Part 6

THE R. L. But where are we to _go_--we must stand _somewhere_?

A POLICEMAN. Can't stand anywhere 'ere, Mum.

[_The unhappy couple are passed on from point to point, until they are finally hemmed in at a spot from which it is impossible to see anything whatever._

HARRY. If you had only been content to stay where you were at first, we should have been all right!

THE R. L. Nonsense, it is all your fault, you _are_ the most hopeless person to go anywhere with. Why didn't you tell one of those policemen _who we were_?

HARRY. Why? Well, because I didn't see one who looked as if it would interest him, if you want to know.

THE ROYAL CARRIAGES ARE APPROACHING.

CHORUS OF LOYAL LADIES OF VARIOUS AGES. There--they're clearing the way--the Prince and Princess won't be long now. Here's the Life Guards' Band--don't they look byootiful in those dresses? Won't that poor drummer's arms ache to-morrow? This is the escort coming now.... 'Ere come the Royalties. Don't push so, Polly, you can see without that!... There, that was the Prince in the first one--did yer see him, Polly? Oh, yes, leastwise I see the end of a cocked 'at, which I took to be 'im. Yes, _that_ was 'im right enough.... There goes the Princess--_wasn't_ she looking nice? I couldn't exactly make out which was her and which was the two young Princesses, they went by all in a flash like, but they _did_ look nice!... 'Ere's another Royalty in this kerridge--'oo will she be, I wonder? Oh, I expect it would be the old Duchess of----No, I don't think it was _'er_,--she wasn't looking pleasant enough,--and she's dead, too.... Now they have got inside--'ark at them playing bits of _God Save the Queen_. Well, I'm glad I've seen it.

A SON (_to cheery old Lady_). 'Ow are you gettin' on, Mother, eh?

CH. O. L. First-rate, thankee, John, my boy.

SON. You ain't tired standing about so long?

CH. O. L. Lor' bless you, no. Don't you worry about _me_.

SON. Could you see 'em from where you was?

CH. O. L. I could see all the coachmen's 'ats beautiful. We'll wait and see 'em all come out, John, won't we? They won't be more than an hour and a half in there, I dessay.

A PERSON WITH A FLORID VOCABULARY. Well, if I'd ha' known all I was goin' to see was a set o' blanky nobs shut up in their blank-dash kerridges, blank my blanky eyes if I'd ha' stirred a blanky foot, s'elp me Dash, I wouldn't!

A VENDOR (_persuasively_). The kerrect lengwidge of hevery flower that blows--one penny!

At a Parisian Café Chantant.

SCENE--_An open air restaurant in the Champs-Elysées; the seats in the enclosure are rapidly filling; the diners in the gallery at the back have passed the salad stage, and are now free to take a more or less torpid interest in the Entertainment below._ _Enter_ TWO BRITONS, _who make their way to a couple of vacant chairs close to the orchestra_.

FIRST BRITON. _Entrée libre_, you see; nothing to pay! Cheaper than your precious Exhibition, eh? [_Chuckles knowingly._

SECOND BRITON (_who would rather have stayed at the Exhibition but doesn't like to say so_). Don't quite see how they expect the thing to pay if they don't charge anything, though.

FIRST B. Oh, they make _their_ profit out of the dinners up in the gallery there.

SECOND B. (_appreciating the justice of this arrangement, having dined with his companion elsewhere_). Well, that's fair enough.

[_Feels an increased respect for the Entertainment._

FIRST B. Must get their money back somehow, you know. Capital seats for hearing, these. Now, we'll just take a cup of coffee, and a quiet cigar, while we listen to the singing--you'll enjoy this, _I_ know!

[_With the air of a man who knows the whole thing by heart; the Waiter brings two tumblers of black coffee, for which he demands the sum of six francs; lively indignation of the_ TWO BRITONS, _who denounce the charge as a swindle, and take some time to recover sufficient equanimity to attend to what is going on on the Stage_.

