained his plan of campaign to his party and took up his post at the foot of the V.

Scarcely had he done so when the A.P. appeared upon the scene. He had brought with him a few friends--a couple of subs, two or three senior snotties and the Captain's secretary, a brace of stewards with the luncheon baskets, and the cutter's crew, who carried between them two large trellis-work screens which the carpenter had knocked up for him.

He passed the time of day with the gunner, marched fifty yards further down towards the starting-point and had his screens deposited in the middle of the road, in such a way that several could enter one end of the enclosure they formed, but only one at a time could go out at the other; this, he explained, would enable the men to pass the winning-post in single file. He then lit a cigarette and took his stand at the narrow end, producing from his pocket seven hundred and fifty neat red tickets (numbered from one to seven hundred and fifty) which the chief writer had made out for him the night before.

At 8.45 Number One arrived. To help him he had brought a couple of watch-keepers, a surgeon, three engineers, a naval instructor and the captain of Marines. He only paused to borrow one side of the gunner's V and all but forty of the A.P.'s tickets, and passed on down the road. When he had reached a suitable point about a hundred yards south of the A.P. he had the purloined rope stretched slantwise, in such a way that the only means of passing it was a little passage a yard wide between the rope and the ditch on the right of the road. A little nearer still to the starting-point he had a large placard erected with the words "Keep to the Right" painted on it.

Punctually at 9.0 the Commander arrived with a piece of string and the P.M.O. They took up their stand one on each side of the road opposite the placard. The Bloke produced a small gold pencil, but, as he had forgotten to bring any paper, he commandeered the placard and began feverishly to write down all the numbers he could think of from one to six hundred and fifty.

You are no doubt anxiously awaiting the arrival of the Owner at 9.15. Well, I'm afraid I must disappoint you. Still, although he did not come in person, yet he made his presence felt, as every good skipper should. At 9.15, as the ship's company were lining up for the start by the semaphore, he made the signal from the ship:--

"Sailing at 13.30. Return immediately."

* * * * *

SONGS OF SIMLA.

V.--PELITI'S.

I troll you no song that will hinder you long, I pen you no ponderous treatise, The theme that I sing is a gossamer thing As light as the cakes at PELITI'S.

Grey roofs mid the pines and a heaven that shines As blue as the water where Crete is, The malachite green of a misty ravine, That's the balcony view at PELITI'S.

There are mortals, may be, who abominate tea (One's poison another man's meat is), Who shy at the touch of a crumpet--for such There is music and love at PELITI'S.

See that G.S.O.2 with the lady in blue; Has she noticed where one of his feet is, Or the issue that hangs on the plate of meringues Which he buys her each day at PELITI'S?

Here the rulers of Ind, from the Salween to Sind, Take their ices and wafers (MCVITIE'S) And elaborate schemes over chocolate creams At five-o'clock tea at PELITI'S.

And I think, when we die and the wraiths of us fly To that peace which depends not on treaties, The joys which we find will but serve to remind Of the hours that we spent at PELITI'S.

J.M.S.

* * * * *

"Thomas ---- was fined £5 £at £Oswestry yesterday for selling goods to a German prisoner.

The chairman said defendant had sold goods to the value of 11s, 1-1/2d. Where the German had got that large sum of money from was quite a mystery."--_Daily Paper_.

It seems pretty evident from the report that there was a good deal of money about somewhere.

* * * * *

* * * * *

A CRUSADER.

One hears sometimes of pure altruists, but on analysing their purity an alloy is perceptible. Although their work is for others, an element of personal gratification is present.

Personal gratification or self-indulgence is of course inevitable; as it can even enter into grief and pain; but now and then it is reduced to a minimum: as, I hold, in the latest activities for her fellow-creatures in which my friend Mrs. Delta has embarked.

During the War Mrs. Delta was indefatigable (I am not often sure of my words, but I use this without a tremor of misgiving) in promoting charities and collecting money to sustain them. At no time of day was it safe to meet her, for you had to stand and deliver. There were no privations due to the War which she was not out to mollify or remove, and her ingenuity in discovering worthy objects was uncanny.

As, however, War was raging and most people are, underneath, kinder than not, she escaped very severe criticism and amassed some good round sums. And, since all her various Funds had committees and meetings and minutes, Mrs. Delta, although that may have been only the least among her motives, was the recipient of certain expressions of gratitude. Organised charity cannot elude votes of thanks.

