Part 2

SECOND GIRL. He's such a one to take on about things--but, as I said to him, "George," I says, "You must remember it might have been worse. Suppose you'd been married to that girl, and _then_ found out about Alf and the Jubilee sixpence--how would _that_ have been?"

FIRST GIRL (_unconsciously acting as the mouthpiece of the other passengers_). And what did he say to _that_?

SECOND GIRL. Oh, nothing--there was nothing he _could_ say, but I could see he was struck. She behaved very mean to the last--she wouldn't send back the German concertina.

FIRST GIRL. You don't say so! Well, I wouldn't have thought that of her, bad as she is.

SECOND GIRL. No, she stuck to it that it wasn't like a regular present, being got through a grocer, and as she couldn't send him back the tea, being drunk,--but did you hear how she treated Emma over the crinoline 'at she got for her?

FIRST GIRL (_to the immense relief of the rest_). No, what was that?

SECOND GIRL. Well, I had it from Emma her own self. Eliza wrote up to her and says, in a postscript like,--Why, this is Tottenham Court Road, I get out here. Good-bye, dear, I must tell you the rest another day.

[_Gets out, leaving the tantalised audience inconsolable, and longing for courage to question her companion as to the precise details of Eliza's heartless behaviour to George. The companion, however, relapses into a stony reserve. Enter a_ CHATTY OLD GENTLEMAN _who has no secrets from anybody, and of course selects as the first recipient of his confidence the one person who hates to be talked to in an omnibus_.

THE CHATTY O. G. I've just been having a talk with the policeman at the corner there--what do you think I said to him?

HIS OPPOSITE NEIGHBOUR. I--I really don't know.

THE C. O. G. Well, I told him he was a rich man compared to me. He said "I only get thirty shillings a week, Sir." "Ah," I said, "but look at your expenses, compared to mine. What would _you_ do if you had to spend eight hundred a year on your children's education?" I spend that--every penny of it, Sir.

HIS OPP. N. (_utterly uninterested_). Do you indeed?--dear me!

C. O. G. Not that I grudge it--a good education is a fortune in itself, and as I've always told my boys, they must make the best of it, for it's all they'll get. They're good enough lads, but I've had a deal of trouble with them one way and another--a _deal_ of trouble. (_Pauses for some expression of sympathy--which does not come--and he continues_:) There are my two eldest sons--what must they do but fall in love with the same lady--the same lady, Sir! (_No one seems to care much for these domestic revelations--possibly because they are too_ _obviously addressed to the general ear_). And, to make matters worse, she was a married woman--(_his principal hearer looks another way uneasily_)--the wife of a godson of mine, which made it all the more awkward, y'know. (HIS OPPOSITE NEIGHBOUR _giving no sign, the_ C. O. G. _tries one Passenger after another_.) Well, I went to him--(_here he fixes an old Lady, who immediately passes up coppers out of her glove to the_ CONDUCTOR)--I went to him, and said--(_addressing a smartly dressed young Lady with a parcel who giggles_)--I said, "You're a man of the world--so am I. Don't you take any notice," I told him--(_this to a callow young man, who blushes_)--"they're a couple of young fools," I said, "but you tell your dear wife from me not to mind those boys of mine--they'll soon get tired of it if they're only let alone." And so they would have, long ago, it's my belief, if they'd met with no encouragement--but what can _I_ do--it's a heavy trial to a father, you know. Then there's my third son--he must needs go and marry--(_to a Lady at his side with a reticule, who gasps faintly_)--some young woman who dances at a Music-hall--nice daughter-in-law that for a man in my position, eh? I've forbidden him the house of course, and told his mother not to have any communication with him--but I know, Sir,--(_violently, to a Man on his other side, who coughs in much embarrassment_)--I _know_ she meets him once a week under the eagle in Orme Square, and _I_ can't stop her! Then I'm worried about my daughters--one of 'em gave me no peace till I let her have some painting lessons--of course, I naturally thought the drawing-master would be an elderly man--whereas, as things turned out,----

A QUIET MAN IN A CORNER. I 'ope you told all this to the Policeman, Sir?

