Part 7

HER FRIEND. (_who is beginning to get a trifle tired by her enthusiasm_). Yes; but then they're all trained by Madame Katti Lanner, of Drury Lane, you see.

THE GUSHING LADY. What pains she must have taken with them; but you can teach a horse _anything_, can't you?

HER FRIEND. Oh, that's nothing; next year they're going to have a horse who'll dance the Highland Fling.

THE SOCIALIST. A pretty sight? Cost a pretty sight o' the People's money, I know that. Tomfoolery, that's what it is; a set of dressed-up bullies dancin' quadrilles on 'orseback; _that_ ain't military manoeuvrin'. It's sickenin' the way fools applaud such goin's on. And cuttin' off the Saracen's 'ed, too; I'd call it plucky if the Saracen 'ad a gun in his 'and. Bah, I 'ate the 'ole business!

HIS NEIGHBOUR. Got anybody along with you, Mate?

THE SOCIALIST. No, I don't want anybody along with _me_, I don't.

HIS NEIGHBOUR. That's a pity, that is. A sweet-tempered, pleasant-spoken party like you are oughtn't to go about by yourself. You ought to bring somebody just to enjoy your conversation. There don't seem to be anybody _'ere_ of your way of thinkin'.

DURING THE COMBINED DISPLAY.

THE GUSHING LADY (_as the Cyclist Corps enter_). Oh, they've got a _dog_ with them. Do look--such a dear! See, they've tied a letter round his neck. He'll come back with an answer presently. (_But, there being apparently no answer to this communication, the faithful but prudent animal does not re-appear._)

AFTER THE PERFORMANCE.

THE INQUISITIVE CHILD. Uncle, which side won?

UNCLE. I suppose the side that advanced across the bridges.

CHILD. Which side _would_ have won if it had been a _real_ battle?

UNCLE. I really couldn't undertake to say, my boy.

CHILD. But which do you _think_ would have won?

UNCLE. I suppose the side that fought best.

CHILD. But which side was _that_? (_The_ Uncle _begins to find that the society of an intelligent Nephew entails too severe a mental strain to be frequently cultivated_.)

Free Speech

SCENE--_An Open Space. Rain falling in torrents. An Indignation Meeting is being held to protest against the Royal Grants. The Chairman presides at a small portable reading-desk, generally alluded to as The "Nostrum"; a ring of more or less Earnest Radicals, under umbrellas, surround him. Speakers address the Meeting in rapid succession; a Man with a red flag gives it a sinister wave at any particularly vigorous expression. Her Gracious Majesty the Queen is repeatedly described as "this mis-rubble ole bein'," an Archbishop is invariably mentioned as an "Arch-rogue," while the orators and the audience appear from their remarks to be the only persons capable of worthily guiding this unhappy Country's destinies. Policemen in couples look on from a distance and smile indulgently._

AN ORATOR (_bitterly_). The weather is against us, Feller Republikins, there's no denyin' that. As we were tramping along 'ere, through the mud and in the rain, wet to the skin, I couldn't 'elp remarking to a friend o' mine, that if it had been a pidging-shootin' match at Urlingham, or a Race-meeting at Hascot, things 'ud ha' been diff'rent! Ther'd ha' bin blue sky and sunshine enough _then_. Well, I 'spose hany weather's considered good enough for the likes of hus! Hany weather'll do for pore downtrod slaves to assert their man'ood and their hindependence in! (_Cries of "Shame!"_) Never you mind--hour turn'll come some day! We sha'n't _halways_ be 'eld down, and muzzled, and silenced, and prevented uttering the hindignation we've a right to feel! (_Bellowing._) We shall make our vices 'eard one day! But I'm reminded by my friend as I've got to keep to the pint. Well (_he composes his features into a sneer_) I'm told as 'ow 'Er Most Gracious Madjesty--(_"Booing" from Earnest Radicals_)--'Er Most Gracious Madjesty--'as she calls 'erself--'as put by a little matter of a millum an' a 'arf--since she came to the Throne. Now, Feller Republikins, that millum an' a 'arf 'as come out of _your_ pockets!

SEVERAL PERSONS (_who do not look as if they paid a heavy income tax_). 'Ear 'ear!

