Chapter 2

It is not a good schedule this, of course--not a complete, not an exhaustive one. After a month or so it will be discovered with a cry of astonishment that no record has been kept of the number of candidates who are being trained in jam or jelly (combined) but not in marmalade, in jelly and marmalade (combined) but not in jam, and in jam and marmalade (combined) but not in jelly. And so a new and a greater schedule will have to be compiled. But even after that for a long time no one will notice that nothing has been said about the number of candidates who are being trained in jam and jelly and marmalade all combined and mashed up together, as they are at a picnic on the sands.

Of the many debatable issues raised by this new Government project, in so far as it affects the spheres of jelly and jam, I do not propose to speak now; I prefer to confine my attention for the moment to the fruit product which touches most nearly the home breakfast-table--namely, marmalade.

There are three schools of thought in marmalade. There are those who like the dark and very runny kind with large segments or wedges of peel. There are those who prefer a clear and jellified substance with tiny fragments of peel enshrined in it as the fly is enshrined in amber. And there are some, I suppose, who favour a kind of glutinous yellow composition, neither reactionary nor progressive, but something betwixt and between. There can be very little doubt which kind of marmalade the State Marmalade School will produce.

And then, mark you, one fine day the President of the Board of Agriculture will turn round and issue a _communiqué_ to the Press like this:--

"Preferential treatment in the supply of sugar for the purpose of conducting the processes of manufacture of fruit products will henceforward be given to those who possess the Campden diploma for proficiency in the conduct of the above-named processes."

And where is your freedom then? Cooks and housewives will be condemned either to make State marmalade or to make no marmalade at all. Personally I am inclined to think that the President of the Board of Agriculture will go further than this. I think that encouragement will be given to those who take the State Marmalade course to follow it up with a subsidiary or finishing course of wasp treatment.

And in wasp treatment also there are three schools. There is what is called the CHURCHILL school, which hits out right and left with an infuriated spoon. Then there is the MONTAGU school, which takes no provocative action, but sits still and says, "They won't sting you if you don't irritate them;" it says this especially when they are flying round somebody else's head. And lastly there is the Medium school, which, choosing the moment when the wasp is busily engaged, presses it down gently and firmly into the marmalade, so that the last spoonfuls of the dish are not so much a fruit product as a kind of entomological preserve. The last way, I think, will be the State way of dealing with wasps, and a reward will probably be offered for the stings of all wasps embalmed on Coalition lines.

The electorate has stuck to the Government through the Peace Treaty, through Mesopotamia, through Ireland and through coal. Can it stick to them, is what I ask, through marmalade?

EVOE.

* * * * *

_MENS CONSCIA MALI._

The lightning flashed and flickered, roared the thunder, Down came the rain, and in the usual way Pavilionward we sped to sit and wonder Was this the end of play.

In scattered groups my comrades talked together, Their disappointment faded bit by bit, So soothing can it be to tell the weather Just what you think of it.

But I--I sat aloof as one distressed by A painful tendency to droop and wilt; Though none suspected it, I was oppressed by A conscience charged with guilt.

I watched the pitch become a sodden pulp, a Morass, a sponge, a lake, a running stream, What time a sad repentant _Mea culpa_ Was all my musing's theme.

Mine was the cricket sin too hard to pardon In one whose age should carry greater sense; On Friday night I'd watered all the garden, Thus tempting Providence.

* * * * *

"Mr. ---- asserted that the Russian people would be permitted 'untrammelled to pork out their own salvation.'"--_Canadian Paper._ And why not the Irish people too?

* * * * *

* * * * *

THE COUNTER-IRRITANT

Most men have a hobby. Timbrell-Timson's is to bear on his narrow shoulders the burden of Middle Europe. He calls it Mittel-Europa. Lately he has been sharing his burden with me.

"You know," he said, frowning--he always frowns, because of the burden--"I am rather uneasy about the Czecho-Slovaks."

"I'm not too comfortable about them myself," I said truthfully.

"There seems to be a certain lack of stability about their new constitution," said T.-T., "a--a--a--what shall I say?"

"A--er--um--a," I put in.

"Exactly; just so," said T.-T. He then got into his stride and gave me twenty minutes' Czecho-Slovakism when I was dying to discover whether HOBBS had scored his two-millionth run.

As T.-T. talked my mind wandered away into regions of its own--Aunt Jane's rheumatic gout, my broken niblick, the necessity for getting my hair cut. But sub-consciously I reserved a courteous minimum of attention for T.-T., and said, "H'm" and "Ha" with decent frequency. He went on and on, shedding several ounces of the burden. I decided that Aunt Jane ought to have a shot at Christian Science.

"... very much the same plight as the Poles," said T.-T., emerging from a cloud of Czecho-Slovakism and pausing to clear his meagre throat.