THE C. O. G. (_flaming unexpectedly_). No, Sir, I did _not_. I am not in the habit--whatever _you_ may be--of discussing my private affairs with strangers. I consider your remark highly impertinent, Sir.

[_Fumes in silence for the rest of the journey._

THE YOUNG LADY WITH THE PARCEL (_to her friend--for the sake of vindicating her gentility_). Oh, my dear, _I_ do feel so funny, carrying a great brown-paper parcel, in a bus, too! Any one would take me for a shop-girl!

A GRIM OLD LADY OPPOSITE. And I only hope, my dear, you'll never be taken for any one less respectable.

[_Collapse of_ GENTEEL Y.L.

FIRST HUMOROUS 'ARRY (_recognising a friend on entering_). Excuse me stoppin' your kerridge, old man, but I thought you wouldn't mind givin' me a lift, as you was goin' my way.

SECOND H. 'A. Quite welcome, old chap, so long as you give my man a bit when you git down, yer know.

FIRST H. 'A. Oh, o' course--that's expected between gentlemen.

(_Both look round to see if their facetiousness is appreciated, find it is not and subside._)

THE CONDUCTOR. Benk, benk! (_he means "Bank"_) 'Oborn, benk! 'Igher up there, Bill, can't you?

A DINGY MAN SMOKING, IN A VAN. Want to block up the ole o' the road, eh? That's right!

THE CONDUCTOR (_roused to personality_). Go 'ome, Dirty Dick! syme old soign, I see,--"Monkey an' Poipe!" (_To Coachman of smart brougham which is pressing rather closely behind._) I say old man, don't you race after my bus like this--you'll only tire your 'orse.

[_The Coachman affects not to have heard._

THE CONDUCTOR (_addressing the brougham horse, whose head is almost through the door of the omnibus_). 'Ere, _'ang_ it all!--step insoide, if yer want to!

[_Brougham falls to rear--triumph of_ CONDUCTOR _as Scene closes_.

At a Sale of High-Class Sculpture.

SCENE--_An upper floor in a City Warehouse; a low whitewashed room, dimly lighted by dusty windows and two gas-burners in wire cages. Around the walls are ranged several statues of meek aspect, securely confined in barred wooden cases, like a sort of marble menagerie. In the centre, a labyrinthine grove of pedestals, surmounted by busts, groups, and statuettes by modern Italian masters. About these pedestals a small crowd--consisting of Elderly Merchants on the look out for a "neat thing in statuary" for the conservatory at Croydon or Muswell Hill, Young City Men who have dropped in after lunch, Disinterested Dealers, Upholsterers' Buyers, Obliging Brokers, and Grubby and Mysterious men--is cautiously circulating._

OBLIGING BROKER (_to_ AMIABLE SPECTATOR, _who has come in out of curiosity, and without the remotest intention of purchasing sculpture_). No Catlog, Sir? 'Ere, allow me to orfer you mine--that's _my_ name in pencil on the top of it, Sir; and, if you _should_ 'appen to see any lot that takes your fancy, you jest ketch my eye. (_Reassuringly._) I sha'n't be fur off. Or look 'ere, gimme a nudge--I shall know what it means.

[_The_ A. S. _thanks him profusely, and edges away with an inward vow to avoid his and the_ AUCTIONEER'S _eyes, as he would those of a basilisk_.

AUCTIONEER (_from desk, with the usual perfunctory fervour_). Lot 13, Gentlemen, very charming pair of subjects from child life--"_The Pricked Finger_" and "_The Scratched Toe_"--by Bimbi.

A STOLID ASSISTANT (_in shirtsleeves_). Figgers _'ere_, Gen'lm'n!

[_Languid surge of crowd towards them._

A FACETIOUS BIDDER. Which of 'em's the finger and which the toe?

AUCT. (_coldly_). I should have thought it was easy to identify by the attitude. Now, Gentlemen, give me a bidding for these very finely-executed works by Bimbi. Make any offer. What will you give me for 'em? Both very sweet things, Gentlemen. Shall we say ten guineas?

A GRUBBY MAN. Give yer five.