FEMALE ARTISTE (_sings refrain_)--

Pour notre Exposition, Il faut nous faire imposition! &c., &c.

SECOND B. (_who not being at home in the language, rather resents his companion's laughter_). What's that she's saying?

FIRST B. (_who laughed because he knew there was a joke about the Exhibition_). Eh?--oh! I'll tell you afterwards.

[_Hopes his friend will have forgotten all about it by that time._

SECOND B. (_pertinaciously, as the Singer kisses her hand, and rushes precipitately off stage_). Well, what was all _that_ about?

FIRST B. (_who, upon reflection, finds that he hasn't the faintest idea_). Oh, nothing very much--more the _manner_, you know, than anything else--it's the _men_ who have all the really funny songs.

[_A Male Artiste appears, bowing and kicking up his left leg behind: the_ FIRST BRITON _bends forward with an anxious frown, determined to let nothing escape him this time. Fortunately, as_ M. CHARLEMAGNE, _the Comic Singer, possesses a powerful voice, the_ FIRST BRITON _is able to follow most of the words, from which, although they reach his ear in a somewhat perverted form, he contrives to extract intense amusement. This is how the Chanson reaches him_:--

Seul boulevard silent vous arrête: Quand monde a tout départ n'amas,

[_He can't quite make out this last word._

Repondez vitement--

[_Something he doesn't catch._

Le fou l'eau sitôt vous crie "un rat!"

[_Here he whispers to his friend that "That last line was rather neat."_

_Refrain_ (_to which_ M. CHARLEMAGNE _dances a gavotte with his hat thrust into the small of his back_).

Il n'a pas départ Dinard.

[_This makes the_ FIRST BRITON--_who once spent a week at Dinard--laugh immoderately_.

Ne Pa, ne Ma! (_bis_) C'était pas tant, mais sais comme ça-- Il n'a pas départ Dinard, Il non a pas certain-y-mal là!

FIRST BRITON (_to Second Ditto_). _Very_ funny, isn't he?

SECOND B. (_who--less fortunate than his friend--has not caught a single word_). Um--can't say I see much in it myself.

FIRST B. (_compassionately_). Can't you? Oh, you'll get into the way of it presently.

SECOND B. But what's the joke of all that about "Pa"?

FIRST B. (_who has been honestly under the impression that he did see a point somewhere_). Why, he says he's an orphan--hasn't any Pa nor Ma.

SECOND B. (_captiously_). Well, there's nothing so very funny in _that_!

FIRST B. (_giving up the point on consideration, as_ M. CHARLEMAGNE _skips off_). Oh, it's all nonsense, of course; these fellows only come on to fill up the time till Pôlusse sings (_feels rather proud of having caught the right pronunciation_). Pôlusse is the only one really worth listening to.

SECOND B. (_watching two Niggers in a Knockabout Entertainment_). I can follow _these_ chaps better. [_Complacently._

_One of the Niggers_ [_to the other_]. Ha, George Washington, Sar. I'll warm you fur dat ar conduck!

FIRST B. (_in a superior manner_). Oh, yes; you soon get into the accent.

[_Later_--M. CHARLEMAGNE _has re-appeared, and sung a song about changing his apartments, with spoken passages of a pronouncedly Parisian character_.

FIRST B. (_who little suspects what he has been roaring with laughter at_). That fellow really _is_ amusing. I must take Nellie to hear him some night before we go back.

SECOND B. (_dubiously_). But aren't some of the songs--for a girl of her age--eh?

FIRST B. My dear fellow, not a bit! I give you my word I haven't heard a single line yet that was in the least offensive--not a single line! _Any_body might go! Look here--it's Pôlusse next; now you listen--_he'll_ make you laugh!