I felt it was up to me. "Of course," I said, "the Poles don't strike one as being--er--very--that is--"

"Precisely. They are not," said T.-T., as I knew he would. "But I am very relieved to see that M. Grabski...."

This was something new and sounded amusing. "Grabski?" I said. "What's happened to dear old--I mean, I thought M. Paderewski was--"

"I am referring to the recent Spa Conference," said T.-T. severely.

"Of course, how silly of me," I murmured.

T.-T. gave me another twenty minutes of Poland. Then he released me, with a final word of warning against putting too much faith in M. Daschovitch. I promised I wouldn't.

T.-T. shook me cordially by the hand and said, "It has been a pleasure to talk to such a sympathetic listener."

What led me to revolt was T.-T.'s hat-trick. Three evenings in succession he unloaded on me chunks of the burden. Probably he thought the third time made it my own property.

I asked advice from Brown, a man of commonsense.

"During the Great War," said Brown, "I went down with pneumonia. They painted my chest yellow, and, when I asked the Sister why, she said it was a counter-irritant. That's what you want to use now, my lad. Stand up to your little friend and beat him at his own game."

"But how?" I said. "I can't. What he doesn't know about the gentle Czech isn't worth a cussovitch."

"Cultivate a counter-burden," said Brown, "and make him eat it as he has made you eat his."

When I left Brown it was decided that I was henceforth to be an authority on Mittel-Afrika. The next evening I was purposely unoccupied in a corner of the smoking-room when T.-T. came in, frowning and bowed down by his burden, to which apparently I had brought no relief.

"Well, to-day's news from Mittel-Europa is hardly--" he began.

"Scarcely glanced at it," I said. "I was so busy with the news from Mittel-Afrika--Abyssinia, in fact."

T.-T. looked surprised, partly, no doubt, because he knew as well as I did that Abyssinia is nowhere near the middle of Africa. Then he gained balance and reopened with the remark that "The ineradicable weakness of the Czecho-Slovak is--"

"Just what I feel about the Ethiopians," I said.

"Of course there is in the Czecho a fundamental--" began T.-T. once more.

"Not half so fundamental as in the Abyssinians," I said promptly.

T.-T. was puzzled but obstinate. The burden, I think, was rather bad that evening. He tried me with Grabski and got as far as saying that he had little respect for that gentleman's antecedents.

I broke in by comparing Grabski's antecedents with the antecedents of B'lumbu, the Abyssinian Deputy Under-secretary of the Admiralty, much to the detriment of the latter. Then I launched out into a long and startling _exposé_ of what I called the Swarthy Peril. I told T.-T. that the Ethiopians ate their young, and warned him that, unless he was careful, they would soon be over here devouring his own spectacled progeny. I told him about the Ethiopic secret plans for the invasion of Mexico as a stepping-stone to the subjugation of Mittel-Amerika. I hinted that Abyssinian spies were everywhere--that even one of the club waiters was not above suspicion.

For thirty-five minutes I held T.-T. in his chair (may the Abyssinian gods forgive me!). After the first three minutes he forgot his burden and never a word spake he.

Then I released him with a final warning against putting any faith at all in Gran'slâm, the Abyssinian Assistant Foreign Secretary, and as we parted I said gratefully, "It has been a pleasure to talk to such a sympathetic listener."

I don't think T.-T. really believes even now in the Swarthy Peril, but the counter-irritant has done its work.

* * * * *

ANOTHER GARDEN OF ALLAH.

[The Metropolitan Water Board announces an advance in the Water Rate.]

I cannot fill the bounteous cup Munificently as of yore Because the water's going up (It didn't at Lodore); No longer now can I regale The canine stranger with a pail Drawn from my cistern's store.

Let Samuel the sunflower die, Let Gerald the geranium fade, And all the other plants that I Have hitherto displayed; The virgin grass within my plot May call for water--I will not Preserve a single blade.

Henceforth let Claude the cactus dress My garden beds, who bravely grows Without a frequent S.O.S. To water-can and hose. I've cast these weapons to the void And permanently unemployed Is Hildebrand the hose.

Within the house by words and deeds I've run an Anti-Waste Campaign; On every tap the legend reads: "Teetotalers, abstain!" While on each bath and tub of mine I've drawn freehand a PLIMSOLL line, Impressionist but plain.

When upward mount my chops and cheese I fain must bend beneath the blow; I have to pay the price for these Whether I will or no. But here at least, by dint of thought, I feel that I can bring to naught The rise in H_2O.

You'll find that I shall keep in check The gross expense of water when Domestic _nettoyage á sec_ Rules my ancestral den. I, unlike Nature, don't abhor A "vacuum"--to clean the floor: In fact I've ordered ten.

