Part 3

MR W. (_alone_). I shall have to change my rooms--and I _was_ so comfortable! Well, well,--another sacrifice to the Cause!

AT THE ROYAL ACADEMY.

IN THE VESTIBULE.

_Visitors ascending staircase, full of enthusiasm and energetic determination not to miss a single Picture, encounter people descending in various stages of mental and physical exhaustion. At the turnstiles two Friends meet unexpectedly; both being shy men, who, with timely notice, would have preferred to avoid one another, their greetings are marked by an unnatural effusion and followed by embarrassed silence._

FIRST SHY MAN (_to break the spell_). Odd, our running up against one another like this, eh?

SECOND SHY MAN. Oh, very odd. (_Looks about him irresolutely, and wonders if it would be decent to pass on. Decides it will hardly do._) Great place for meeting, the Academy, though.

FIRST S. M. Yes; sure to come across _somebody_, sooner or later.

[_Laughs nervously, and wishes the other would go._

SECOND S. M. (_seeing that his friend lingers_). This your _first_ visit here?

FIRST S. M. Yes. Couldn't very well get away _before_, you know.

[_Feels apologetic, without exactly knowing why._

SECOND S. M. It's _my_ first visit, too. (_Sees no escape, and resigns himself._) Er--we may as well go round together, eh?

FIRST S. M. (_who was afraid this was coming_--_heartily_). Good! By the way, I always think, on a first visit, it's best to take a single room, and do that thoroughly. [_This has only just occurred to him._

SECOND S. M. (_who had been intending to follow that plan himself_). Oh, _do_ you? Now, for _my_ part, I don't attempt to see anything _thoroughly_ the first time. Just scamper through, glance at the things one oughtn't to miss, get a general impression, and come away. _Then_, if I don't happen to come again, I've always _done_ it, you see. But (_considerately_), look here. Don't let me drag you about, if you'd rather not!

FIRST S. M. Oh, but I shouldn't like to feel I was any tie on you. Don't you mind about me. I shall potter about in here--for hours, I dare say.

SECOND S. M. Ah, well (_with vague consolation_), I shall always know where to _find_ you, I suppose.

FIRST S. M. (_brightening visibly_). Oh dear, yes; I sha'n't be far away.

[_They part with mutual relief, only tempered by the necessity of following the course they have respectively prescribed for themselves. Nemesis overtakes the_ SECOND S. M. _in the next Gallery, when he is captured by a Desultory Enthusiast, who insists upon dragging him all over the place to see obscure "bits" and "gems," which are only to be appreciated by ricking the neck or stooping painfully_.

A SUBURBAN LADY (_to Female Friend_). Oh dear, _how_ stupid of me! I _quite_ forgot to bring a pencil! Oh, _thank_ you, dear, that will do _beautifully_. It's just a _little_ blunt; but so long as I can _mark_ with it, you know. You don't think we should avoid the crush if we began at the end room? Well, perhaps it _is_ less confusing to begin at the beginning, and work steadily through.

IN GALLERY NO. I.

_A small group has collected before Mr. Wyllie's "Davy Jones's Locker," which they inspect solemnly for some time before venturing to commit themselves to any opinion._

FIRST VISITOR (_after devoting his whole mind to the subject_). Why, it's the Bottom of the Sea--at least (_more cautiously_), that's what it seems to be _intended_ for.

SECOND V. Ah, and very well done, too. I wonder, now, how he managed to stay down long enough to paint all that?

THIRD V. Practice, I suppose. I've seen writing done under water myself. But that was a tank!

FOURTH V. (_presumably in profound allusion to the fishes and sea-anemones_). Well, they seem to be 'aving it all their own way down there, don't they?