AUCT. (_with grieved resignation_). Very well, start 'em at five. Any advance on five? (_To_ ASSIST.) Turn 'em round, to show the back view. And a 'arf! Six! And a 'arf! Only six and a 'arf bid for this beautiful pair of figures, done direct from nature by Bimbi. Come, Gentlemen, come! Seven! Was that _you_, MR. GRIMES? (THE GRUBBY MAN _admits the soft impeachment_.) Seven and a 'arf. Eight! It's _against_ you.

MR. GRIMES (_with a supreme effort_). Two-and-six!

[_Mops his brow with a red cotton handkerchief._

AUCT. (_in a tone of gratitude for the smallest mercies_). Eight-ten-six. All done at eight-ten-six? Going ... gone! GRIMES, Eight, ten, six. Take money for 'em. Now we come to a very 'andsome work by Piffalini--"_The Ocarina Player_," one of this great artist's masterpieces, and an exceedingly choice and high-class work, as you will all agree directly you see it. (_To_ ASSIST.) Now, then, Lot 14, there--look sharp!

STOLID ASSIST. "Hocarina Plier" eyn't arrived, Sir.

AUCT. Oh, hasn't it? Very well, then. Lot 15. "_The Pretty Pill-taker_," by Antonio Bilio--a really magnificent work of Art, Gentlemen. (_"Pill-taker, 'ere.!" from the_ S. A.) What'll you give me for her? Come, make me an offer. (_Bidding proceeds till the "Pill-taker" is knocked down for twenty-three-and-a-half guineas._) Lot 16, "_The Mixture as Before_," by same artist--make a charming and suitable companion to the last lot. What do you say, MR. MIDDLEMAN--take it at the same bidding? (Mr. M. _assents, with the end of one eyebrow_.) Any advance on twenty-three and a 'arf? None? Then,--MIDDLEMAN, Twenty-four, thirteen, six.

MR. MIDDLEMAN (_to the_ AMIABLE SPECTATOR, _who has been vaguely inspecting the "Pill-taker"_). Don't know if you noticed it, Sir, but I got that last couple very cheap--on'y forty-seven guineas the pair, and they are worth eighty, I solemnly declare to you. I could get forty a piece for 'em to-morrow, upon my word and honour, I could. Ah, and I know who'd _give_ it me for 'em, too!

THE A. S. (_sympathetically_). Dear me, then you've done very well over it.

MR. M. Ah, well ain't the word--and those two aren't the only lots I've got either. That "_Sandwich-Man_" over there is mine--look at the work in those boards, and the nature in his clay pipe; and "_The Boot-Black_," that's mine, too--all worth twice what _I_ got 'em for--and lovely things, too, ain't they?

THE A. S. Oh, very nice, very clever--congratulate you, I'm sure.

MR. M. I can see you've took a fancy to 'em, Sir, and, when I come across a gentleman that's a connysewer, I'm always sorry to stand in his light; so, see here, you can have any one you like out o' my little lot, or all on 'em, with all the pleasure in the wide world, Sir, and I'll on'y charge you five per cent. on what I gave for 'em, and be exceedingly obliged to you, into the bargain, Sir. (_The_ A. S. _feebly disclaims any desire to take advantage of this magnanimous offer_.) Don't say No, if you mean Yes, Sir. Will you _'ave "The Pill-taker,"_ Sir?

THE A. S. (_politely_). Thank you very much, but--er--I think _not_.

MR. M. Then perhaps you could do with "_The Little Boot-Black_," or "_The Sandwich-Man_," Sir?

THE A. S. Perhaps--but I could do still better _without_ them.

[_He moves to another part of the room._

THE OBL. BROKER (_whispering beerily in his ear_). Seen anythink yet as takes your fancy, Sir; 'cos, if so--

[THE A. S. _escapes to a dark corner--where he is warmly welcomed by_ MR. MIDDLEMAN.

MR. M. _Knew_ you'd think better on it, Sir. Now which is it to be--the "_Boot-Black_," or "_Mixture as Before_"?

AUCT. Now we come to Lot 19. Massive fluted column in coral marble with revolving-top--a column, Gentlemen, which will speak for itself.

