Part 9

MR. F. There's only one objection to that suggestion--viz., that it's perfectly impossible to tell a cab from a piano-organ. We must find out where we are first, and then turn. Peacock, drive on as well as you can, and stop when you come to a shop.

MRS. F. What do you want to stop at a shop for?

MR. F. Why, then I can go in, and ask where we _are_.

MRS. F. And how do you expect _them_ to know where we are! (_She sees a smear of light in the distance._) Marmaduke, there's a linkman. Get out quick, and hire him to lead the way.

MR. F. (_who gets out, and follows in the direction of the light, grumbling to himself_). Hallo!--not past the park yet--here's the railings! Well, if I keep close to them, I shall--(_He suddenly collides with a bench_). Phew! Oh, confound it! (_He rubs his shins._) Now, if it hadn't been for Fanny, I--Where's that linkman? Hi!--you there!--stop! (THE LIGHT STOPS.) Look here--I want you to come to my carriage, and show my man the way out of this!

VOICE FROM BEHIND THE RAILINGS. We got to find our _own_ way out fust, Guv'nor. We're _inside_!

A BELATED REVELLER (_lurching up to_ MR. F.) Beg your pardon, bur cou' you dreck me nearesht way--er--Dawshon Plashe?

MR. F. (_savagely_). First turning to the right, third to the left, and then straight on till you come to it!

THE B. R. I'm exsheedingly 'blished; (_confidentially_) fact ish, I'm shuffrin' shli' 'fection eyeshi', an' I 'shure you, can't shee anyshing dishtingly to-ni'. (_He cannons against a lamp-post, to which he clings affectionately, as a Policeman emerges from the gloom._)

POLICEMAN. Now then, what are you doing 'ere, eh?

THE B. R. Itsh all ri', P'lishman, thish gerrilman--(_patting lamp-post affectionately_)--has kindly promished shee me home.

MR. F. Hang it! Where's Peacock and the brougham? (_He discovers a phantom vehicle by the kerb, and gets in angrily._) Now, look here, my dear, it's no earthly good--!

OCCUPANT OF THE BROUGHAM. (_who is not_ FANNY). Coward, touch a defenceless woman if you dare! I have nothing on me of any value. Help! Police!

[MR. F., _seeing that explanation is useless, lets himself out again, precipitately, dodges the_ POLICEMAN, _and bolts, favoured by the fog, until all danger of pursuit is passed, at the end of which time he suddenly realizes that it is perfectly hopeless to attempt to find his own carriage again_. _He gropes his way home, and some hours later, after an extemporised cold supper, is rejoined by his Wife._

MRS. F. (_cheerfully_). So _there_ you are, Marmaduke! I wasn't anxious--I felt sure you'd find your way back somehow!

MR. F. (_not in the best of tempers_). Find my way back! It was the only thing I could do. But where have _you_ been all this time, Fanny?

MRS. F. Where? Why, at the Blewitts, to be sure. You see, after you got out, we had to keep moving on, and by and by the fog got better, and we could see where we were going to,--and the Blewitts had put off dinner half an hour, so I was not so _very_ late. Such a _nice_ dinner! Everybody turned up except _you_, Marmaduke--but I _told_ them how it was. Oh, and old Lady Horehound was there, and said a man had actually got into her brougham, and tried to wrench off one of her most valuable bracelets!--only she spoke to him so severely that he was struck with remorse, or something, and got out again! And it was by the Park, _close_ to where you left me. Just fancy, Marmaduke, he might have got into the carriage with _me_, instead!

MR. F. (_gloomily_). Yes, he _might_--only, he--er--_didn't_, you know!

