Part 8

MR. PUSHINGTON. Went capitally, that syllable, eh? (_No response._) You might have played up to me a little more than you did--you others. You let me do everything!

MISS LARKSPUR. You never let any of us get a word in!

MR. PUSHINGTON. Because you all talked at once, that was all. Now then--"ill." I'll be a celebrated Doctor, and you all come to me one by one, and say you're _ill_--see?

[_Attires himself for the rôle of a Physician in a dressing-gown and an old yeomanry helmet._

MR. WHIPSTER (_huffily_). Seems to me I may as well go and sit with the audience--I'm no use _here_!

MR. PUSHINGTON. Oh, yes, Whipster, I want you to be my confidential butler, and show the patients in.

[MR. W. _accepts--with a view to showing_ PUSHINGTON _that other people can act as well as he_.

AFTER THE SECOND SYLLABLE.

MR. PUSHINGTON. Seemed to _drag_ a little, somehow! There was no necessity for you to make all those long soliloquies, Whipster. A Doctor's confidential servant wouldn't chatter so much!

MR. WHIPSTER. You were so confoundedly solemn over it, I had to put some fun in _somewhere_!

MR. P. Well, you might have put it where some one could see it. Nobody laughed.

PROFESSOR POLLEN. I don't know, Mr. Pushington, why, when I was describing my symptoms--which I can vouch for as scientifically correct--you persisted in kicking my legs under the table--it was unprofessional, Sir, and extremely painful!

MR. PUSHINGTON. I was only trying to hint to you that as there were a dozen other people to follow, it was time you cut the interview short, Professor--that one syllable alone has taken nearly an hour.

MISS BUCKRAM. If I had known the kind of questions you were going to ask me, Mr. Pushington, I should certainly not have exposed myself to them. I say no more, but I must positively decline to appear with you again.

MR. PUSHINGTON. Oh, but really, you know, in Charades one gets carried away at times. I assure you, I hadn't the remotest (_&c, &c._--_until_ Miss Buckram _is partly mollified_.) Now then--last syllable. Look here, I'll be a regular impostor, don't you know, and all of you come on and say what a _liar_ I am. We ought to make that screamingly funny!

AFTER THE THIRD SYLLABLE.

MR. PUSHINGTON. Muddled? Of _course_ it was muddled--you all called me a liar before I opened my mouth!

THE REST. But you didn't seem to know how to begin, and we _had_ to bring the Word in somehow.

PUSHINGTON. Bring it in?--but you needn't have let it _out_. There was Settee there, shouting "liar" till he was black in the face. We must have looked a set of idiots from the front. I sha'n't go in again (_muttering_). It's no use acting Charades with people who don't understand it. There; settle the Word yourselves!

AFTER THE WORD. AMONG THE AUDIENCE.

GENERAL MURMUR. What _can_ it be? Not _Turk_, I suppose, or Magician?--Quarrelling?--Parnellite--Impertinence? Shall we give it up? No, they like us to guess, poor things; and besides, if we don't they'll do another; and it is getting _so_ late, and such a _long_ drive home. Oh, they're all coming back; then it _is_ over. No, indeed, we can't _imagine_. "_Familiar!_" To be sure--_how_ clever, and _how_ well you all acted it, to be sure--you must be quite tired after it all. I am sure _we_--hem--are deeply indebted to you.... My dear Miss Rose, how wonderfully you disguised yourself, I never recognized you a bit, nor _you_, Mr. Nightingale. What part did _you_ take?

MR. NIGHTINGALE. I--er--didn't take any particular part--wasn't wanted, you know.

MISS ROSE. Not to _act_,--so we stayed outside and--and--arranged things.

AN OLD LADY. Indeed? Then you had all the hard work, and none of the pleasure, my dear, I'm afraid.

MISS ROSE (_sweetly_). Oh no. I mean yes!--but we didn't _mind_ it much.

THE O. L. And which of you settled what the Word was to be?

MR. N. Well, I believe we settled that together.

[_Carriages are announced; departure of guests who are not of the house-party. In the Smoking-room_, MR. PUSHINGTON _discovers that he does not seem exactly popular with the other men, and puts it down to jealousy_.

