Part 10
SOC. CHAT. (_fortissimo_). Not for ages; but last time I met him he was ... in a dreadful state, with the cook down with influenza ... and so I suppose he's _married_ her by this time!
MISS F. B. (_excitedly_).
But hark! in the distance a weird shrill cry, a kinder mournful, monotonous yelp-- (_Further irruption of_ SOCIETY CHATTER) ... is it jackal?--bison?--a cry for help.
SOC. CHAT. Such a complete _rest_, you know--so perfectly peaceful! Not a soul to talk to. I _love_ it ... but, to really enjoy a tomato, you must see it dressed ... in the _sweetest_ little sailor suit!
MISS F. B.
My horse was a speck on the pampas' verge, for I dropped the rein in my haste to stoop; Then I pressed my ear to the baking soil--and caught--ah, horror--the Indian whoop!
SOC. CHAT. Some say it _isn't_ infectious, but one can't be too careful, and, with children in the house, &c., &c.
MISS F. B.
I rose to my feet with quivering knees, and my face went white as a fresh-washed towel; I had heard a war-cry I knew too well--'twas the murderous bellow of Blue-nosed Owl!
SOC. CHAT. Nice fellow--I'm very fond of him--so fresh--capital company--met him when I was over there, &c.
MISS F. B.
"What! leave you to face those fiends alone!" she cried, and slid from her horse's back; "Let me die with you--for I love you, Clem!" Then she gave her steed a resounding smack, And he bounded off; "Now Heaven be praised that my school six-shooter I brought!" said she. "Four barrels I'll keep for the front-rank foes--and the next for you--and the last for me!"
SOC. CHAT. Is it a _comic_ piece she's doing, do you know? Don't think so, I can see somebody smiling. Sounds rather like Shakespeare, or Dickens, or one of those fellahs.... Didn't catch what you said. No. Quite impossible to hear one's self speak, _isn't_ it?
MISS F. B.
And ever louder the demons yelled for their pale-faced prey--but I scorned death's pangs, For I deemed it a doom that was half delight to die by the hand of Lobelia Bangs! Then she whispered low in her dulcet tones, like the crooning coo of a cushat dove! (_At the top of her voice._) "Forgive me, Clem, but I could not bear any squaw to torture my own true love!" And she raised the revolver--"crack-crack-crack!"
[_To the infinite chagrin of the_ UNSOPHISTICATED GUEST, _who is intensely anxious to hear how Miss Bangs and her lover escaped from so unpleasant a dilemma--the remaining cracks of her revolver, together with the two next stanzas, are drowned in afresh torrent of small-talk--after which he hears_ MISS F. B. _conclude with repressed emotion_:
But the ochre on Blue-nosed Owl was blurred, as his braves concluded their brief harangues; And he dropped a tear on the early bier of our Prairie Belle, Lobelia Bangs!
[_Which of course leaves him in a state of hopeless mystification._
SOC. CHAT. Is that the _end_? Charming! Now we shall be able to _talk_ again! &c., &c.
Bank Holiday.
SCENE--_The Crystal Palace. The Nave is filled with a dense throng of Pleasure-seekers. Every free seat commanding the most distant view of a Variety Performance on the Great Stage has been occupied an hour in advance. The less punctual stand and enjoy the spectacle of other persons' hats or bonnets. Gangs of Male and Female Promenaders jostle and hustle to their hearts' content, or perform the war-song and dance of the Lower-class 'Arry, which consists in chanting "Oi tiddly-oi-toi; hoi-toi-oi!" to a double shuffle. Tired women sit on chairs and look at nothing. In the Grounds, the fancy of young men and maidens is lightly turning to thoughts of love; the first dawn of the tender passion being intimated, on the part of the youth, by chasing his charmer into a corner and partially throttling her, whereupon the maiden coyly conveys that his sentiments are not unreciprocated by thumping him between the shoulders. From time to time, two champions contend with fists for the smiles of beauty, who may usually be heard bellowing with perfect impartiality in the background. A small but increasing percentage have already had as much liquid refreshment as is good for them, and intend to have more. Altogether, the scene, if festive, might puzzle an Intelligent Foreigner who is more familiar with Continental ideas of enjoyment._
A DAMSEL (_in a ruby plush hat with a mauve feather_). Why, if they yn't got that bloomin' ole statute down from Charin' Cross! What's _'e_ doin' of down 'ere, I wonder?
HER SWAIN (_whose feather is only pink and white paper_). Doin' of? Tykin' 'is d'y orf--like the rest of us are tykin' it.
THE DAMSEL (_giggling_). You go on--you don't green _me_ that w'y--a statute!
SWAIN. Well, 'yn't this what they call a "Statutory" 'Oliday, eh?