But that Mrs. Delta likes work for work's sake, apart altogether from honeyed praises, is now beyond question, for the campaign she has just inaugurated is unlikely to yield them.

"You must," she said to me yesterday, "give me something for my new scheme."

"I hope I shall have enough strength of mind not to; but what is it?"

"You have noticed in what a dreadful state so many of the shop windows in London now are?" she asked.

"The iniquitous prices of the goods?"

"Oh, no; I didn't mean that. I mean the dropped letters. Where they have glass letters stuck on, you know, and some have gone. Surely you must have noticed?"

"Yes, of course," I replied; "but I thought the shop-keepers were too lazy or careless to bother. The War has increased carelessness, you know."

"No, it isn't that," she said. "The poor fellows are so understaffed and overworked that they can't find time. My idea is to raise a fund so that it can be done for them. My heart aches. Only this morning I saw a barber's with ASH AND RUSH UP on it; and a confectioner's"--she referred to her notebook--"with ICE REAMS, and an undertaker's with PINKING ONE ERE."

"What is pinking?" I asked. "I always wanted to know."

"And," she continued, again consulting her book, "a tobacconist's with BEST OLDEN VIRGIN , and a dentist's with PA LESS EXTRACTION. Something really must be done. Don't you agree?"

I murmured that there were other abuses that were possibly more in need of immediate redress, but Mrs. Delta again turned to her book.

"And a dairyman with FAMILIES UP LIE , and a stationer's with LUE LACK INK. Isn't it distressing?--and so bad for growing children to see so much slovenliness. And what can foreigners think of us? The Americans, for instance, who are always so spick and span, and--"

The means of rescue came to me in the shape, of a vast monster on wheels, bright with yellow and scarlet, thundering over the road. "That's my bus," I said, and ran.

* * * * *

* * * * *

THOSE DRESSES.

_(Being a Midsummer Night's Dream, or thereabouts.)_

More gay than day and plumier Than Birds of Paradise, It was no Court Costumier That made them look so nice; No milliners nor drapers On mortal business terms Of those sweet modes were shapers, Though several evening papers Mention the actual firms.

But fairies wove that raiment Of starshine and of flowers; They asked no better payment, They craved no shorter hours; With eglantine and lilies They worked a June night long, And that is just where "Phyllis" In "Ascot frocks and frillies" Goes absolutely wrong.

'Neath beech-tree and 'neath cedar, In rings of moonlit green.... What bilge, you say, good reader? My very dear old bean, Think of the state of Prices, Think of the slump in Trade, Turn to the Paris Crisis, Ponder the cost of ices And buns and gingerade.

New War-loans shriek for money; All work is at an end; It seems extremely funny There's any cash to spend; Yet still the tide of laces, The foam of fluff and silk Comes round in cardboard cases To lots of people's places As punctual as the milk.

While, sworn to get revenge in, And waiting at the door, That grim three-handed engine Prepares to strike once more, Who built these gowns we mutely Admire on lawn and lea? Who bought them (think acutely), With England absolutely As broke as she can be?

Therefore I say the fabric Was wrought of faery woof, Not made in walls of drab brick Nor won with mortal oof; Delicate, dream-like, pretty As sunshine after rain, Worn by Miss Hodgson ("Kitty")-- It seems a dreadful pity She spilled the iced champagne.

Therefore I say that, toiling With wild white roses' bloom-- No printers' vats a-boiling Nor labour of the loom-- With fern and foxglove chalice On tiny feet or wings Titania's elves made sallies, And that's how Lady Alice Had on those lovely things.

EVOE.

* * * * *

A HAPPY THOUGHT.

"When the blessing had been pronounced and the bridal pair were kneeling at the altar Dame Nellie Melba, wearing a blue dress and hat, crept from the side chapel to the choir and to the joy of the audience sang the pathetic 'Ave Maria' that Desdemona sings in the last act of Verdi's _Othello_ when she feels her predestined doom approaching."--"_Evening Standard" on a Society wedding_.

* * * * *

"Mr. Bottomley objects to By Jingo."

_Daily Paper_.

Yet in one or another of his "powerful" articles we seem to have seen something like "Damn the Kaiser" and "To Hell with Hindenburg."

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

WHY DRAG IN MRS. SIDDONS?