[_The Group, feeling that this remark sums up the situation, disperses._

THE SUBURBAN LADY (_her pencil in full play_). No. 93. Now what's _that_ about? Oh, "_Forbidden Sweets_,"--yes, to be sure. _Isn't_ that charming? Those two dear little tots having their tea, and the kitten with its head stuck in the jam-pot, and the label and all, and the sticky spoon on the nursery table-cloth--so _natural!_ I really _must_ mark that. (_Awards this distinction._) 97. "_Going up Top._" Yes, _of course_. Look, Lucy dear, that little fellow has just answered a question, and his master tells him he may go to the top of the class, do you _see_? And the big boy looking so sulky, he's wishing he had learnt his lesson better. I do think it's _so_ clever--all the different expressions. Yes, I shall _certainly_ mark that!

IN GALLERY NO. II.

THE S. L. (_doubtfully_). H'm, No. 156. "_Cloud Chariots_"? Not very _like_ chariots, though, _are_ they?

HER FRIEND. I expect it's one of those sort of pictures that you have to look at a long time, and then things gradually come _out_ of it, you know.

THE S. L. It _may_ be. (_Tries the experiment._) No, _I_ can't make _anything_ come out--only just clouds and their reflections. (_Struggling between good-nature and conscientiousness._) I _don't_ think I _can_ mark that.

IN GALLERY NO. III.

A MATRON (_before Mr. Dicksee's "Tannhäuser"_). "_Venus and Tannhäuser_"--ah, and is that Venus on the stretcher? Oh, _that's_ her all on fire in the background. Then which is Tannhäuser, and what are they all supposed to be doing? [_In a tone of irritation._

HER NEPHEW. Oh, it tells you all about it in the Catalogue--he meets her funeral, you know, and leaves grow on his stick.

THE MATRON (_pursing her lips_). Oh, a _dead person_.

[_Repulses the Catalogue severely and passes on._

FIRST PERSON, _with an "Eye for Art"_ (_before "Psyche's Bath," by the President_). Not bad, eh?

SECOND PERSON, &c. No, I rather like it. (_Feels that he is growing too lenient_). He doesn't give you a very good idea of marble, though.

FIRST P. &c. No--_that's_ not marble, and he always puts too many folds in his drapery to suit _me_.

FIRST P. &c. Just what _I_ always say. It's not natural, you know.

[_They pass on, much pleased with themselves and one another._

A FIANCÉ (_halting before a sea-scape, by Mr. Henry Moore, to_ FIANCÉE). Here, I say, hold on a bit--what's _this_ one?

FIANCÉE (_who doesn't mean to waste the whole afternoon over pictures_). Why, it's only a lot of waves--_come_ on!

THE SUBURBAN L. Lucy, _this_ is rather nice. _"Breakfasts for the Porth!_" (_Pondering_). I think there must be a mistake in the Catalogue--I don't see any breakfast things--they're cleaning fish, and what's a "Porth!" Would you mark that--or not?

HER COMP. Oh, I _think_ so.

THE S. L. I don't know. I've marked such a quantity already and the lead won't hold out much longer. Oh, it's by Hook, R.A. Then I suppose it's _sure_ to be all right. I've marked it, dear.

DUET BY TWO DREADFULLY SEVERE YOUNG LADIES, _who paint a little on China_. Oh, my _dear_, look at that. Did you ever _see_ such a thing? Isn't it too perfectly _awful_? And there's a thing! Do come and look at this horror over here. A "_Study_," indeed. I should just think it _was_! Oh, Maggie, don't be so satirical, or I shall die! No, but _do_ just see this--isn't it _killing?_ They get worse and worse every year, I declare!

[_And so on._

IN GALLERY NO. V.

_Two Prosaic Persons come upon a little picture, by Mr. Swan, of a boy lying on a rock, piping to fishes._

FIRST P. P. _That's_ a rum thing!

SECOND P. P. Yes, I wasn't aware myself that fishes were so partial to music.

FIRST P. P. They may be--out there--(_perceiving that the boy is unclad_)--but it's peculiar altogether--they look like herrings to me.