* * * * *

"At Bremen ... the crowd seized the stalls in the market, and sold the goods at prices between 100 and 200 per cent. lower than the prices demanded."--_Provincial Paper._

The correspondent who sends us the above cutting demands similar reductions in English markets in order that he may live within his income of _minus_ two pounds a week.

* * * * *

* * * * *

THE BEGINNER.

Six months ago Maurice Gillstone's flat was the home of unrest. Maurice was one of those authors who tire of their creations before completion. He would get an idea, begin to write and then turn to some other theme.

It made the domestic atmosphere difficult. You would go to call on the Gillstones and find them plunged in despair. Maurice would gaze at you with a wild unseeing eye, pass his hand through his dishevelled hair, mutter "The inspiration has left me," and fling himself into a chair and groan. Mrs. Maurice would burst into tears.

The flat was strewn with fragments of manuscripts. Plays, novels, poems (none finished) littered the rooms in profusion; a brilliant but isolated Scene I., stray opening chapters of novels, detached prologues of mighty epics.

"His beginnings are wonderful," Mrs. Maurice would wail between her sobs; "keen critics and men of the most delicate literary taste rave over them; but if he can't finish them, what's the use?"

It was very sad.

Then John Edmund Drall, the inventor of the non-alcoholic beverage which is now a household word and an old friend of the Gillstones, came along and tried to cure Maurice of his literary defect by the sort of ruse one would employ on a jibbing horse. He sent Maurice a bottle of his Lemonbeer and asked him to write an appreciation of that noxious fluid.

"I have asked Maurice," Drall confided to me, "to scribble a testimonial to Lemonbeer. It will kind of break the spell, and it wouldn't be Maurice if he didn't turn out a perfect gem of literary composition. I know my Lemonbeer is really good and I know that Maurice is extremely appreciative. Maurice is under a spell. It must be broken. If he can write a complete testimonial he will easily finish all those beginnings of his." The idea seemed sound.

Well, Maurice drank the Lemonbeer and, in spite of an increasing tendency to swoon, did begin to write a gem of a testimonial. He had, however, written but the first four words of it when he fainted. These words were "Lemonbeer is the best...."

Maurice would do anything for a friend, and, as I say, had actually written "Lemonbeer is the best ..." after drinking a whole bottle of it.

It was Drall's advertisement manager who said that in point of selling power this testimonial was unsurpassed. "The finished completeness of the composition," he said, "shows sheer genius. Just four words. A word added or subtracted would ruin it."

When Maurice came to and learnt how brilliant he had been he simply put on his hat and walked round to a Film Agency to say that he was prepared to write--and complete--any number of masterpieces. Since that day he has never looked back.

* * * * *

=Commercial Candour.=

"ANTIQUE SILVER.

Mr. ---- invites all interested to inspect his fine stock which he can offer just new at exceptionally low prices."--_Daily Paper._

* * * * *

* * * * *

THE FAIR.

Look up, my child, the sirens whoop Shrill invitations to the Fair, The yellow swing-boats soar and swoop, The Gavioli organs blare; Bull-throated show-men, bracken-brown, Compete to shout each other down.

Behold the booths of gingerbread, Of nougat and of peppermints, The stall of toys where overhead Balloons of gay translucent tints Float on the breeze and drift and sway; Fruit of a fairy vine are they.

Within this green fantastic grot Bright-coloured balls are danced and spun On jets ("'Ere, lovey, 'ave a shot"); A gipsy lady tends a gun, A very rose of gipsy girls, With earrings glinting in her curls.

Will marvels cease? This humble booth Enshrines a dame of royal birth, Princess Badrubidure, forsooth, The fattest princess on the earth; Come, we will stand where kings have stood, And you shall pinch her if you're good.

The brasses gleam, the mirrors flash, How splendid is the Round-About! The organ brays, the cymbals clash, The spotted horses bound about Their whirling platform, full of beans, And country girls ride by like queens.

Professor Battling Bendigo (Ex ten-stone champion of the West) Parades the stage before his show And swells his biceps and his chest; "Is England's manhood dead and gone?" He asks; "Won't no one take me on?"

A big drum booms, revolvers crack; Who is this hero that appears, A velvet tunic on his back, His whiskers curling round his ears? 'Tis he who drew the jungle's sting, Diabolo, the Lion King.

Within are birds beyond belief And creatures colourful and quaint: Lean dingoes weighed with secret grief And monkey humourists who ain't; Bears, camels, pards--Look up, my dear, The wonders of the world are here!

PATLANDER.

* * * * *

"CELLS BELOW ZERO FOR T.B. PATIENTS.

Ink in Nurses' Pens Froze when Taking Men's Temperature."--_Canadian Paper._

Personally, we prefer having ours taken with a thermometer.