ORATOR. Yes, it belongs to the People--ah! and you've a legal right to demand it back--a legal _right_! And I arsk you--if that millum and a 'arf of money was to be divided among the Toilers of London ter-morrow--'ow many Hunemployed should we see? (_Crowd deeply impressed by this forcible argument._) Yet we're arst to put our 'ands in our pockets to support the Queen's children!

A GENTLEMAN WITH VERY SHORT HAIR. Shame--never! [_Puts his hand in somebody else's pocket by way of emphasising his declaration._]

ORATOR. Feller Republikins, if a Queen don't do the work as she's paid for doin' of, what ought to be done with 'er? I put it to _you_!

A VERY EARNEST RADICAL. The Scaffild!

[_Looks round nervously to see if a Policeman is within hearing._

A FAT LADY (_who has been ejaculating. "Oh, it is a shime, it is!" at every fresh instance of Royal expenditure_). Well, I must say that's _rather_ strong langwidge!

ANOTHER ORATOR. Gentlemen, I regret to say that, on this monstrous fraud and attempted imposition known as "The Royal Grants Bill," Mr. Gladstone voted with the Government. [_Frantic applause._

ORATOR (_puzzled_). Yes, Gentlemen, I am here to state facts, and I am ashamed to say, that on this single occasion Mr. Gladstone--went wrong. [_Shouts of "No! No!"_

A FERVID GLADSTONIAN (_waving his umbrella_). Three cheers for Mr. Gladstone, what-_hever_ he does!

[_The_ CROWD _join in heartily_; ORATOR _decides to drop the point, particularly as it does not seem to affect the Meeting's condemnation of the principle of the Bill_.

AN IRISH PATRIOT. I've often harrd tell, Gintlemen, of a certain stra-ange animal they carl a "Conservative Warkin-Man" (_Roars of_ _laughter_). A Warkin-Man a Conservative! Why, bliss me sowl, the thing's absurd! There niver _was_ such a purrson in this Warld. A Conservative Warkin-Man! why--(_takes refuge in profanity_). If there was why don't we iver hear 'um in an assimbly of this sort? Why hasn't he the common manly courage to come forward and defind his opinions? _We'd_ hear 'um, Gintlemen. It's the proud boast of Radicals and Republikins that they'd give free speech and a fair hearin' to ivery man, no matter hwhat his opinions are, but ye'll niver see 'um stip farward at ahl--and hwhy?

A DECENT MECHANIC. Well, look 'ere, mate, _I'm_ a Conservative Working-Man, if ye'd like to know, and I ain't afraid to defend my opinions. Come now!

THE CHAIRMAN (_somewhat taken aback_). Well, Friends, while I conduct this chair, I can promise this man a puffickly fair 'earin', and I'm sure you will listen to him patiently, whatever you may think of his arguments. (_Cries of 'Ear--'ear! "Fair play hall the world hover!" "We'll listen to him quiet enough!"_) First of all, I must be satisfied that our Friend is what he professes to be. We want no Sham Workin'-men _'ere_. [_Brandishes a foot-rule in evidence of the genuineness of his own claims._

THE D. M. Am I a workin'-man? Well, I've made ladies' boots at sixpence an hour for three years--d'ye call that bein' a Workin' Man? I've soled and 'eeled while you wait in a stall near Southwark Bridge seven years an' a arf! Praps you'll call _that_ a Workin'-Man? (_Cries of "Keep to the Point!"_) Oh, I'll keep to the point right enough. There's this Irishman here been a tellin' of you 'ow wrong it is to turn his countrymen out of their 'ouses when they don't pay their rent. Ain't _we_ turned out of our 'ouses, if we don't pay ourn? 'Oo snivels over _hus_?

THE I. P. No personalities now! It's my belief ye're a Landlord yerself! [_Uproar._

THE D. M. I _told_ yer ye wouldn't 'ear me now!

A SOCIALIST (_in a stentorian voice_). Feller Demmercrats, as an ex-Fenian and an ex-Convict, I implore you--give this man a hearin'!