SECOND P. P. Yes--or mackerel. But (_tolerantly_) I suppose it's a fancy subject.

[_They consider that this absolves them from taking any further interest in it, and pass on._

IN GALLERY NO. XI.

AN OLD LADY (_who judges Art from a purely Moral Standpoint, halts approvingly before a picture of a female orphan_). Now that really is a nice picture, my dear--a plain black dress and white cuffs--just what I _like_ to see in a young person!

THE S. L. (_her enthusiasm greatly on the wane, and her temper slightly affected_). Lucy, I _wish_ you wouldn't worry so--it's quite impossible to stop and look at _everything_. If you wanted your tea as badly as _I_ do! Mark that one? What, when they neither of them have a single _thing_ on! Never, Lucy,--and I'm surprised at your suggesting it! Oh, you meant the next one? h'm--no, I _can't_ say I care for it. Well, if I _do_ mark it, I shall only put a tick--for it really is _not_ worth a cross!

COMING OUT.

THE MAN WHO ALWAYS MAKES THE RIGHT REMARK. H'm. Haven't seen anything I could carry away with me.

HIS FLIPPANT FRIEND. Too many people about, eh? Never mind, old chap, you _may_ manage to sneak an umbrella down stairs--I won't say anything!

[_Disgust of his companion, who descends stairs in offended silence, as scene closes._

At the Horse Show.

TIME--_About 3.30_. _Leaping Competition about to begin. The Competitors are ranged in a line at the upper end of the Hall while the attendants place the hedges in position. Amongst the Spectators in the Area are--a Saturnine Stableman from the country; a Cockney Groom; a Morbid Man; a Man who is apparently under the impression that he is the only person gifted with sight; a Critic who is extremely severe upon other people's seats; a Judge of Horseflesh; and Two Women who can't see as well as they could wish._

THE DESCRIPTIVE MAN. They've got both the fences up now, d'ye see? There's the judges going to start the jumping; each rider's got a ticket with his number on his back. See? The first man's horse don't seem to care about jumping this afternoon--see how he's dancing about. Now he's going at it--there, he's cleared it! Now he'll have to jump the next one!

[_Keeps up a running fire of these instructive and valuable observations throughout the proceedings._

THE JUDGE OF HORSEFLESH. Rare good shoulders that one has.

THE SEVERE CRITIC (_taking the remark to apply to the horse's rider_). H'm, yes--rather--pity he sticks his elbows out quite so much, though.

[_His Friend regards him in silent astonishment. Another Competitor clears a fence, but exhibits a considerable amount of daylight._

THE SATURNINE STABLEMAN (_encouragingly_). You'll 'ev to set back a bit next journey, Guv'nor!

THE COCKNEY GROOM. 'Orses 'ud jump better if the fences was a bit 'igher.

THE S. S. They'll be plenty 'oigh enough fur some on 'em.

THE SEVERE CRITIC. Ugly seat that fellow has--all anyhow when the horse jumps.

JUDGE OF HORSEFLESH. Has he? I didn't notice--I was looking at the horse. [SEVERE CRITIC _feels snubbed_.

THE S. S. (_soothingly, as the Competitor with the loose seat comes round again_). _That's_ not good, Guv'nor!

THE COCKNEY GROOM. 'Ere's a little bit o' fashion coming down next--why, there's quite a boy on his back.

THE S. S. 'E won't be on 'im long if he don't look out. Cup an ball _I_ call it!

THE MORBID MAN. I suppose there's always a accident o' some sort before they've finished.

FIRST WOMAN. Oh, don't, for goodness' sake, talk like that--I'm sure _I_ don't want to see nothing 'appen.

SECOND WOMAN. Well, you may make your mind easy--for you won't see nothing here; you _would_ have it this was the best place to come to!

FIRST WOMAN. I only said there was no sense in paying extra for the balcony, when you can go in the area for nothing.