THE FACETIOUS BIDDER (_after a scrutiny_). Then it may as well mention, while it's _about_ it, that it's got a bit out of its back!

AUCT. Flaw in the marble, that's all. (_To_ ASSIST.) Nothing the _matter_ with the column, is there?

ASSIST. (_with reluctant candour_). Well, it _'as_ got a little chipped, Sir.

AUCT. (_easily_). Oh, very well then, we'll sell it "A. F." Very glad it was found out in time, I'm sure. [_Bidding proceeds._

FIRST DEALER _to_ SECOND (_in a husky whisper_). Talkin' o' Old Masters, I put young 'Anway up to a good thing the other day.

SECOND D. (_without surprise--probably from a knowledge of his friend's noble unselfish nature_). Ah--'ow was that?

FIRST D. Well, there was a picter as I 'appened to know could be got in for a deal under what it ought--in good 'ands, mind yer--to fetch. It was a Morlan'--leastwise, it was so like you couldn't ha' told the difference, if you understand my meanin'. (_The other nods with complete intelligence._) Well, I 'adn't no openin' for it myself just then, so I sez to young 'Anway, "You might do worse than go and 'ave a _look_ at it," I told him. And I run against him yesterday, Wardour Street way, and I sez, "Did yer go and _see_ that picter?" "Yes," sez he, "and what's more, I got it at pretty much my own figger, too!" "Well," sez I, "and ain't yer goin' to _shake 'ands with me over it_?"

SECOND D. (_interested_). And _did_ he?

FIRST D. Yes, he did--he beyaved very fair over the matter, I will say _that_ for him.

SECOND D. Oh, 'Anway's a very decent little feller--_now_.

AUCT. (_hopefully_). Now, Gentlemen, this next lot'll tempt you, _I'_m sure! Lot 33, a magnificent and very finely executed dramatic group out of the "_Merchant of Venice_," _Othello_ in the act of smothering _Desdemona_, both nearly life-size. (ASSIST., _with a sardonic inflection_. "_Group_ 'ere, _Gen'lm'n_!") What shall we say for this great work by Roccocippi, Gentlemen? A hundred guineas, just to start us?

THE F. B. Can't you put the two figgers up separate?

AUCT. You know better than that--being a group, Sir. Come, come, any one give me a hundred for this magnificent marble group! The figure of _Othello_ very finely finished, Gentlemen.

THE F. B. I should ha' thought it was _her_ who was the finely finished one of the two.

AUCT. (_pained by this levity_). Really, Gentlemen, _do_ 'ave more appreciation of a 'igh-class work like this!... Twenty-five guineas?... Nonsense! I can't put it up at that.

[_Bidding languishes. Lot withdrawn._

SECOND DISINTERESTED DEALER (_to_ FIRST D. D., _in an undertone_). I wouldn't tell every one, but I shouldn't like to see _you_ stay 'ere and waste your time; so, in case you _was_ thinking of waiting for that last lot, I may just as well mention--

[_Whispers._

FIRST D. D. Ah, it's _that_ way, is it? Much obliged to you for the 'int. But I'd do the same for you any day.

SECOND D. D. I'm _sure_ yer would!

[_They watch one another suspiciously._

AUCT. Now 'ere's a tasteful thing, Gentlemen. Lot. 41. "_Nymph eating Oysters_" ("_Nymph 'ere, Gen'lm'n!_"), by the celebrated Italian artist Vabene, one of the finest works of Art in this room, and they're _all_ exceedingly fine works of Art; but this is a _truly_ work of Art, Gentlemen. What shall we say for her, eh? (_Silence._) Why, Gentlemen, no more appreciation than _that_? Come, don't be afraid of it. Make a beginning. (_Bidding starts._) Forty-five guineas. Forty-six--_pounds_. Forty-six pounds only, this remarkable specimen of modern Italian Art. Forty-six and a 'arf. Only forty-six ten bid for it. Give character to any gentleman's collection, a figure like this would. Forty-seven _pounds_--_guineas_! and a 'arf.... Forty-seven and a 'arf guineas.... For the last time! Bidding with you, Sir. Forty-seven guineas and a 'arf--Gone! Name, Sir, if _you_ please. Oh, money? Very well. Thank you.