* * * * *

"OFFENCES UNDER THE LIGHTING ORDERS.

--At Thursday's petty session Emile ---- was paid £1 for having no near side light on his motor car."--_Local Paper._

But ought foreign offenders to be favoured in this way?

* * * * *

"Richmond camp is a scene of bustling activity from sunrise to reveille, or 'Taps' as the Americans term it."--_Evening Paper._

And after that the boy scouts would appear to have had a nice long day to themselves.

* * * * *

* * * * *

=ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.=

_Monday, August 2nd._--The rain that drenched the Bank-holiday-makers had its counterpart inside the House of Commons in the shower of Questions arising out of Mr. CHURCHILL'S article on the Polish crisis in an evening newspaper. Members of various parties sought to know whether, when the WAR SECRETARY said that peace with Soviet Russia was only another form of war and apparently invited the co-operation of the German militarists to fight the Bolshevists, he was expressing the views of the Government; and if not, what had become of the doctrine of collective responsibility?

The PRIME MINISTER manfully tried to shield his colleague from the storm, but the effort took all his strength and ingenuity, and more than once it seemed as if an unusually violent blast would blow his umbrella inside out. His principal points were that the article did not mean what it appeared to say; that if it did it was not so much an expression of policy as of a "hankering"--("HANKERING. An uneasy craving to possess or enjoy something"--_Dictionary_); that he could not control his colleagues' desires or their expression, even in a newspaper hostile to the Government, so long as they were consistent with the policy of the Government; and that he was not aware of anything in this particular article that "cut across any declaration of policy by His Majesty's Government."

This does not sound very convincing perhaps, but it was sufficient to satisfy Members, whose chief anxiety is to get off as soon as possible to the country, and who voted down by 134 to 32 an attempt to move the adjournment.

The CHIEF SECRETARY formally introduced a Bill "to make provision for the restoration and maintenance of order in Ireland." Earlier in the sitting the PRIME MINISTER had declined Mr. DE VALERA'S alleged offer to accept a republic on the Cuban pattern, and had reiterated his intention to pass the Home Rule Bill after the Recess.

Mr. T. P. O'CONNOR is a declared opponent of both these measures, but that did not prevent him from contrasting the lightning speed of the House when passing coercion for Ireland with its snail-like pace when approaching conciliation. In fifty years it had not given justice to Ireland; it was to be asked to give injustice to Ireland in fewer hours.

_Tuesday, August 3rd._--That genial optimist Lord PEEL commended the Ministry of Mines Bill as being calculated to restore harmony and goodwill among masters and men. According to Lord GAINFORD the best way to secure this result is to hand back the control of the mines to their owners, between whom and the employés, he declared, cordial relations had existed in the past. Still, the owners would work the Bill for what it was worth, and hoped the miners would do the same. Lord HALDANE said that was just what the miners had announced their intention of not doing unless they were given a great deal more power than the Bill proposed. But this lack of enthusiasm in no way damped Lord PEEL'S ardour. Indeed he observed that he had "never introduced a Bill that was received with any sort of enthusiasm." Mollified by this engaging candour the Peers gave the Bill a Second Reading.

I am glad to record another example of Government economy. To Mr. GILBERT, who desired that more sandpits should be provided in the London parks for the delectation of town-tied children, Sir ALFRED MOND reluctantly but sternly replied that "in view of the considerable expenditure involved" he did not feel justified in adding to the existing number of three.

Dumps suggest dolefulness, but the debate on the action of the Disposals Board in disposing of the accumulations at Slough, St. Omer and elsewhere was decidedly lively. Mr. HOPE led off by attacking the recent report of the Committee on National Expenditure, and declared that its Chairman, though a paragon of truth, was not necessarily a mirror of accuracy. The Chairman himself (Sir F. BANBURY), seated for the nonce upon the Opposition Bench, replied with appropriate vigour in a speech which caused Sir GORDON HEWART to remark that the passion for censoriousness was not a real virtue, but which greatly pleased the Labour Party, in acknowledging whose compliments Sir FREDERICK severely strained the brim of his tall hat.

After these star-turns the "walking gentlemen" had their chance. Sixteen times were they called upon to parade the Division Lobbies by an Opposition which on one occasion registered no fewer than fifty-three votes.

_Wednesday, August 4th._--One of the few Irish institutions which all Irishmen unite in praising is the mail service between Kingstown and Holyhead. Even the Sinn Feiners would think twice before cutting this link between England and Ireland. Yet, according to Lord ORANMORE AND BROWNE, the British Post Office has actually given notice to terminate the contract. He was assured, however, by Lord CRAWFORD that tenders for a new contract would shortly be invited and that, whoever secured it, the efficiency of the service would be maintained.