A Christmas Romp.

SCENE--MRS. CHIPPERFIELD'S _Drawing-room_. _It is after the Christmas dinner, and the Gentlemen have not yet appeared._ MRS. C. _is laboriously attempting to be gracious to her Brother's Fiancée, whose acquaintance she has made for the first time, and with whom she is disappointed_. _Married Sisters and Maiden Aunts confer in corners with a sleepy acidity._

FIRST MARRIED SISTER (_to Second_). I felt quite sorry for Fred, to see him sitting there, looking--and no wonder--so ashamed of himself--but I always will say, and I always _must_ say, Caroline, that if you and Robert had been _firmer_ with him when he was younger, he would never have turned out so badly! Now, there's my George--&c., &c.

MRS. C. (_to the Fiancée_). Well, my dear, I don't approve of young men getting engaged until they have some prospect of being able to marry, and dear Algy was always my favourite brother, and I've seen so much misery from long engagements. However, we must hope for the best, that's all!

A MAIDEN AUNT (_to Second Ditto_). Exactly what struck _me_, Martha. _One_ waiter would have been quite sufficient, and if James _must_ be grand and give champagne, he might have given us a little _more_ of it; I'm sure I'd little else but foam in _my_ glass! And every plate as cold as a stone, and you and I the only people who were not considered worthy of silver forks, and the children encouraged to behave as they please, and Joseph Podmore made such a fuss with, because he's well off--and not enough sweetbread to go the round. Ah, well, thank goodness, we needn't dine here for another year!

MR. CHIPPERFIELD (_at the door_). Sorry to cut you short in your cigar, Uncle, and you, Limpett; but fact is, being Christmas night, I thought we'd come up a little sooner and all have a bit of a romp.... Well, Emily, my dear, here we are, all of us--ready for anything in the way of a frolic--what's it to be? Forfeits, games, Puss in the Corner, something to cheer us all up, eh? Won't any one make a suggestion?

[_General expression of gloomy blankness._

ALGERNON (_to his Fiancée--whom he wants to see shine_). Zeffie, you know no end of games--what's that one you played at home, with potatoes and a salt-spoon, _you_ know?

ZEFFIE (_blushing_). No, _please_, Algy! I don't know _any_ games, indeed, I couldn't _really_!

MR. C. Uncle Joseph will set us going, I'm sure--what do _you_ say, Uncle?

UNCLE JOSEPH. Well, I won't say "no" to a quiet rubber.

MRS. C. But, you see, we can't _all_ play in that, and there _is_ a pack of cards in the house somewhere; but I know two of the aces are gone, and I don't think all the court cards were there the last time we played. Still, if you can manage with what is left, we might get up a game for you.

UNCLE J. (_grimly_). Thank you, my dear, but, on the whole, I think I would almost rather romp--

MR. C. Uncle Joseph votes for romping! What do you say to Dumb Crambo? Great fun--half of us go out, and come in on all-fours, to rhyme to "cat," or "bat," or something--_you_ can play that, Limpett?

MR. LIMPETT. If I _must_ find a rhyme to cat, I prefer, so soon after dinner, not to go on all-fours for it, I confess.

MR. C. Well, let's have something quieter, then--only _do_ settle. Musical Chairs, eh?

ALGY. Zeffie will play the piano for you--she plays beautifully.

ZEFFIE. Not without notes, Algy, and I forgot to bring my music with me. Shall we play "Consequences"? It's a very quiet game--you play it sitting down, with paper and pencil, you know!

MR. LIMPETT (_sardonically, and sotto voce_). Ah, this is something _like_ a rollick now. "Consequences," eh?

ALGY (_who has overheard--in a savage undertone_). If that isn't good enough for you, suggest something better--or shut up!

[MR. L. _prefers the latter alternative_.

MR. C. Now, then, have you given everybody a piece of paper, Emily? Caroline, you're going to play--we can't leave _you_ out of it.

AUNT CAROLINE. No, James, I'd rather look on, and see you all enjoying yourselves--I've _no_ animal spirits now!

MR. C. Oh, nonsense! Christmas-time, you know. Let's be jolly while we can--give her a pencil, Emily!