[_The great_ M. PAULUS _appears and sings several Chansons in a confidentially lugubrious tone, and with his forefingers thrust into his waistcoat pockets. Curiously enough, our_ FIRST BRITON _is less successful in following_ M. PAULUS _than he was with the Artistes who preceded him--but this is entirely owing to the big drum and cymbals, which will keep coming in and putting him out--something in this manner_:--

M. PAULUS. Et quand j'rentr', ce n'est pour rien-- Ma belle me dit: "Mon pauv' bonhomme, Tu n'a pas l'air de"--(_The cymbals_: brim-brin-brien!) Ell' m' flanqu' des giffl's--(_The drum_: pom-pom-pom-pom!)

_Refrain_ (_which both Britons understood_).

"Sur le bi--sur le bô; sur le bô, de bi, de bô. Sur le bô--sur le bi; sur le bi, de bô, de bi!" &c., &c., &c.

FIRST BRITON (_after twenty minutes of this sort of thing_). That's the end, I suppose. They've let down the curtain. _Capital_, wasn't he? I could listen to him all night!

SECOND B. (_as they pass out_). So could I--delightful! Don't know when I've enjoyed anything so much. The other people don't seem to be moving, though. (_Consults programme._) There's another Part after this; Paulus is singing again. I suppose you'll stay?

FIRST B. Well--it's rather late, isn't it?

SECOND B. (_much relieved_). Yes. Not worth while going back now (_with a yawn_). We must come here again.

FIRST B. (_making a mental resolution to return no more_). Oh, we must; nothing like it on our side of the Channel, y' know.

SECOND B. (_with secret gratitude_). No, we can't do it. (_Walk back to their hotel in a state of great mental exhaustion, and finish the evening with a bock on the Boulevards._)

At a Garden Party

SCENE--_A London Lawn. A Band in a costume half-way between the uniforms of a stage hussar and a circus groom, is performing under a tree. Guests discovered slowly pacing the turf, or standing and sitting about in groups._

MRS. MAYNARD GERY (_to her_ _Brother-in-law_--_who is thoroughly aware of her little weaknesses_). Oh, Phil,--you know everybody--_do_ tell me! Who is that common-looking little man with the scrubby beard, and the very yellow gloves--how does he come to be _here_?

PHIL. Where? Oh, I see him. Well--have you read _Sabrina's Uncle's Other Niece_?

MRS. M. G. No--_ought_ I to have? I never even heard of it!

PHIL. Really? I wonder at that--tremendous hit--you must order it--though I doubt if you'll be able to get it.

MRS. M. G. Oh, I shall _insist_ on having it. And _he_ wrote it? Really, Phil, now I come to look at him, there's something rather striking about his face. Did you say _Sabrina's Niece's Other Aunt_--or what?

PHIL. _Sabrina's Uncle's Other Niece_ was what I _said_--not that it signifies.

MRS. M. G. Oh, but I always attach the greatest importance to names, myself. And do you know him?

PHIL. What, Tablett? Oh, yes--decent little chap; not much to say for himself, you know.

MRS. M. G. I don't mind _that_ when a man is _clever_--do you think you could bring him up and introduce him?

PHIL. Oh, I _could_--but I won't answer for your not being disappointed in him.

MRS. M. G. I have never been disappointed in any genius _yet_--perhaps, because I don't expect too much--so go, dear boy; he may be surrounded unless you get hold of him soon. [Phil _obeys_.

PHIL (_accosting the Scrubby Man_). Well, Tablett, old fellow, how are things going with you? _Sabrina_ flourishing?

MR. TABLETT (_enthusiastically_). It's a tremendous hit, my boy; orders coming in so fast they don't know how to execute 'em--there's a fortune in it, as I always told you!

PHIL. Capital!--but you've such luck. By the way, my sister-in-law is most anxious to know you.

MR. T. (_flattered_). Very kind of her. I shall be delighted. I was just thinking I felt quite a stranger here.

PHIL. Come along then, and I'll introduce you. If she asks you to her parties by any chance, mind you go--sure to meet a lot of interesting people.

MR. T. (_pulling up his collar_). Just what I enjoy--meeting interesting people--the only society worth cultivating, to my mind, Sir. Give me _intellect_--it's of more value than wealth!