SECOND WOMAN (_snorting_). Area, indeed! It might be a good deal airier than what it is, I'm sure--I shall melt if I stay here much longer.

THE MORBID MAN, There's one thing about being so close to the jump as this--if the 'orse jumps sideways--as 'osses will do every now and then--he'll be right in among us before we know where we are, and then there'll be a pretty how-de-do!

SECOND WOMAN (_to her Friend_). Oh, come away, do--it's bad enough to see nothing, let alone having a great 'orse coming down atop of us, and me coming out in my best bonnet, too--come away! [_They leave_.

THE DESCRIPTIVE MAN. Now, they're going to make 'em do some in-and-out jumping, see? they're putting the fences close together--that'll puzzle some of them--ah, he's over both of 'em; very clean that one jumps! Over again! He's got to do it all twice, you see.

THE JUDGE OF HORSEFLESH. Temperate horse, that chestnut.

THE SEVERE CRITIC. Is he, though?--but I suppose they _have_ to be here, eh? Not allowed champagne or whiskey or anything before they go in--like they are on a race-course?

THE J. OF H. No, they insist on every horse taking the pledge before they'll enter him.

THE DESCRIPTIVE MAN. Each of 'em's had a turn at the in-and-out jump now. What's coming next? Oh, the five-barred gate--they're going over that now, and the stone wall--see them putting the bricks on top? That's to _raise_ it.

THE MORBID MAN. None of 'em been off yet; but (_hopefully_) there'll be a nasty fall or two over this business--there's been many a neck broke over a lower gate than that.

[_A Competitor clears the gate easily, holding the reins casually in his right hand._

THE J. OF H. That man can ride.

THE SEVERE CRITIC. Pretty well--not what I call _business_, though--going over a gate with one hand, like that.

THE J. OF H. Didn't know you were such an authority.

THE S. C. (_modestly_). Oh, I can tell when a fellow has a good seat. I used to ride a good deal at one time. Don't get the chance much now--worse luck!

THE J. OF H. Well, I can give you a chance, as it happens. (SEVERE CRITIC _accepts with enthusiasm, and the inward reflection that the chance is much less likely to come off than he is himself_.) You wait till the show is over, and they let the horses in for exercise. I know a man who's got a cob here--regular little devil to go--bucks a bit at times--but you won't mind that. I'll take you round to the stall and get my friend to let you try him on the tan. How will that do you, eh?

THE SEVERE CRITIC (_almost speechless with gratitude_). Oh--er--it will _do_ me right enough--capital! That is--it _would_, if I hadn't an appointment, and had my riding things on, and wasn't feeling rather out of sorts, and hadn't promised to go home and take my wife in the Park, and it's her birthday, too, and, then, I've long made it a rule never to mount a strange horse, and--er--so you understand how it is don't you?

THE J. OF H. Quite, my dear fellow. (_As, for that matter, he has done from the first._)

THE COCKNEY GROOM (_alluding to a man who is riding at the gate_). 'Ere's a rough 'un this bloke's on! (_Horse rises at gate; his rider shouts "Hoo, over!" and the gate falls amidst general derision._) Over? Ah, I should just think it _was_ over!

THE SATURNINE STABLEMAN (_as horseman passes_). Yer needn't ha' "Hoo'd" for that much!

[_The Small Boy, precariously perched on an immense animal, follows; his horse, becoming unmanageable, declines the gate, and leaps the hurdle at the side._

THE S. S. Ah, you're a _artful_ lad, you are--thought you'd take it where it was easiest, eh?--you'll 'ev to goo back and try agen you will.

CHORUS OF SYMPATHETIC BYSTANDERS. Take him at it again, boy; _you're_ all right!... Hold him in tighter, my lad.... Let out your reins a bit! Lor, they didn't ought to let a boy like that ride.... He ain't no more 'old on that big 'orse than if he was a fly on him!... Keep his 'ed straighter next time.... Enough to try a boy's nerve! &c., &c.