DAMSEL (_in high appreciation of his humour_). I'll fetch you _sech_ a slap in a minnit! 'Ere, let's gow on the Swissback.
Another Damsel (_in a peacock-blue hat with orange pompons_). See that nekked young man on the big 'orse, ALF? It says "Castor" on the stand. 'Oo was _'e_?
ALF. Oh, _I_ d' know. I dessay it'll be 'im as invented the Castor Ile.
THE DAMSEL (_disgusted_). Fancy their puttin' up a monument to _'im_!
SUPERIOR 'ARRY (_talking Musichalls to his Adored One_). 'Ave you 'eard her sing "Come where the Booze is Cheapest?"
THE ADORED. Lots o' toimes. I _do_ like _'er_ singing. She mykes sech comical soigns--and then the _things_ she sez! But I've 'eard she's very common in her tork, and that--_orf_ the styge.
THE S. A. I shouldn't wonder. Some on 'em _are_ that way. You can't 'ave _everythink_!
HIS ADORED. No, it _is_ a pity, though. 'Spose we go out, and pl'y Kiss in the Ring? [_They do._
AMONG THE ETHNOLOGICAL MODELS.
WIFE OF BRITISH WORKMAN (_spelling out placard under Hottentot Group_). "It is extremely probable that this interesting race will be completely exterminated at no very distant period." Pore things!
BRITISH WORKMAN (_with philosophy_). Well, _I_ sha'n't go inter mournin' for 'em, Sairer!
LAMBETH LARRIKIN (_in a pasteboard "pickelhaube," and a false nose, thoughtfully, to_ BATTERSEA BILL, _who is wearing an old grey chimney-pot hat, with the brim uppermost, and a tow wig, as they contemplate a party of Botocudo natives_). Rum the sights these 'ere savidges make o' theirselves, ain't it, Bill?
BATT. BILL (_more thoughtfully_). Yer right--but I dessay if you and me 'ad been born among that lot, _we_ shouldn't care _'ow_ we looked!
VAUXHALL VOILET (_who has exchanged headgear with_ CHELSEA CHORLEY--_with dismal results_). They _are_ cures, those blackies! Why, yer carn't 'ardly tell the men from the wimmin! I expect this lot'll be 'aving a beanfeast. See, they're plyin' their myusic.
CHELSEA CHORLEY. Good job we can't _'ear_ 'em. They say as niggers' music is somethink downright horful. Give us "Hi-tiddly-hi" on that mouth-orgin o' yours, will yer?
[VAUXHALL VOILET _obliges on that instrument_; _every one in the neighbourhood begins to jig mechanically_; _exeunt party, dancing_.
A PIMPLY YOUTH. "Hopium-eater from Java." That's the stuff they gits as stoopid as biled howls on--it's about time we went and did another beer. [_They retire for that purpose._
DURING THE FIREWORKS.
CHORUS OF SPECTATORS. There's another lot o' bloomin' rockets gowin orf! Oo-oo, 'ynt that lur-uvly? What a lark if the sticks come down on somebody's 'ed! There, didyer see 'em bust? Puts me in mind of a shower o' foiry smuts. Lor, so they do--what a fancy you _do_ 'ave. &c., &c.
COMING HOME.
AN OLD GENTLEMAN (_who has come out with the object of observing Bank Holiday manners--which he has done from a respectful distance--to his friend, as they settle down in an empty first-class compartment_). There, now we shall just get comfortably off before the crush begins. Now, to _me_, y'know, this has been a most interesting and gratifying experience--wonderful spectacle, all that immense crowd, enjoying itself in its own way--boisterously, perhaps, but, on the whole, with marvellous decorum! Really, very exhilarating to see--but you don't agree with me?
HIS FRIEND (_reluctantly_). Well, I must say it struck me as rather pathetic than----
THE O. G. (_testily_). Pathetic, Sir--nonsense! I like to see people putting their _heart_ into it, whether it's play or work. Give me a crowd----
[_As if in answer to this prayer, there is a sudden irruption of typical Bank Holiday-makers into the compartment._
MAN BY THE WINDOW. Third-class as good as fust, these days! Why, if there ain't ole Fred! Wayo, Fred, tumble in, ole son--room for one more standin'!
["OLE FRED" _plays himself in with a triumphal blast on a tin trumpet, after which he playfully hammers the roof with his stick, as he leans against the door_.
OLE FRED. Where's my blanky friend? I 'it 'im one on the jaw, and I ain't seen 'im since! (_Sings, sentimentally, at the top of a naturally powerful voice._) "Comrides, Comrides! Hever since we was boys! Sharin' each other's sorrers. Sharin' each hother's--beer!"