AUNT C. No, I can't, really. You must excuse me. I know I'm a wet blanket; but, when I think that I mayn't be with you another Christmas, we may _most_ of us be dead by then, why--(_sobs_).

FRED (_the Family Failure_). That's right, Mater--trust you to see the humorous side of everything!

ANOTHER AUNT. For shame, Fred! If you don't know who is responsible for your poor mother's low spirits, others do!

[_The Family Failure collapses_

MR. LIMPETT. Well, as we've all got pencils, is there any reason why the revelry should not commence?

MR. C. No--don't let's waste any more time. Miss Zeffie says she will write down on the top of her paper "Who met whom" (must be a Lady and Gentleman in the party, you know), then she folds it down, and passes it on to the next, who writes, "What he said to her"--the next, "What she said to him"--next, "What the consequences were," and the last, "What the world said." Capital game--first-rate. Now, then!

[_The whole party pass papers in silence from one to another, and scribble industriously with knitted brows._

MR. C. Time's up, all of you. I'll read the first paper aloud. (_Glances at it, and explodes._) He-he!--this is really very funny. (_Reads._) "Uncle Joseph met Aunt Caroline at the--ho--ho!--the Empire! He said to her, '_What are the wild waves saying!_' and she said to him, 'It's time you were taken away!' The consequences were that they both went and had their hair cut, and the world said they had always suspected there was something between them!"

UNCLE J. I consider that a piece of confounded impertinence!

[_Puffs._

AUNT C. It's not true. I _never_ met Joseph at the Empire. I don't go to such places. I _didn't_ think I should be insulted like this--(_Weeps_)--on Christmas too!

AUNTS' CHORUS. Fred _again_!

[_They regard the_ FAMILY FAILURE _indignantly_.

MR. C. There, there, it was all fun--no harm meant. I'll read the next. "Mr. Limpett met Miss Zeffie in the Burlington Arcade. He said to her, 'O, you little duck!' She said to him, 'Fowls are cheap to-day!' The consequences were that they never smiled again, and the world said, 'What price hot potatoes?'" (_Everybody looks depressed._) H'm--not bad--but I think we'll play something else now.

[ZEFFIE _perceives that_ ALGY _is not pleased with her_.

TOMMY (_to_ UNCLE JOSEPH). Uncle, why didn't _you_ carve at dinner?

UNCLE J. Well, Tommy, because the carving was done at a side table--and uncommon badly done, too. Why do you want to know?

TOMMY. Parpar thought you _would_ carve, I know. He told Mummy she must ask you, because--

MRS. C. (_with a prophetic instinct_). Now, Tommy, you mustn't tease your Uncle. Come away, and tell your new Aunt Zeffie what you're going to do with your Christmas boxes.

TOMMY. But mayn't I tell him what Parpar said, first?

MRS. C. No, no; by and by--not now! [_She averts the danger._

[_Later; the Company are playing "Hide the Thimble"; i.e., someone has planted that article in a place so conspicuous that few would expect to find it there. As each person catches sight of it, he or she sits down._ UNCLE JOSEPH _is still, to the general merriment, wandering about and getting angrier every moment_.

MR. C. That's it, Uncle, you're _warm_--you're _getting_ warm!

UNCLE J. (_boiling over_). _Warm_, Sir? _I am_ warm--and something more, I can tell you! [_Sits down with a bump._

MR. C. You haven't _seen_ it! I'm sure you haven't seen it. Come now, Uncle!

UNCLE J. Never mind whether I have or have not. Perhaps I don't _want_ to see it, Sir!

THE CHILDREN. Then do you give it up? Do you want to be told? Why, it's staring you in the face all the time!

UNCLE J. I don't care whether it's staring or not--I don't want to be told anything more about it.

THE CHILDREN. Then you're _cheating_, Uncle--you must go on walking till you _do_ see it!

UNCLE J. Oh, that's it, eh? Very well, then--I'll walk!

[_Walks out, leaving the company paralysed._

MRS. C. Run after him, Tommy, and tell him--quick!

[_Exit_ TOMMY.