Bricks without Straw

SCENE--_A Village School-room. A Juvenile Treat is in progress, and a Magic Lantern, hired for the occasion, "with set of slides complete--to last one hour," is about to be exhibited._

THE VICAR'S DAUGHTER (_suddenly recognizing the New Curate, who is blinking unsuspectingly in the lantern rays_). Oh, Mr. Tootler, you've just come in time to help us! The man with the lantern says he only manages the slides, and can't do the talking part. And I've asked lots of people, and no one will volunteer. _Would_ you mind just explaining the pictures to the children? It's only a little Nursery tale--_Valentine and Orson_--I chose that, because it's less hackneyed, and has such an excellent _moral_, you know. I'm sure you'll do it so _beautifully_!

MR. TOOTLER (_a shy man_). I--I'd do it with pleasure, I'm sure--only I really don't know anything about _Valentine and Orson_!

THE V.'S D. Oh, what _does_ that matter? I can tell you the outline in two minutes. (_She tells him._) But it's got to last an hour, so you must spin it out as much as ever you can.

MR. TOOTLER (_to himself_). Ought I to neglect such a golden opportunity of winning these young hearts? No. (_Aloud._) I will--er--do my best, and perhaps I had better begin at once, as they seem to be getting--er--rather unruly at the further end of the room. (_He clears his throat._) Children, you must be very quiet and attentive, and then we shall be able, as we purpose this evening, to show you some scenes illustrative of the--er--beautiful old story of _Valentine and Orson_, which I doubt not is familiar to you all. (_Rustic applause, conveyed by stamping and shrill cheers, after which a picture is thrown on the screen representing a Village Festival._) Here, children, we have a view of--er--(_with sudden inspiration_)--Valentine's Native Village. It is--er--his birthday, and Valentine, being a young man who is universally beloved on account of his amiability and good conduct--(_To the_ VICAR'S D. "Is that correct?" THE V.'S D. "Quite, _quite_ correct!")--good conduct, the villagers are celebrating the--er--auspicious event by general rejoicings. How true it is that if we are only _good_, we may, young as we are, count upon gaining the affection and esteem of all around us! (_A Youthful Rustic, with a tendency to heckle._ "Ef 'ee plaze, Zur, which on 'em be Valentoine?") Valentine, we may be very sure, would not be absent on such an occasion, although, owing to the crowd, we cannot distinguish him. But, wherever he is, however he may be occupied, he little thinks that, before long, he will have to encounter the terrible Orson, the Wild Man of the Woods! Ah, dear children, we all have our Wild Man of the Woods to fight. With _some of_ us it is--(_He improves the occasion_). Our next picture represents--(_To_ ASSISTANT). Sure this comes next? Oh, they're all numbered, are they? Very well--represents a forest--er--the home of Orson. If we were permitted to peep behind one of those trunks, we should doubtless see Orson himself, crouching in readiness to spring upon the unsuspecting Valentine. So, often when we--&c., &c. The next scene we shall show you represents the--er--burning of Valentine's ship. Valentine has gone on a voyage, with the object of--er--finding Orson. If the boat in the picture was only larger, we could no doubt identify Valentine, sitting there undismayed, calmly confident that, notwithstanding this--er--unfortunate interruption, he will be guided, sooner or later, to his--er--goal. Yes, dear children, if we only have patience, if we only have faith, &c., &c. Here we see--(_an enormous Bison is suddenly depicted on the screen_) eh? oh, yes--here we have a specimen of--er--Orson's _pursuits_. He chases the bison. Some of you may not know what a bison is. It is a kind of hairy cow, and--(_He describes the habits of these creatures as fully_ _as he is able._) (THE YOUTHFUL RUSTIC. "Theer baint nawone a-erntin' of 'un, Zur.") What? Oh, but there _is_, you know. Orson is pursuing him, only--er--the bison, being a very fleet animal, has outrun his pursuer for the moment. Sometimes we flatter ourselves that we have outrun _our_ pursuer--but, depend upon it, &c., &c. But now let us see what Valentine is about--(_Discovering, not without surprise, that the next picture is a Scene in the Arctic Regions_). Well, you see, he has succeeded in reaching the coast, and here he is--in a sledge drawn by a reindeer, with nothing to guide him but the Aurora Borealis, hastening towards the spot where he has been told he will find Orson. He doesn't despair, doesn't lose heart--he is sure that, if he only keeps on, if he--er--only continues, only perseveres--(_Aside._ What drivel I _am_ talking! _To_ ASSISTANT. I say, are there many _more_ of this sort? because we _don't_ seem to be getting on!)--Well, now we come to--(_a Moonlight Scene, with a Cottage in Winter, appears_)--to the--ah--home of Valentine's _mother_. You will observe a light in the casement. By that light the good old woman is sitting, longing and praying for the return of her gallant boy. Ah, dear children, what a thing a good old mother is! (_To the_ VICAR'S DAUGHTER.) "I really can _not_ keep on like this much longer. I'm positively certain these slides are out of order!" THE V.'S D. "Oh, no; I'm sure it's _all_ right. Do _please_ go on. They're _so_ interested!" THE YOUNG HECKLER. "'Ow 'bout Valentoine, Zur?--wheer be 'ee?" Ah, where is Valentine, indeed? (_To_ ASS.) Next slide--quick! (_Recognises with dismay a View of the Grand Canal._) No--but, I say--_really_, I _can't_--Here we have Valentine at Venice. He has reached that beautiful city,--well called the Queen of the Adriatic,--at last! He contemplates it from his gondola, and yet he has no heart just now to take in all the beauty of the scene. He feels that he is still no nearer to finding Orson than before. (THE YOUNG HECKLER. "Naw moor be we, Zur. We ain't zeed _nayther_ on 'em zo fur!" _Tumult, and a general demand for the instant production of Orson or Valentine._) Now, children, children! this is very irregular. You must allow me to tell this story my own way. I assure you that you will see them both in good time, if you only keep still! (_To_ ASS.) I can't stand this any more Valentine and Orson must be underneath the rest. Find them, and shove them in quick. Never mind the numbering! (_The screen remains blank while the_ ASSISTANT _fumbles_.) Well, have you _got_ them?