PROUD PURCHASER (_to Friend, in excuse for his extravagance_). You see, I must have something for that grotto I've got in the grounds.

HIS FRIEND. If she was mine, I should put her in the hall, and have a gaslight fitted in the oyster-shell.

P. P. (_thoughtfully_). Not a bad idea. But electric light would be more suitable, and easier to fix too. Yes--we'll see.

THE OBL. BROKER (_pursuing the_ AM. SPECT.). I 'ope, Sir, you'll remember me, next time you're this way.

THE AM. SPECT. (_who has only ransomed himself by taking over an odd lot, consisting of imitation marble fruit, a model, under crystal, of the Leaning Tower of Pisa, and three busts of Italian celebrities of whom he has never heard_). I'm afraid I sh'an't have very much chance of forgetting you. _Good_ afternoon!

[_Exit hurriedly, dropping the fruit, as Scene closes._

At the Guelph Exhibition.

IN THE CENTRAL HALL.

A THRIFTY VISITOR (_on entering_). Catalogue? No. What's the use of a Catalogue? Miserable thing, the size of a tract, that tells you nothing you don't know!

HIS WIFE (_indicating a pile of Catalogues on table_). Aren't _these_ big enough for you?

THE THR. V. Those? Why they're big enough for the _London Directory_! Think I'm going to drag a thing like that about the place? You don't really want a Catalogue--it's all your fancy!

MR. PRATTLER (_to_ MISS AMMERSON). Oh, _do_ stop and look at these _sweet_ goldfish! Pets! Don't you _love_ them? _Aren't_ they tame?

MISS AMMERSON. Wouldn't do to have them _wild_--might jump out and _bite_ people, you know!

MR. P. It's _too_ horrid of you to make fun of my poor little enthusiasms! But really,--couldn't we get something and feed them?--_Do_ let's!

MISS A. I dare say you could get ham-sandwiches in the Restaurant--or chocolates.

MR. P. How unkind you are to me! But I don't care. (_Wilfully._) I shall come here all by myself, and bring biscuits. Great big ones! Are you determined to take me into that big room with all the Portraits? Well you must tell me who they all are, then, and which are the Guelphiest ones.

CONSIDERATE NIECE (_to_ UNCLE). They seem mostly Portraits here. You're sure you don't _mind_ looking at them, Uncle? I know so many people _do_ object to Portraits.

UNCLE (_with the air of a Christian Martyr_). No, my dear, no; _I_ don't mind 'em. Stay here as long as you like. I'll sit down and look at the people till you've done.

FIRST CRITICAL VISITOR (_examining a View of St. James's Park_). I wonder where that was taken. In Scotland, I expect--there's two Highlanders there, you see.

SECOND C. V. Shouldn't wonder--lot o' work in that, all those different colours, and so many dresses. [_Admires, thoughtfully._

A WELL-READ WOMAN. That's Queen Charlotte, that is. George the Third's wife, you know--her that was so _domestic_.

HER COMPANION. Wasn't that the one that was shut up in the Tower, or something?

THE W. W. In the Tower? Lor, my dear, no, _I_ never 'eard of it. You're thinking of the Tudors, or some o' that lot, I expect!

HER COMP. Am I? I dare say. I never _could_ remember 'Istry. Why, if you'll believe me, I always have to stop and think which of the Georges came first!

MORE CRITICAL VISITORS (_before Portraits_). He's rather pleasant-looking, don't you think? I _don't_ like _her_ face at all. So peculiar. And what a hideous dress--like a tea-gown without any upper part--frightful!

A SCEPTICAL V. They all seem to have had such thin lips in those days. Somehow, I _can't_ bring myself to believe in such very thin lips--can _you_, dear?

HER FRIEND. I always think it's a sign of meanness, myself.

THE S. V. No; but I mean--I can't believe _every one_ had them in the eighteenth century.

HER FRIEND. Oh, I don't know. If it was the fashion!

ABOUT THE CASES.