[_A "paraprosdokian," which delights him to the point of repetition._
THE O. G. Might I ask you to make a little less disturbance there, Sir? [_Whimpers from over-tired children._
OLE FRED (_roaring_). "I'm jolly as a Sandboy, I'm 'appy as a king! No matter what I see or 'ear, I larf at heverything! I'm the morril of my moth-ar, (_to_ O. G.) the himage of _your_ Par! And heverythink I see or 'ear, it makes me larf 'Ar-har!'"
[_He laughs "Ar-har," after which he gives a piercing blast upon the trumpet, with stick obbligato on the roof._
THE O. G. (_roused_). I really _must_ beg you not to be such an infernal nuisance! There are women and children here who----
OLE FRED. Shet up, old umbereller whiskers! (_Screams of laughter from women and children, which encourage him to sing again._) "An' the roof is copper-bottomed, but the chimlies are of gold. In my double-breasted mansion in the Strand!" (_To people on platform, as train stops._) _Come_ in, oh, lor, _do_! "Oi-tiddly-oi-toi! hoi-toi-oy!"
[_The rest take up the refrain--"'Ave a drink an' wet your eye," &c. and beat time with their boots._
THE O. G. If this abominable noise goes on, I shall call the guard--disgraceful, coming in drunk like this!
THE MAN BY THE WINDOW. 'Ere, dry up, Guv'nor--_'e_ ain't 'ad enough to urt 'im, _'e_ ain't!
CHORUS OF FEMALES (_to_ O. G.). An' Bank 'Oliday, too--you orter to be _ashimed_ o' yerself, you ought! 'E's as right as right, if you on'y let him alone!
OLE FRED (to O. G.). Ga-arn, yer pore-'arted ole choiner boy! (_sings dismally_), "Ow! for the vanished Spring-toime! Ow! for the dyes gorn boy! Ow! for the"--(_changing the melody_)--"'omeless, I wander in lonely distress. No one ter pity me--none ter caress!" (_Here he sheds tears,_ _overcome by his own pathos, but presently cheers up._) "I dornce all noight! An' I rowl 'ome toight! I'm a rare-un at a rollick, or I'm ready fur a foight." Any man 'ere wanter foight me? Don't say no, ole Frecklefoot! (_To the_ O. G., _who perspires freely_.) "Oh, I _am_ enj'yin' myself!"
[_He keeps up this agreeable rattle, without intermission, for the remainder of the journey, which--as the train stops everywhere, and takes quite three-quarters of an hour in getting from Queen's Road, Battersea, to Victoria--affords a signal proof of his social resources, if it somewhat modifies the_ O. G.'S _enthusiasm for the artless gaiety of a Bank Holiday_.
A Row in the Pit; or, The Obstructive Hat.
SCENE--_The Pit during Pantomime Time. The Overture is beginning._
AN OVER-HEATED MATRON (_to her Husband_). Well, they don't give you much _room_ in 'ere, I _must_ say. Still, we done better than I expected, after all that crushing. I thought my ribs was gone once--but it was on'y the umberella's. You pretty comfortable where _you_ are, eh, Father?
FATHER. Oh, I'm right enough, I am.
JIMMY (_their Son; a small, bullet-headed boy, with a piping voice_). If _Father_ is, it's more nor what _I_ am. I can't see nothen, I can't!
HIS MOTHER. Lor' bless the boy! there ain't nothen to _see_ yet; you'll see well enough when the Curting goes up. (_Curtain rises on opening scene._) Look, Jimmy, ain't _that_ nice, now? All them himps dancin' round, and real fire comin' out of the pot--which I 'ope it's quite safe--and there's a beautiful fairy just come on, dressed so grand, too!
JIMMY. I can't see no fairy--nor yet no himps--nor nothen!
[_He whimpers._
HIS MOTHER (_annoyed_). Was there ever such a aggravating boy to take anywheres! Set quiet, do, and don't fidget, and look at the hactin'!
JIMMY. I tell yer I can't _see_ no hactin', Mother. It ain't my fault--it's this lady in front o' me, with the 'at.
MOTHER (_perceiving the justice of his complaints_). Father, the pore boy says he can't see where he is, 'cause of a lady's 'at in front.
FATHER (_philosophically_). Well, _I_ can't 'elp the 'at, can I? He must put up with it, that's all!
MOTHER. No--but I thought, if you wouldn't mind changing places with him--you're taller than him, and it wouldn't be in your way 'arf so much.
FATHER. It's always the way with you--never satisfied, _you_ ain't! Well, pass the boy across--I'm for a quiet life, I am. (_Changing seats._) Will _this_ do for you?
[_He settles down immediately behind a very large, furry, and feathery hat, which he dodges for some time, with the result of obtaining an occasional glimpse of a pair of legs on the stage._
FATHER (_suddenly_). D----the 'at!