THE D. M. Then about this Royal Grant. (_Cries of "Shut up!" "Go 'ome!" "Don't tork nonsense!"_) If you're going to 'ave a King and Queen at all--(_Cries of "We ain't! Down with 'em!"_) Ah, then I s'pose you're going to put up fellers like 'im (_pointing to the Socialist_), and 'im (_pointing to Chairman_), and 'im! [_Uproar._

THE SOCIALIST. Fellow-Citizens, I appeal to you, give this man rope--he's doing our work splendidly!

THE D. M. Well, all I've got to say is----(_Shouts of "Get down!" Yells and booing_). Oh, you won't tire me out that way. All _I_ can say is, I'd a precious sight rather----

THE CHAIRMAN (_excitedly_). Fellow citizens, we've listened to this man long enough--these sentiments are an insult to the meeting!

[_Yells as before._

THE SOCIALIST (_extending a billycock hat with a passionate gesture_). Feller Demmercrats, if you are earnest, if you are sincere in the indignation, the just hindignation, this man provokes--show it now, by putting money in this 'at for the Plan o' Campaign! [_The storm lulls._

THE D. M. (_resuming_). I arsk every honest man here whether----

_Chairman_ (_interposing_). I think, as our friend here don't seem able to keep to his point, we won't call upon him for any further remarks.

[THE D. M. _is hustled down, amidst derisive cheers and groans; the_ SOCIALIST _ascends the Platform_.

THE SOCIALIST. I don't mind tellin' yer, friends and feller citizens, that in the late election in Heast Marylebone, I used all my influence--(_cheers_)--all _my_ influence to deter men from voting for your Radical candidate. (_Sensation, and a cry of "More shame for yer!"_) Ah, I _did_, though, and I'd do it agin, and I'll tell yer for why. I 'ate yer Tories, but if I'm to be 'it a blow in the face, I don't like it done behind my back. (_Cheers_). And your precious Liberals and Radicals, they're worse nor hany Tories, and for this reason--(_with a penetrating glance_)--they're more hinvidious! Ah, that's it, they're more _hinvidious_! Traitors, hevery man jack of 'em!

[_And so on, concluding with denunciations of all "sending round the 'at," and appeals for contributions to the Plan of Campaign. Meeting dissolves with three cheers for the coming Republic from the victims of a Tyrannous System of Repression of Opinion._

The Riding-Class.

SCENE--_A Riding-school, on a raw chilly afternoon. The gas is lighted, but does not lend much cheerfulness to the interior, which is bare and bleak, and pervaded by a bluish haze. Members of the Class discovered standing about on the tan, waiting for their horses to be brought in. At the further end is an alcove, with a small balcony, in which_ MRS. BILBOW-KAY, _the Mother of one of the Equestrians, is seated with a young female Friend_.

MRS. BILBOW-KAY. Oh, Robert used to ride very nicely indeed when he was a boy; but he has been out of practice lately, and so, as the Doctor ordered him horse-exercise, I thought it would be wiser for him to take a few lessons. Such an excellent change for any one with sedentary pursuits!

THE FRIEND. But isn't riding a sedentary pursuit, too?

MRS. B.-K. Robert says _he_ doesn't find it so.

[_Enter the_ RIDING MASTER.

RIDING MASTER (_saluting with cane_). Evenin', Gentlemen--your 'orses will be in directly; 'ope we shall see some _ridin'_ this time. (_Clatter without; enter Stablemen with horses._) Let me see--Mr. Bilbow-Kay, Sir, you'd better ride the _Shar_; he ain't been out all day, so he'll want some 'andling. (Mr. B.-K., _with a sickly smile, accepts a tall and lively horse_.) No, Mr. Tongs, that ain't _your_ 'orse to-day--you've got beyond _'im_, Sir. We'll put you up on _Lady Loo_; she's a bit rough till you get on terms with her, but you'll be all right on her after a bit. Yes, Mr. Joggles, Sir, you take _Kangaroo_, please. Mr. Bumpas, I've 'ad the _Artful Dodger_ out for you; and mind he don't get rid of you so easy as he did Mr. Gripper last time. Got a nice 'orse for _you_, Mr. 'Arry Sniggers, Sir--_Frar Diavolo_. You mustn't take no notice of his bucking a bit at starting--he'll soon leave it off.