[_The Boy takes the horse back, and eventually clears the gate amidst immense and well-deserved applause._

THE MORBID MAN (_disappointed_). Well, I fully expected to see _'im_ took off on a shutter.

THE DESCRIPTIVE MAN. It's the water-jump next--see; that's it in the middle; there's the water, underneath the hedge; they'll have to clear the 'ole of that--or else fall in and get a wetting. They've taken all the horses round to the other entrance--they'll come in from that side directly.

[_One of the Judges holds up his stick as a signal; wild shouts of "Hoy-hoy! Whorr-oosh!" from within, as a Competitor dashes out and clears hedge and ditch by a foot or two. Deafening applause. A second horseman rides at it, and lands--if the word is allowable--neatly in the water. Roars of laughter as he scrambles out._

THE MORBID MAN. Call that a brook! It ain't a couple of inches deep--it's more mud than water! No fear (_he means "no hope"_) of any on 'em getting a ducking over that!

[_And so it turns out; the horses take the jump with more or less success, but without a single saddle being vacated. The proceedings terminate for the afternoon amidst demonstrations of hearty satisfaction from all but_ THE MORBID MAN, _who had expected there would have been "more to see."_

At a Dance.

THE HOSTESS _is receiving her Guests at the head of the staircase_; _a_ CONSCIENTIOUSLY LITERAL MAN _presents himself_.

HOSTESS (_with a gracious smile, and her eyes directed to the people immediately behind him_). _So_ glad you were able to come--how do you _do_?

THE CONSCIENTIOUSLY LITERAL MAN. Well, if you had asked me that question this afternoon, I should have said I was in for a severe attack of malarial fever--I had all the symptoms--but, about seven o'clock this evening, they suddenly passed off, and--

[_Perceives, to his surprise, that his Hostess's attention is wandering, and decides to tell her the rest later in the evening._

MR. CLUMPSOLE. How do you do, Miss Thistledown? Can you give me a dance?

MISS THISTLEDOWN (_who has danced with him before_--once). With pleasure--let me see, the third extra after supper? Don't forget.

MISS BRUSKLEIGH (_to Major Erser_). Afraid I can't give you anything just now--but if you see me standing about later on, you can come and ask me again, you know.

MR. BOLDOVER (_glancing eagerly round the room as he enters, and soliloquising mentally_). She ought to be here by this time, if she's coming--can't see her though--she's certainly not dancing. There's her sister over there with the mother. She _hasn't_ come, or she'd be with them. Poor-looking lot of girls here to-night--don't think much of this music--get away as soon as I can, no _go_ about the thing!... Hooray! There she is, after all! Jolly waltz this is they're playing! How pretty she's looking--how pretty _all_ the girls are looking! If I can only get her to give me one dance, and sit out most of it somewhere! I feel as if I could talk to her to-night. By Jove, I'll try it!

[_Watches his opportunity, and is cautiously making his way towards his divinity, when he is intercepted._

MRS. GRAPPLETON. Mr. Boldover, I do believe you were going to _cut_ me! (_MR. B. protests and apologises._) Well, _I_ forgive you. I've been wanting to have another talk with you for ever so long. I've been thinking so _much_ of what you said that evening about Browning's relation to Science and the Supernatural. Suppose you take me down stairs for an ice or something, and we can have it out comfortably together.

[_Dismay of Mr. B._, _who has entirely forgotten any theories he may have advanced on the subject, but has no option but to comply_; _as he leaves the room with_ MRS. GRAPPLETON _on his arm, he has a torturing glimpse of_ MISS ROUNDARM, _apparently absorbed in her partner's conversation_.