MOTHER. You can't wonder at the _boy_ not seeing! P'raps the lady wouldn't mind taking it off, if you asked her?
FATHER. Ah! (_He touches_ THE OWNER OF THE HAT _on the shoulder_.) Excuse me, Mum, but might I take the liberty of asking you to kindly remove your 'at? [THE OWNER OF THE HAT _deigns no reply_.
FATHER (_more insistently_). Would you 'ave any objection to oblige me by taking off your 'at, Mum? (_Same result._) I don't know if you _'eard_ me, Mum, but I've asked you twice, civil enough, to take that 'at of yours off (_pathetically_). I'm a playin' 'Ide and Seek be'ind it 'ere! [_No answer._
THE MOTHER. People didn't ought to be allowed in the Pit with sech 'ats! Callin' 'erself a lady--and settin' there in a great 'at and feathers like a 'Ighlander's, and never answering no more nor a stuffed himage!
FATHER (_to the Husband of_ _The Owner of the Hat_). Will you tell your good lady to take her 'at off, Sir, please?
THE OWNER OF THE HAT (_to her Husband_). Don't you do nothing of the sort, Sam, or you'll _'ear_ of it!
THE MOTHER. Some people are perlite, I must say. Parties might _beyave_ as ladies when they come in the Pit! It's a pity her 'usband can't teach her better manners!
THE FATHER. _'Im_ teach her! 'E knows better. 'E's got a Tartar there, _'e_ 'as!
THE OWNER OF THE HAT. Sam, are you going to set by and hear me insulted like this?
HER HUSBAND (_turning round tremulously_). I--I'll trouble you to drop making these personal allusions to my wife's 'at, Sir. It's puffickly impossible to listen to what's going on on the stage with all these remarks be'ind!
THE FATHER. Not more nor it is to _see_ what's going on on the stage with that 'at in front! I paid 'arf-a-crown to see the Pantermime, I did; not to 'ave a view of your wife's 'at!... 'Ere, Maria, blowed if I can stand this 'ere game any longer. Jimmy must change places again, and if he can't see, he must jest stand up on the seat, that's all!
[JIMMY _is transferred to his original place, and mounts upon the seat_.
A PITTITE BEHIND JIMMY (_touching up_ JIMMY'S _Father with an umbrella_). Will you tell your little boy to set down, please, and not block the view like this?
JIMMY'S FATHER. If you can indooce that lady in front to take off her 'at, I will--but not before. Stay where you are, Jimmy, my boy.
THE PITTITE BEHIND. Well, I must stand myself then, that's all. I mean to see, _somehow_! [_He rises._
PEOPLE BEHIND HIM (_sternly_). Set down there, will yer?
[_He resumes his seat expostulating._
JIMMY. Father, the gentleman behind is a pinching of my legs!
JIMMY'S FATHER. Will you stop pinching my little boy's legs! He ain't doing _you_ no 'arm--is he?
THE PINCHING PITTITE. Let him sit down, then!
JIMMY'S FATHER. Let the lady take her 'at off!
MURMURS BEHIND. Order, there! Set down! Put that boy down! Take orf that 'at! Silence in front, there! Turn 'em out! Shame! ... &c., &c.
THE HUSBAND OF THE O. OF THE H. (_in a whisper to his Wife_). Take off the blessed 'at, and have done with it, do!
THE O. OF THE H. What--_now_! I'd sooner _die_ in the 'at!
[An ATTENDANT _is called_.
THE ATTENDANT. Order, there, Gentlemen, please--unless you want to get turned out! No standing allowed on the seats--you're disturbing the performance 'ere, you know!
[JIMMY _is made to sit down, and weeps silently_; _the hubbub gradually subsides--and_ THE OWNER OF THE HAT _triumphs--for the moment_.
JIMMY'S MOTHER. Never mind, my boy, you shall have Mother's seat in a minute. I dessay, if all was known, the lady 'as reasons for keeping her 'at on, pore thing!
THE FATHER (_perceiving her drift_). Ah, I never thought o' that. So she may. Very likely her 'at won't _come_ off--not without her _'air_!
THE MOTHER. Ah, well, we mustn't be 'ard on her, if that's so.
THE O. OF THE H. (_removing the obstruction_). I 'ope you're satisfied _now_, I'm sure?
THE FATHER (handsomely). Better late nor never, Mum, and we take it kind of you. Though, why you shouldn't ha' done it at fust, I dunno; for you look a deal 'ansomer without the 'at than what you did in it--_don't_ she, Maria?
THE O. OF THE H. (_mollified_). Sam, ask the gentleman behind if his little boy would like a ginger-nut.
[_This olive-branch is accepted; compliments pass; cordiality is restored, and the Pantomime proceeds without further disturbance._