MR. SNIGGERS (_who conceals his qualms under a forced facetiousness_). Soon leave _me_ off you mean!

R. M. (_after distributing the remaining horses_). Now then--bring your 'orses up into line, and stand by, ready to mount at the word of command, reins taken up in the left 'and with the second and little fingers, and a lock of the 'orse's mane twisted round the first. Mount! That 'orse ain't a _bicycle_, Mr. Sniggers. [Mr. S. (_in an undertone_). No--worse luck!] Number off! Walk! I shall give the word to trot directly, so now's the time to improve your seats--that back a bit straighter, Mr. 'Ooper. No. 4 just fall out, and we'll let them stirrup-leathers down another 'ole or two for yer. (_No. 4, who has just been congratulating himself that his stirrups were conveniently high, has to see them let down to a distance where he can just touch them by stretching._) Now you're all comfortable. ["Oh, _are_ we?" _from_ MR. S.] Trot! Mr. Tongs, Sir, 'old that 'orse in--he's gettin' away with you already. Very bad, Mr. Joggles, Sir--keep those 'eels down! Lost your stirrup, Mr. Jelly? Never mind that--_feel_ for it, Sir. I want you to be independent of the irons. I'm going to make you ride without 'em presently. (Mr. Jelly _shivers in his saddle_.) Captin' Cropper, Sir; if that Volunteer ridgment as you're goin' to be the Major of sees you like you are now, on a field-day--they'll 'ave to fall out to _larf_, Sir! (Mr. Cropper _devoutly wishes he had been less ingenuous as to his motive for practising his riding_.) Now, Mr. Sniggers, make that 'orse learn 'oo's the master! [Mr. S. "He _knows_, the brute!"]

MRS. B.-K. He's very rude to all the Class, except dear Robert--but then Robert has such a nice easy seat.

THE R. M. Mr. Bilbow-Kay, Sir, try and set a bit closer. Why, you ain't no more 'old on that saddle than a stamp with the gum licked off! Can-ter! _You're_, all right, Mr. Joggles--it's on'y his play; set down on your saddle, Sir!... I didn't say on the ground!

MRS. B.-K. (_anxiously to her_ SON, _as he passes_). Bob, are you quite sure you're safe? (_To_ FRIEND.) His horse is snorting so dreadfully!

R. M. 'Alt! Every Gentleman take his feet out of the stirrups, and cross them on the saddle in front of him. Not your _feet_, Mr. Sniggers, we ain't Turks 'ere!

MR. S. (_sotto voce_). "There's _one_ bloomin' Turk 'ere, anyway!"

R. M. Now then--Walk!... Trot! Set back, Gentlemen, set back all--'old on by your knees, not the pommels. _I_ see you, Mr. Jelly, kitchin' old o' the mane--I shall 'ave to give you a 'ogged 'orse next time you come. Quicken up a bit--this is a ride, not a funeral. Why, I could _roll_ faster than you're trotting! Lor, you're like a row o' Guy Foxes on 'orseback, you are! Ah, I thought I'd see one o' you orf! Goa-ron, all o' you, you don't come 'ere to _play_ at ridin'--I'll make you ride afore I've done with you! 'Ullo, Mr. Joggles, nearly gone that time, Sir! There, that'll do--or we'll 'ave all your saddles to let unfurnished. Wa--alk! Mr. Bilbow-Kay, when your 'orse changes his pace sudden, it don't look well for you to be found settin' 'arf way up his neck, and it gives him a bad opinion of yer, Sir. Uncross stirrups! Trot on! It ain't no mortal use your clucking to that mare, Mr. Tongs, Sir, because she don't understand the langwidge--touch her with your 'eel in the ribs. Mr. Sniggers, that 'orse is doin' jest what he likes with you. 'It 'im, Sir; he's no friends and few relations!

MR. S. (_with spirit_). _I_ ain't going to 'it 'im. If you want him 'it, get up and do it yourself!