[_They go in search of_ Mrs. M. G.

FIRST LADY ON CHAIR. Look at the dear Vicar getting that poor Lady Pawperse an ice. What a very spiritual expression he has, to be sure--really quite apostolic!

SECOND LADY. We are not in his parish, but I have always heard him spoken of as a most excellent man.

FIRST LADY. Excellent! My dear, that man is a perfect _Saint_! I don't believe he knows what it is to have a single worldly thought! And such trials as he has to bear, too! With that _dreadful_ wife of his!

SECOND LADY. That's the wife, isn't it?--the dowdy little woman, all alone, over there? Dear me, what _could_ he have married her for?

FIRST LADY. Oh, for her _money_ of course, my dear!

MRS. PATTALLON (_to_ MRS. ST. MARTIN SOMERVILLE). Why, it really _is_ you! I absolutely didn't know you at first. I was just thinking "Now who _is_ that young and lovely person coming along the path?" You see--I came out without my glasses to-day, which accounts for it!

MR. CHUCK (_meeting a youthful Matron and Child_). Ah, Mrs. Sharpe, how de do! _I'm_ all right. Hullo, TOTO, how are _you_, eh, young lady?

TOTO (_primly_). I'm very well indeed, thank you. (_With sudden interest._) How's the idiot? Have you seen him lately?

MR. C. (_mystified_). The idiot, eh? Why, fact is, I don't _know_ any idiot!--give you my word!

TOTO (_impatiently_). Yes, you _do_--_you_ know. The one Mummy says you're next door to--you must see him _sometimes_! You _did_ say Mr. Chuck was next door to an idiot, didn't you, Mummy? [_Tableau._

MRS. PRATTLETON. Let me see--_did_ we have a fine Summer in '87? Yes, of course--I always remember the weather by the clothes we wore, and that June and July we wore scarcely anything--some filmy stuff that belonged to one's ancestress, don't you know. _Such_ fun! By the way, what has become of Lucy?

MRS. ST. PATTICKER. Oh, I've quite lost sight of her lately--you see she's so perfectly happy now, that she's ceased to be in the least interesting!

MRS. HUSSIFFE (_to_ MR. DE MURE). Perhaps _you_ can tell me of a good coal merchant? The people who supply me now are perfect _fiends_, and I really must go somewhere else.

MR. DE MURE. Then I'm afraid you must be rather difficult to please.

MR. TABLETT _has been introduced to_ MRS. MAYNARD GERY--_with the following result_.

MRS. M. G. (_enthusiastically_). I'm so delighted to make your acquaintance. When my brother-in-law told me who you were, I positively very nearly shrieked. I am such an admirer of your--(_thinks she won't commit herself to the whole title--and so compounds_)--your delightful _Sabrina_!

MR. T. Most gratified to hear it, I'm sure. I'm told there's a growing demand for it.

MRS. M. G. Such a hopeful sign--when one was beginning quite to despair of the public taste!

MR. T. Well, I've always said--So long as you give the Public a really first-rate article, and are prepared to spend any amount of money on _pushing_ it, you know, you're sure to see a handsome return for your outlay--in the long run. And of course you must get it carefully analysed by competent judges--

MRS. M. G. Ah, but _you_ can feel independent of criticism now, can't you?

MR. T. Oh, I defy any one to find anything unwholesome in it--it's as suitable for the most delicate child as it is for adults--nothing to irritate the most sensitive--

MRS. M. G. Ah, you mean certain critics are so thin-skinned--they are: indeed!

MR. T. (_warming to his subject_). But the beauty of this particular composition is that it causes absolutely no unpleasantness or inconvenience afterwards. In some cases, indeed, it acts like a charm. I've known of two cases of long-standing erysipelas it has completely cured.

MRS. M. G. (_rather at sea_). How gratifying that must be. But that is the magic of all truly great work, it is such an _anodyne_--it takes people so completely out of themselves--doesn't it?