DEAR MR. PUNCH,--Nothing annoys me more than the assumption that wit, learning, fancy, etc., were the monopoly of the past. For example, a correspondent of one of our leading dailies has been trotting out Mrs. SIDDONS' use of blank verse in familiar conversation, and quoting from LOCKHART:--

"John Kemble's most familiar table-talk often flowed into blank verse; and so indeed did his sister's [Mrs. Siddons']. Scott (who was a capital mimic) often repeated her tragic exclamation to a foot-boy during a dinner at Ashestiel--

'You 've brought me water, boy,--I asked for beer!'

Another time, dining with a Provost of Edinburgh, she ejaculated, in answer to her host's apology for his _pièce de résistance_--

'Beef cannot be too salt for me, my lord.'"

This is all very well, but just as good blank verse is commonly used by eminent men and women to-day; indeed some of them excel in impromptu rhymes. Thus in Mr. HAROLD WESTMORELAND'S interesting volume, _Eavesdroppings_, there is this charming story of the first meeting of Madame CLARA BUTT and Miss CARRIE TUBB. They were introduced at a garden-party at Fulham, and Mr. WESTMORELAND overheard the memorable quatrain in which Madame CLARA BUTT greeted her sister-artist:--

"In our names we 're alike But in minstrelsy--ah no! For I'm a contralto And you're a soprano."

To the same veracious chronicler I am indebted for a specimen of the impromptus which Lord READING frequently throws off, to the delight of his friends. Mr. WESTMORELAND was having a pair of boots tried on at a famous Jermyn Street bootmaker's when Lord BEADING was undergoing a similar ordeal, and electrified the courteous assistant by observing:--

"The right-foot boot to me seems rather tight; The left, _per contra_, feels exactly right."

But perhaps the finest exponent of the art is a famous General, whose _obiter dicta_ in verse are innumerable. I have only space to quote one, spoken to a soldier with whom he had shaken hands:--

"You are the proudest man in France, Or at any rate in Flanders, For you've shaken hands, in a great advance, With the greatest of Corps Commanders."

Surely in the light of these examples, which might be indefinitely multiplied, there is no need for the present to fear comparison with the past in the sphere of conversational verse?

I am, dear Mr. Punch,

Yours faithfully,

NOSTRI TEMPORIS LAUDATOR.

* * * * *

CULTURE IN THE STY.

"Yorkshire Pork Pies, possessing character and individuality, 5 lb. Price, 15s.--_Daily Express_.

* * * * *

"COLUMBUS OF THE AIR.

Captain Alcock's Story of his Great Atlantic Flight."--_Dublin Evening Telegraph_.

Would not Vimy-bus be better?

* * * * *

Slough Verdict: _Dulce est de-Cippenham in loco_.

* * * * *

AT THE PLAY.

"THE CINDERELLA MAN."

The importation of theatrical sweet-stuff from America is of course a growing industry. The latest consignment, _The Cinderella Man_, first arrived in this country in the form of a novel, and the difficulty it offered was that the struggling hero, _Anthony Quintard_, whose fate depended, in the absence of common-sense, on his winning a ten thousand dollar prize for an opera libretto, seemed to me, from samples of his work exhibited, to be an unlikely competitor. But I must say that when at the play I saw our Mr. NARES in his garret sucking at his pipe in that masterful manner and modifying what might so easily have been a too sticky situation with a charmingly light touch, I began to think better of _Anthony's_ chances and therefore necessarily of Mr. EDWARD CHILDS CARPENTER'S general idea. For the author obviously may claim the credit of this reading, even if I harbour an obstinate private suspicion that it was only by a very deliberate and steadfast determination on the part of Mr. NARES as hero and Mr. HOLMAN CLARK as matchmaker that this particular reading prevailed.

Mr. CARPENTER doesn't believe in mystifications. He explains everything with the completest candour in his first Act, from which you gather that a millionaire's daughter, returning from Paris to the immense stuffy New York mansion, is desperately lonely, and has also cut herself free from an unsatisfactory affair of the heart; that a young poet, a friend of the millionaire's sentimental lawyer, is also lonely, living like _Cinderella_ (isn't this wrong?) in an attic next-door, proud as poor; that another friend of the millionaire has offered a prize for a libretto. Having thus put the rabbit, the bird-cage and the flowerpot into the hat in front of you he proceeds in a leisurely manner to take them out again.