VISITOR (_admiring an embroidered waistcoat of the time of_ George the Second--_a highly popular exhibit_). What lovely work! Why, it looks as if it was done yesterday!

HER COMPANION (_who is not in the habit of allowing his enthusiasm to run away with him_). Um--yes, it's not bad. But, of course, they wouldn't send a thing like that here without having it washed and done up first!

AN OLD LADY. "Teapot used by the Duke of Wellington during his campaigns." So he drank _tea_, did he? Dear me! Do you know, my dear, I think I must have _my_ old tea-pot engraved. It will make it so much more interesting some day!

IN THE SOUTH GALLERY.

MR. PRATTLER (_before a portrait of Lady Hamilton by Romney_). There! Isn't she too charming? I do call her a perfect _duck!_

MISS AMMERSON. Yes, you mustn't forget her when you bring those biscuits.

AN AMURRCAN GIRL. Father, see up there; there's Byron. Did you erver see such a purrfectly beautiful face?

HER FATHER (_solemnly_). He was a beautiful _Man_--a beautiful Poet.

THE A. G. I know--but the _expression_, it's real saint-like!

FATHER (_slowly_). Well, I guess if he'd had any different kind of expression, he wouldn't have written the things he _did_ write, and that's a fact!

A MORALISING OLD LADY (_at Case O_). No. 1260. "Ball of Worsted wound by William Cowper, the poet, for Mrs. Unwin." No. 1261. "Netting done by William Cowper, the poet." How very nice, and what a difference in the habit of literary persons _nowadays_, my dear!

IN THE CENTRAL HALL.

MR. WHITEROSE, _a Jacobite fin de siècle, is seated on a Bench beside a_ SEEDY STRANGER.

THE S. S. (_half to himself_). Har, well, there's one comfort, these 'ere Guelphs'll get notice to quit afore we're _much_ older!

MR. WHITEROSE (_surprised_). You say so? Then you too are of the Young England Party! I am rejoiced to hear it. You cheer me; it is a sign that the good Cause is advancing.

THE S. S. Advancin'? I believe yer. Why, I know a dozen and more as are workin' 'art and soul for it!

MR. W. You do? We are making strides, indeed! Our England has suffered these usurpers too long.

THE S. S. Yer right. But we'll chuck 'em out afore long, and it'll be "Over goes the Show" with the lot, eh?

MR. W. I had no idea that the--er--intelligent artisan classes were so heartily with us. We must talk more of this. Come and see me. Bring your friends--all you can depend upon. Here is my card.

THE S. S. (_putting the card in the lining of his hat_). Right, Guv'nor; we'll come. I wish there was more gents like yer, I do!

MR. W. We are united by a common bond. We both detest--do we not?--the Hanoverian interlopers. We are both pledged never to rest until we have brought back to the throne of our beloved England, her lawful sovereign lady--(_uncovering_)--our gracious Mary of Austria-Este, the legitimate descendant of Charles the Blessed Martyr!

THE S. S. 'Old on, Guv'nor! Me and my friends are with yer so fur as doing away with these 'ere hidle Guelphs; but blow yer Mary of Orstria, yer know. Blow _'er_!

MR. W. (_horrified_). Hush--this is rank treason! Remember--she is the lineal descendant of the House of Stuart!

THE S. S. What of it? There won't be no lineal descendants when we git _hour_ way, 'cause there won't be nothing to descend to nobody. The honly suv'rin _we_ mean to 'ave is the People--the Democrisy. But there, you're young, me and my friends'll soon tork you over to hour way o' thinking. I dessay we 'aint fur apart, as it is. I got yer address, and we'll drop in on yer some night--never fear. No hevenin' dress, o' course?

MR. W. Of course. I--I'll look out for you. But I'm seldom in--hardly _ever_, in fact.

THE S. S. Don't you fret about _that_. Me and my friends ain't nothing partickler to do just now. We'll _wait_ for yer. I should like yer to know ole Bill Gabb. You should 'ear _that_ feller goin' on agin the Guelphs when he's 'ad a little booze--it 'ud do your 'art good. Well, I on'y come in 'ere as a deligate like, to report, and I seen enough. So 'ere's good-day to yer.