MR. C. (_feebly_). I think when Uncle Joseph does come back, we'd better try to think of some game he _can't_ lose his temper at. Ah, here's Tommy!

TOMMY. I _told_ him--but he went all the same, and slammed the door. He said I was to go back and tell you that you would find he _was_ cut up--and cut up rough, too!

MRS. C. But what did you tell _him_?

TOMMY. Why, only that Parpar asked him to come to-night because he was sure to cut up well. You said I might!

[_Sensation; Prompt departure of_ TOMMY _for bed; moralising by Aunts; a spirit of perfect candour prevails; names are called--also cabs; further hostilities postponed till next Christmas_.

On the Ice.

SCENE--_The Serpentine. On the bank, several persons are having their skates put on; practised Skaters being irritable and impatient, and others curiously the reverse, at any delay in the operation_.

CHORUS OF UNEMPLOYED SKATE-FASTENERS. 'Oo'll 'ave a pair on for an hour? Good Sport to-day, Sir! Try a pair on, Mum! (_to any particularly stout Lady_). Will yer walk inter _my_ porler, Sir? corpet all the w'y! 'Ad the pleasure o' puttin' on your skites last year, Miss! Best skates in London, Sir! [_Exhibiting a primæval pair._

THE USUAL COMIC COCKNEY (_to his Friend, who has undertaken to instruct him_). No _'urry_, old man--this joker ain't _arf_ finished with me yet! (_To_ SKATE-FASTENER.) Easy with that jimlet, Guv'nor. My 'eel ain't 'orn, like a 'orse's 'oof! If you're goin' to strap me up as toight as all that, I shell 'ave to go to _bed_ in them skites!... Well, what is it _now_?

SKATE-FASTENER. Reg'lar thing fur Gen'lm'n as 'ires skates ter leave somethink be'ind, jest as security like--_anythink_'ll do--a gold watch and chain, if yer got sech a thing about yer!

THE C. C. Oh, I dessay--not _me_!

SKATE-F. (_wounded_). Why, yer needn't be afroid! _I_ shorn't run away--you'll find _me_ 'ere when yer come back!

THE C. C. Ah, that _will_ be noice! But all the sime, a watch is a thing that slips out of mind so easy, yer know. You might go and forgit all about it. 'Ere's a match-box instead; it ain't silver!

SKATE-F. (_with respect_). Ah, you _do_ know the world, _you_ do!

THE C. C. Now, Alf, old man, I'm ready for yer! Give us 'old of yer 'and.... Go slow now. What's the Vestry about not to put some gravel down 'ere? It's downright dangerous! Whoo-up! Blowed if I ain't got some other party's legs on!... Sloide more? Whadjer torking about! I'm sloidin' every way at once, _I_ am!... Stroike out? I've struck sparks enough out of the back o' my 'ed, if that's all!... Git up? Ketch me! I'm a deal syfer settin' dayown, and I'll sty 'ere! [_He stays._

A NERVOUS SKATER (_hobbling cautiously down the bank--to Friend_). I--I don't know how I shall _be_ in these, you know--haven't had a pair on for years. (_Striking out._) Well, come--(_relieved_)--skating's one of those things you never forget--all a question of poise and equi--confound the things! No, I'm all right, thanks--lump in the ice, that's all! As I was saying, skating soon comes back to--thought I was gone that time! Stick by me, old fellow, till I begin to feel my--Oh, hang it _all_!... Eh? surely we have been on more than five minutes! Worst of skating is, your feet get so cold!... These _are_ beastly skates. Did you hear that crack? Well, _you_ may stay on if you like, but I'm not going to risk _my_ life for a few minutes' pleasure! [_He returns to bank._

THE FOND MOTHER (_from bank, to_ CHILDREN _on the ice_). That's right. Alma, you're doing it _beautifully_--don't _walk_ so much! (_To_ FRENCH GOVERNESS). Alma fay bocoo de progray, may elle ne glisse assez--nayse par, Ma'amzell?

MADEMOISELLE. C'est Ella qui est la plus habile, elle patine dejà très bien--et avec un aplomb!

THE F. M. Wee-wee; may Ella est la plus viaile, vous savvy. Look at Ella, Alma, and see how _she_ does it!