The young millionairess, posing as a poor "companion," visits the starveling poet _viâ_ the snow-covered roof and the attic window, bringing food, stoves, coverlets, wool to mend his socks and ideas to mend his opera. Naturally here were opportunities of unlimited business, during which _Marjorie_ (Miss RENÉE KELLY) looked perfectly sweet, as I heard more than one ardent young lady declare to approving lieutenants.

Miss KELLY has indeed all the air of a heroine of honeyed romance. In particular she played one episode, the trying over of a new song, in a winningly natural manner. I found the way in which she flapped her eyelids a subject of puzzled study. I have not observed that maidens in real life indulge in these calisthenics. This is perhaps as well; they are evidently very deadly. Within a fortnight of their being brought into action poet _Quintard_ is in the _Kamerad_ stage. Not _Anne Whitfield_ herself exhibits more explicitly the urgency of the life force, the will to wed.

Mr. OWEN NARES, who has a following more than sufficient to justify his recent assumption of management, gave a very attractive and indeed, within the limits imposed by the piece, a distinguished performance as the proud and hungry poet. An extreme naturalness of pose and intonation, without over-stresses or affectations, characterised this agreeable study. Mr. HOLMAN CLARK, that finished actor in the bland manner, very adroitly, as I have hinted, settled the mood of the piece and made the good appear the better line and the ordinary line good. Mr. SYDNEY VALENTINE had a Valentine part ready made. It would take more than an indisposition, which he pluckily ignored, to put him off his stroke. Mr. TOM REYNOLDS was effective as a maudlin serving-man who had once butled a real gentleman and could never forget it. Miss ANNIE ESMOND gave a depressingly clever rendering of a quite unbelievably appalling landlady.

Altogether a pleasant wholesome evening's entertainment. Young men and maidens of our day needn't hesitate to take their parents.

"ST. GEORGE AND THE DRAGONS."

There is much more of the substance of wit and truth in Mr. EDEN PHILLPOTTS' "Devon comedy" at the Kingsway. The _St. George_ of the title is not the Cappadocian, but that somewhat irreverent Father in God, _St. George Loftus_, Bishop of Exeter; the dragons are two quite unsuitable suitors for the hands of _Monica_ and _Eva_ (daughters of his dull old friend, _Lord Sampford_), who don't believe in class distinctions. _Monica's_ young man is the son of a yeoman farmer, personable, certainly, on horseback and of a blood older than the _Sampfords'_, but an essential resilient, and altogether impossible when playing the concertina or after mixing his drinks (or both). _Eva's_ follower is a brilliant raw young man from Glasgow, recently ordained, with professional ambitions as pronounced as his accent.

The parents try the now exploded method of direct opposition. _St. George's_ weapons are smooth words and a heart chokefull of guile. Does his god-daughter _Monica_ want to elope with her yeoman? By all means let love have his sacred way. But his lordship will contrive in the _rôle_ of a strayed and bogged fisherman to be at Stonelands Farm before the young couple arrive _en route_ for London and the registry-office, and he will see to it that _Monica_ learns what the daily life of a working farmer is like, and what the beer (or bad champagne for festal occasions) and rabbit pie in the kitchen; with sudden frank explanations as to the imminence of the crisis in the interesting condition of _Snowdrop_ the Alderney; what, too, is the Stonelands' notion of music and the dance, with Teddy's braying concertina and cousin Unity's quavering treble and the ragged bass and candid speech of old _Caunter_, the head man.... So much for _Monica_.

And _Eva_ thinks she wants to tie herself to this crude Glaswegian. Well, here it will be best to insinuate to the young man how unfortunate it is that the vacant chaplaincy to the Bishop of Exeter is designed for a celibate, and to the young woman that to marry so brilliant (and ingenuous) a youth is to hang a millstone round his neck. For, after all, muses the prelate, revealing dreadful depths of low cunning and perfidy, it's easier to change a chaplain than a husband.

A thoroughly amusing affair. Of course Mr. PHILLPOTTS shirks his problem, _Teddy Copplestone_ need not have been a bounder (the odds indeed were against it), nor need his cigars, his champagne or his music have been so bad. But then we should have missed a diverting piece of fun and have been saddled with a solemn problem-play unsuited to the (alleged) gaiety of the hour.