R. M. When I say "Circle Right"--odd numbers'll wheel round and fall in be'ind even ones. Circle _Right_!... Well, if ever I--I didn't tell yer to fall _off_ be'ind. Ketch your 'orses and stick to 'em next time. Right In-_cline_! O' course, Mr. Joggles, if you prefer takin' that animal for a little ride all by himself we'll let you out in the streets--otherwise p'raps you'll kindly follow yer leader. Captain Cropper, Sir, if you let that curb out a bit more, _Reindeer_ wouldn't be 'arf so narsty with yer.... Ah, now you _'ave_ done it. You want _your_ reins painted different colours and labelled, Sir, you do. 'Alt, the rest of you.... Now, seein' you're shook down in your saddles a bit--["_Shook_ up'_s_ _more like it_!" _from_ Mr. S.]--we'll 'ave the 'urdles in and show you a bit o' Donnybrook! (_The Class endeavours to assume an air of delighted anticipation at this pleasing prospect._) _To_ Assistant R. M., (_who has entered and said something in an undertone_.) Eh, Captin' 'Edstall here, and wants to try the grey cob over 'urdles? Ask him if he'll come in now--we're just going to do some jumping.

ASSIST. R. M. This lot don't look much like going over 'urdles--'cept in front o' the 'orse, but I'll tell the Captain.

[_The hurdles are brought in and propped up._ _Enter a well-turned-out_ STRANGER, _on a grey cob_.

MR. SNIGGERS (_to him_). You ain't lost nothing by coming late, I can tell yer. We've bin having a gay old time in 'ere--made us ride without sterrups, he did!

CAPTAIN HEADSTALL. Haw, really? Didn't get grassed, did you?

MR. S. Well, me and my 'orse separated by mutual consent. I ain't what you call a fancy 'orseman. We've got to go at that 'urdle in a minute. How do _you_ like the ideer, eh? It's no good funking it--it's got to be _done_!

R. M. Now, Captin--not _you_, Captin Cropper--Captin 'Edstall _I_ mean, will you show them the way over, please?

[CAPTAIN H. _rides at it_; _the cob jumps too short, and knocks the hurdle down--to his rider's intense disgust_.

MR. S. I say, Guvnor, that was a near thing. I wonder you weren't off.

CAPT. H. I--ah--don't often come off.

MR. S. You won't say that when you've been 'ere a few times. You see, they've put you on a quiet animal this journey. _I_ shall try to get him myself next time. He be'aves like a gentleman, _he_ does.

CAPT. H. You won't mount him, if you take my advice--he has rather a delicate mouth.

MR. S. Oh, I don't mind that--I should ride him on the curb o' course.

[_The Class ride at the hurdle one by one._

R. M. Now, Mr. Sniggers, give 'im more of 'is 'ed than that, Sir--or he'll take it.... Oh, Lor, well, it's soft falling luckily! Mr. Joggles, Sir, keep him back till you're in a line with it.... Better, Sir; you come down true on your saddle afterwards anyway!... Mr. Parabole!... Ah, _would_ you? _Told_ you he was tricky, Sir! Try him at it again.... Now--over!... Yes, and it is over, and no mistake!

MRS. B.-K. Now it's Robert's turn. I'm afraid he's been overtiring himself, he looks so pale. Bob, you won't let him jump too high, _will_ you?--Oh, I daren't look. Tell me, my love,--is he _safe_?

HER FRIEND. Perfectly--they're just brushing him down.

AFTERWARDS.

MRS. B.-K. (_to her_ SON). Oh, Bob, you must never think of jumping again--it _is_ such a dangerous amusement!

ROBERT (_who has been cursing the hour in which he informed his parent of the exact whereabouts of the school_). It's all right with a horse that knows _how_ to jump. Mine didn't.

THE FRIEND. I _thought_ you seemed to jump a good deal higher than the horse did. They ought to be trained to keep close under you, oughtn't they? [ROBERT _wonders if she is as guileless as she looks_.]

CAPT. CROPPER (_to the_ R. M.) Oh, takes about eight months, with a lesson every day, to make a man efficient in the Cavalry, does it? But, look here--I suppose four more lessons will put _me_ all right, eh? I've had _eight_, y' know.

R. M. Well, Sir, if you _arsk_ me, I dunno as another arf dozen 'll do you any 'arm--but, o'course, that's just as _you_ feel about it.