MAD. Vous marchez toujours--toujours, Alma; tâchez donc de glisser un petit peu--c'est beaucoup plus facile!

ALMA. Snay pas facile quand vous avez les skates toutes sur un côté--comme _moi_, Ma'amzell!

F. M. Ne repondy à Ma'amzell, Alma, and watch Ella!

ELLA. Regardez-moi, Alma. Je puis voler vîte--oh, mais vîte ... oh I _have_ hurt myself so!

ALMA (_with sisterly sympathy._) _That's_ what comes of trying to show _off_, Ella, darling! [ELLA _is helped to the bank_.

A PATERNAL SKATE-FASTENER. 'Ere you are, Missie--set down on this 'ere cheer--and you, too, my little dear--lor, _they_ won't do them cheers no 'arm, Mum, bless their little 'arts! Lemme tyke yer little skites orf, my pooties. _I'll_ be keerful, Mum--got childring o' my own at 'ome--the moral o' _your_ two, Mum!

THE F. M. (_to_ GOVERNESS). Sayt un homme avec un bong ker. Avez-vous--er--des cuivres, Ma'amzell?

THE P. S. (_disgustedly_). Wot?--only two bloomin' browns fur tykin' the skites orf them two kids' trotters! I want a shellin' orf o' you fur that job, _I_ do.... "Not another penny?" Well, if you do everythink as cheap as you do yer skiting, you orter be puttin' money by, _you_ ought! That's right, tyke them snivellin' kids 'ome--blow me if ever I--&c., &c., &c. [_Exit party, pursued by powerful metaphors._

THE EGOTISTIC SKATER (_in charge of a small_ NIECE). Just see if you can get along by yourself a little--I'll come back presently. Practise striking out.

THE NIECE. But, Uncle, directly I strike out, I fall down!

THE E. S. (_encouragingly_). You will at first, till you get into it--gives you confidence. Keep on at it--don't stand about, or you'll catch cold. I shall be keeping my eye on you! [_Skates off to better ice._

THE FANCY SKATER (_to less accomplished_ FRIEND). This is a pretty figure--sort of variation of the "Cross Cut," ending up with "The Vine"; it's done this way (_illustrating_), quarter of circle on outside edge forwards; then sudden stop----(_He sits down with violence_). Didn't quite come off that time!

THE FRIEND. The sudden stop came off right enough, old fellow!

THE F. S. I'll show you again--it's really a neat thing when it's well done; you do it all on one leg, like this----

[_Executes an elaborate back-fall._

HIS FRIEND. You seem to do most of it on no legs at all, old chap!

THE F. S. Haven't practised it lately, that's all. Now here's a figure I invented myself. "The Swooping Hawk" I call it.

HIS FRIEND (_unkindly--as the_ F. S. _comes down in the form of a St. Andrew's Cross_). Y--yes. More like a Spread Eagle though, ain't it?

PRETTY GIRL (_to_ Mr. ACKMEY, _who has been privileged to take charge of herself and her_ PLAIN SISTER). Do come and tell me if I'm doing it right, Mr. Ackmey. You _said_ you'd go round with me!

THE PLAIN S. How can you be so _selfish_, Florrie? You've had ever so much more practice than _I_ have! Mr. Ackmey, I wish you'd look at my left boot--it _will_ go like that. Is it my ankle--or what? And this strap _is_ hurting me so! Couldn't you loosen it, or take me back to the man, or something? Florrie can get on quite well alone, can't she?

MR. A. (_temporising feebly_). Er--suppose I give _each_ of you a hand, eh?

THE PLAIN S. No; I can't go along fast, like you and Florrie. You promised to look after me, and I'm perfectly helpless alone!

THE PRETTY S. Then, am I to go by myself, Mr. Ackmey?

MR. A. I--I think--just for a little, if you don't mind!

THE PRETTY S. Mind? Not a bit! There's Clara Willoughby and her brother on the next ring, I'll go over to them. Take good care of Alice, Mr. Ackmey. Good-bye for the present.