MR. SENIOR ROPPE (_as he waltzes_). Oh, you needn't feel convicted of extraordinary ignorance, I assure you, Miss Featherhead. You would be surprised if you knew how many really clever persons have found that simple little problem of nought divided by one too much for them. Would you have supposed, by the way, that there is a reservoir in Pennsylvania containing a sufficient number of gallons to supply all London for eighteen months? You don't quite realize it, I see. "How many gallons is that?" Well, let me calculate roughly--taking the population of London at four millions, and the average daily consumption for each individual at--no, I can't work it out with sufficient accuracy while I am dancing; suppose we sit down, and I'll do it for you on my shirt-cuff--oh, very well; then I'll work it out when I get home, and send you the result to-morrow, if you will allow me.

MR. CULDERSACK (_who has provided himself beforehand with a set of topics for conversation--to his partner, as they halt for a moment_). Er--(_consults some hieroglyphics on his cuff stealthily_)--have you read Stanley's book yet?

MISS TABULA RAISER. No, I haven't. Is it interesting?

MR. CULDERSACK. I can't say. I've not seen it myself. Shall we--er--?

[_They take another turn._

MR. C. I suppose you have--er--been to the (_hesitates between the Academy and the Military Exhibition--decides on latter topic as fresher_) Military Exhibition?

MISS T. R. No--not yet. What do you think of it?

MR. C. Oh--_I_ haven't been either. Er--do you care to--?

[_They take another turn._

MR. C. (_after third halt_). Er--do you take any interest in politics?

MISS T. R. Not a bit.

MR. C. (_much relieved_). No more do I. (_Considers that he has satisfied all mental requirements._) Er--let me take you down stairs for an ice.

[_They go._

MRS. GRAPPLETON (_re-entering with_ MR. BOLDOVER, _after a discussion that has outlasted two ices and a plate of strawberries_). Well, I thought you would have explained my difficulties better than _that_--oh, what a _delicious_ waltz! Doesn't it set you longing to dance?

MR. B. (_who sees_ MISS ROUNDARM _in the distance, disengaged_). Yes, I really think I must--. [_Preparing to escape._

MRS. GRAPPLETON. I'm getting such an old thing, that really I oughtn't to--but well, just this _once_, as my husband isn't here.

[MR. BOLDOVER _resigns himself to necessity once more_.

FIRST CHAPERON (_to second ditto_). How sweet it is of your eldest girl to dance with that absurd Mr. Clumpsole! It's really too _bad_ of him to make such an exhibition of her--one can't help smiling at them!

SECOND CH. Oh, Ethel never can bear to hurt any one's feelings--so different from some girls! By the way, I've not seen _your_ daughter dancing to-night--men who dance are so scarce nowadays--I suppose they think they have the right to be a little fastidious.

FIRST CH. Bella has been out so much this week, that she doesn't care to dance except with a really first-rate partner. She is not so easily pleased as your Ethel, I'm afraid.

SECOND CH. Ethel is _young_, you see, and, when one is pressed so much to dance, one can hardly refuse, _can_ one? When she has had as many seasons as BELLA, she will be less energetic, I dare say.

[MR. BOLDOVER _has at last succeeded in approaching_ MISS ROUNDARM, _and even in inducing her to sit out a dance with him_; _but, having led her to a convenient alcove, he finds himself totally unable to give any adequate expression to the rapture he feels at being by her side_.

MR. B. (_determined to lead up to it somehow_). I--I was rather thinking--(_he_ meant _to say_, "_devoutly hoping_," _but, to his own bitter disgust, it comes out like this_)--I should meet you here to-night.

MISS R. Were you? Why?

MR. B. (_with a sudden dread of going too far just yet_). Oh (_carelessly_), you know how one _does_ wonder who will be at a place, and who won't.

MISS R. No, indeed, I don't--_how_ does one wonder?

MR. B. (_with a vague notion of implying a complimentary exception in her case_). Oh, well, generally--(_with the fatal tendency of a shy man to a sweeping statement_)--one may be pretty sure of meeting just the people one least wants to see, you know.

MISS R. And so you thought you would probably meet me. I _see_.