MR. T. It takes anything of that sort out of _them_, Ma'am. It's the finest discovery of the age, no household will be without it in a few months--though perhaps I say it who shouldn't.

MRS. M. G. (_still more astonished_). Oh, but I _like_ to hear you. I'm so tired of hearing people pretending to disparage what they have done, it's such a _pose_, and I hate posing. Real genius is _never_ modest. (_If he had been more retiring, she would have, of course, reversed this axiom._) I _wish_ you would come and see me on one of my Tuesdays, MR. TABLETT, I should feel so honoured, and I think you would meet some congenial spirits--do look in some evening--I will send you a card if I may--let me see--could you come and lunch next Sunday? I've got a little man coming who was very nearly eaten up by cannibals. I think _he_ would interest you.

MR. T. I shall be proud to meet him. Er--did they eat _much_ of him?

MRS. M. G. (_who privately thinks this rather vulgar_). How _witty_ you are! That's quite worthy of--er--_Sabrina_, really! Then you _will_ come? So glad. And now I mustn't keep you from your other admirers any longer. [_She dismisses him._

LATER.

MRS. M. G. (_to her_ BROTHER-IN-LAW). How _could_ you say that dear Mr. Tablett was _dull_, Phil? I found him perfectly charming--so original and unconventional! He's promised to come to me. By the way, _what_ did you say the name of his book was?

PHIL. _I_ never said he had written a book.

MRS. M. G. Phil--you _did_!--_Sabrina's Other--Something._ Why, I've been _praising_ it to him, entirely on your recommendation.

PHIL. No, no--_your_ mistake. I only asked you if you'd read _Sabrina's Uncle's Other Niece_, and, as I made up the title on the spur of the moment, I should have been rather surprised if you had. _He_ never wrote a line in his life.

MRS. M. G. How _abominable_ of you! But surely he's famous for _something_? He talks like it. [_With reviving hope._

PHIL. Oh, yes, he's the inventor and patentee of the new "Sabrina" Soap--he says he'll make a fortune over it.

MRS. M. G. But he hasn't even done _that_ yet! PHIL, I'll _never_ forgive you for letting me make such an idiot of myself. What _am_ I to do now? I _can't_ have him coming to me--he's really too impossible!

PHIL. Do? Oh, order some of the soap, and wash your hands of him, I suppose--not that he isn't a good deal more presentable than some of your lions, after all's said and done!

[MRS. M. G., _before she takes her leave, contrives to inform_ MR. TABLETT, _with her prettiest penitence, that she has only just recollected that her luncheon party is put off, and that her Tuesdays are over for the Season. Directly she returns to Town, she promises to let him hear from her; in the meantime, he is not to think of troubling himself to call. So there is no harm done, after all._

At the Military Tournament.

SCENE--_The Agricultural Hall. Tent-pegging going on._

STENTORIAN JUDGE (_in Arena_). Corporal Binks! (_The Assistants give a finishing blow to the peg, and fall back._ Corporal BINKS _gallops in, misses the peg, and rides off, relieving his feelings by whirling his lance defiantly in the air_.) Corporal Binks--nothing!

A GUSHING LADY. Poor dear thing! I _do_ wish he'd struck it! He did look so disappointed, and so did that sweet horse!

THE JUDGE. Sergeant Spanker! (Sergeant S. _gallops in, spears the peg neatly, and carries it off triumphantly on the point of the lance, after which he rides back and returns the peg to the Assistants as a piece of valuable property of which he has accidentally deprived them._) Sergeant Spanker--eight! (_Applause; the Assistants drive in another peg._) Corporal Cutlash! (Corporal C. _enters, strikes the peg, and dislodges without securing it. Immense applause from the Crowd._) Corporal Cutlash--two!

THE GUSHING LADY. Only two, and when he really did hit the peg! I do call that a shame. I should have given him more marks than the other man--he has such a _much_ nicer face!