[_She goes_; ALICE _doesn't think_ MR. A. _is "nearly so nice as he used to be."_

THE RECKLESS ROUGH. Now then, I'm on 'ere. Clear the way, all of yer! Parties must look out fur themselves when they see _me_ a comin', I carn't stop fur nobody!

[_Rushes round the ring at a tremendous pace._

AN ADMIRING SWEEPER (_following his movements with enthusiasm_). Theer he goes--the Ornimental Skyter! Look at 'im a buzzin' round! Lor, it's a treat to see 'im bowlin' 'em all over like a lot er bloomin' ninepins! Go it, ole Franky, my son--don't you stop to apollergise!... Ah, there he goes on his nut agen! _'E_ don't care, not _'e_!... Orf he goes agin!... That's _another_ on 'em down, and ole Franky atop--'e'll 'ave the ring all to 'isself presently! Up agin! Oh, ain't he _lovely_! I never see his loike afore nowheres.... _Round_ yer go--that's the stoyle! My eyes, if he ain't upset another--a lydy this time--she's done _'er_ skytin fur the d'y any 'ow! and ole Frank knocked silly.... Well, I ain't larfed ser much in all my life! [_He is left laughing._

In a Fog.

(_A Reminiscence of the Past Month._)

SCENE--_Main thoroughfare near Hyde Park. Time_ 8 P.M. _Nothing visible anywhere, but very much audible; horses slipping and plunging, wheels grinding, crashes, jolts, and English as she is spoke on such occasions._

MRS. FLUSTERS (_who is seated in a brougham with her husband, on their way to dine with some friends in Cromwell Road_). We shall be dreadfully late, I know we shall! I'm sure Peacock could go faster than this if he liked--he always loses his head when there's much traffic. Do tell him to make haste!

MR. F. Better let him alone--he knows what he's doing.

MRS. F. I don't believe he does, or he wouldn't dawdle like this. If you won't speak to him, I must. (_Lets down the glass and puts out her head._) Peacock!

A BLURRED SHADOW ON THE BOX. Yes, M'm.

MRS. F. What are we stopping for like this?

THE SHADOW. Fog very thick just 'ere, M'm. Can't see what's in front of us, M'm.

MRS. F. It's just as safe to keep moving as to stand still--go on at once.

THE S. Very good, M'm. (_To horse._) Pull urp! [_Crash!_

VOICE FROM THE UNSEEN. What the blanky blank, &c.

PEACOCK. There _is_ suthin in front, M'm. A van, from 'is langwich, M'm.

MRS. F. (_sinking back_). Marmaduke, this is awful. I'd no idea the fog was like this--or I should never have----(_With temper._) Really, people have no _right_ to ask one out on such a night.

MR. F. (_with the common sense that makes him "so aggravating at times"_). Well, Fanny, you could hardly expect 'em to foresee the weather three weeks ahead!

MRS. F. At all events, _you_ might have seen what it was going to be as you came home from the Temple. Then we could have sent a telegram!

MR. F. It seemed to be lifting then, and besides, I--ah--regard a dinner-engagement as a species of kindly social contract, not to be broken except under pressing necessity.

MRS. F. You mean you heard me say there was nothing but cold meat in the house, and you know you'll get a good dinner at the Cordon-Blewitts,--not that we are likely to get there to-night. Have you any idea whereabouts we are?

MR. F. (_calmly_). None whatever.

MRS. F. Then ask Peacock.

MR. F. (_lets down his window, and leans out_). Peacock!

THE SHADOW. Sir?

MR. F. Where have we got to now?

PEACOCK. I ain't rightly sure, Sir.

MRS. F. Tell him to turn round, and go home.

MR. F. It's no use going on like this. Turn back.

PEACOCK. I dursn't leave the kerb--all I got to go by, Sir.

MR. F. Then take one of the lamps, and lead the horse.

PEACOCK. It's the _young_ 'orse, Sir.

MR. F. (_sinking back_). We must put up with it, I suppose.

[_A smart crack is heard at the back of the carriage._

MORE VOICES. Now, then, why the blanky dash, &c., &c.

MRS. F. Marmaduke, I can't sit here, and know that a bus-pole may come between us at any moment. Let us get out, and take a cab home at once.