[CAPTAIN CROPPER _endeavours to extract encouragement from this Delphic response_.]

The Impromptu Charade-Party.

SCENE--_The Library of a Country-House; the tables and chairs are heaped with brocades, draperies, and properties of all kinds, which the Ladies of the company are trying on, while the men rack their brains for a suitable Word._ _In a secluded corner_, MR. NIGHTINGALE _and_ MISS ROSE _are conversing in whispers_.

MR. WHIPSTER (_Stage-Manager and Organizer--self-appointed_). No--but I say, _really_, you know, we _must_ try and decide on something--we've been out half-an-hour, and the people will be getting impatient! (_To the Ladies._) Do come and help; it's really no use dressing up till we've settled what we're going _to do_. Can't _anybody_ think of a good Word?

MISS LARKSPUR. We ought to make a continuous story of it, with the same plot and characters all through. We did that once at the Grange, and it was awfully good--just like a regular Comedy!

MR. WHIPSTER. Ah, but we've got to hit on _a Word_ first. Come--nobody got an idea? Nightingale, you're not much use over _there_, you know. I hope you and Miss Rose have been putting your heads together?

MR. NIGHTINGALE (_confused_). Eh? No, nothing of the sort! Oh, ah--yes, we've thought of a _lot_ of Words.

MISS ROSE. Only you've driven them all out of our heads again!

[_They resume their conversation._

MR. WH. Well, do make a suggestion, somebody! Professor, won't _you_ give us a Word?

CHORUS OF LADIES. Oh, _do_, Professor--you're sure to think of something clever!

PROFESSOR POLLEN (_modestly_). Well, really, I've so little experience in these matters that--A Word _has_ just occurred to me, however; I don't know, of course, whether it will meet with approval--(_he beams at them with modest pride through his spectacles_)--it's "Monocotyledonous."

CHORUS OF LADIES. Charming! Monocottle--Oh, can't we _do_ that?

MR. WH. (_dubiously_). We might--but--er--what's it _mean_?

PROF. POLLEN. It's a simple botanical term, signifying a plant which has only one cup-shaped leaf, or seed-lobe. Plants with _two_ are termed--

MR. WH. I don't see how we're going to act a plant with only one seed-lobe myself--and then the syllables--"mon"--"oh"--"cot"--"till"--we shouldn't get done before _midnight_, you know!

PROF. POLLEN (_with mild pique_). Well, I merely threw it out as a suggestion. I thought it could have been made amusing. No doubt I was wrong; no doubt.

MR. SETTEE (_nervously_). I've thought of a word. How would--er--"_Familiar_" do?

MR. WH. (_severely_). Now, _really_, Settee, _do_ try not to footle like this!

[MR. SETTEE _subsides amidst general disapproval_.

MR. FLINDERS (_with a flash of genius_). I've got it--_Gamboge_!

MR. WH. Gamboge, eh? Let's see how that would work:--"Gam"-"booge." How do you see it yourself?

[MR. FLINDERS _discovers on reflection, that he doesn't see it, and the suggestion is allowed to drop_.

MISS PELAGIA RHYS. _I've_ an idea. _Familiar!_ "Fame"-"ill"-"liar," you know.

[_Chorus of applause._

MR. WH. Capital! The very thing--congratulate you, Miss Rhys!

MR. SETTEE (_sotto voce_). But I say, look here, _I_ suggested that, you know, and you said--!

MR. WH. (_ditto_). What on earth _does_ it matter who suggests it, so long as it's right? Don't be an ass, Settee! (_Aloud._) How are we going to do the first syllable "Fame," eh? [MR. SETTEE _sulks_.

MR. PUSHINGTON. Oh, that's easy. One of us must come on as a Poet, and all the ladies must crowd round flattering him, and making a lot of him, asking him for his autograph, and so on. I don't mind doing the Poet myself, if nobody else feels up to it.

[_He begins to dress for the part by turning his dress-coat inside out, and putting on a turban and a Liberty sash, by way of indicating the eccentricity of genius; the Ladies adorn themselves with a similar regard to realism, and even more care for appearances._

AFTER THE FIRST SYLLABLE.

_The Performers return from the drawing-room, followed by faint applause._