A CHILD WITH A THIRST FOR INFORMATION. Uncle, why do they call it _tent_-pegging?

THE UNCLE. Why? Well, because those pegs are what they fasten down tents with.

THE CHILD. But why isn't there a tent now?

UNCLE. Because there's no use for one.

CHILD. Why?

UNCLE. Because all they want to do is to pick up the peg with the point of their lance.

CHILD. Yes, but why _should_ they want to do it?

UNCLE. Oh, to amuse their horses. (_The_ CHILD _ponders upon this answer with a view to a fresh catechism upon the equine passion for entertainment, and the desirability, or otherwise, of gratifying it_.)

A CHATTY MAN IN THE PROMENADE (_to his_ NEIGHBOUR). Takes a deal of practice to strike them pegs fair and full.

HIS NEIGHBOUR (_who holds advanced Socialistic opinions_). Ah, I dessay--and a pity they can't make no better use o' their time! Spoiling good wood, _I_ call it. I don't see no point in it myself.

THE CHATTY MAN. Well, it shows they can _ride_, at any rate.

THE SOCIALIST. Ride? O' course they can _ride_--we pay enough for 'aving 'em taught, don't we? But you mark my words, the People won't put up with this state of things much longer--keepin' a set of 'ired murderers in luxury and hidleness. I tell yer, wherever I come across one of these great lanky louts strutting about in his red coat, as if he was one of the lords of the hearth, well--it makes my nose bleed, ah--it _does_!

THE CHATTY MAN. If that's the way you talk to him, I ain't surprised if it do.

THE JUDGE. Sword _versus_ Sword! Come in there! (_Two mounted Combatants, in leather jerkins and black visors, armed with swordsticks, enter the ring_; JUDGE _introduces them to audience with the aid of a flag_.) Corporal JONES, of the Wessex Yeomanry; Sergeant SMITH, of the Manx Mounted Infantry. (_Their swords are chalked by the Assistants._) Are you ready? Left turn! Countermarch! Engage! (_The Combatants wheel round and face one another, each vigorously spurring his horse and prodding cautiously at the other; the two horses seem determined not to be drawn into the affair themselves on any account, and take no personal interest in the conflict; the umpires skip and dodge at the rear of the horses, until one of the Combatants gets in with a rattling blow on the other's head, to the intense delight of audience. Both men are brushed down, and their weapons re-chalked, whereupon they engage once more--much to the disgust of their horses, who had evidently been hoping it was all over. After the contest is finally decided, a second pair of Combatants_ _enter; one is mounted on a black horse, the other on a chestnut, who refuses to lend himself to the business on any terms, and bolts on principle; while the rider of the black horse remains in stationary meditation._) Go on--that black horse--go on! (_The chestnut is at length brought up to the scratch snorting, but again flinches, and retires with his rider._)

THE CROWD (_to rider of black horse_). Go on, now's your chance! 'It him! (_The recipient of these counsels pursues his antagonist, and belabours him and his horse with impartial good-will until separated by the Umpires, who examine the chalk-marks with a professional scrutiny._)

THE JUDGE. Here, you on the black horse, you mustn't hit that other horse about the head. (_The man addressed appears rebuked and surprised under his black-wired visor._) THE JUDGE (_reassuringly_). It's all _right_, you know; only, don't do it again, that's all! (_The Combatant sits up again._)

THE GUSHING LADY. Oh, I can't bear to look on, really. I'm _sure_ they oughtn't to hit so hard--_how_ their poor dear heads must ache! Isn't that chestnut a _duck_? I'm sure he's trying to save his master from getting hurt--they're such sensible creatures, horses are! (_Artillery teams drive in, and gallop between the posts; the Crowd going frantic with delight when the posts remain upright, and roaring with laughter when one is knocked over._)

DURING THE MUSICAL RIDE.

THE GUSHING LADY. Oh, they're simply too _sweet_! How those horses are enjoying it--aren't they pets? and how perfectly they keep step to the music, don't they?