THE ASSISTANT. No, Sir; I'm rather afraid they ain't _here_. Fact is, they've sent me out with the wrong set o' slides. This ain't _Valentine and Orson_--_it's a miscellaneous lot_, _Sir_!

[_Collapse of Curate as Scene closes in._

At a Music Hall.

SCENE.--_The auditorium of a Music Hall, the patrons of which are respectable, but in no sense "smart." The occupants of the higher-priced seats appear to have dropped in less for the purpose of enjoying the entertainment than of discussing their private affairs--though this does not prevent them from applauding everything with generous impartiality._

THE CHAIRMAN. Ladies and Gentlemen, the Celebrated Character-Duettists and Variety Artistes, the Sisters Silvertwang, will appear next!

[_They do; they have just sung a duet in praise of Nature with an interspersed step-dance. "Oh, I love to 'ear the echo on the Moun-ting!" (Tiddity-iddity-iddity-iddity-um!) "And to listen to the tinkle of the Foun-ting!" (Tiddity, &c.)_

A WHITE-CAPPED ATTENDANT (_taking advantage of a pause, plaintively_). Sengwidges, too-pence!

VOLUBLE LADY _in the Shilling Stalls_ (_telling her Male Companion an interminable story with an evasive point_). No, but you 'ear what I'm going to _tell_ you, because I'm coming to it presently. I can't remember his name at this moment--something like Budkin, but it wasn't that, somewhere near Bond Street, he is, or a street off there; a Scotchman, but _that_ doesn't matter! (_Here she breaks off to hum the Chorus of "Good Ole Mother-in-Law!" which is being sung on the stage._) Well, let me see--what was I telling you? Wait a minute, excuse _me_, oh, yes,--_well_, there was this picture,--mind you, it's a lovely _painting_, but the frame simply nothing,--not that I go by frames, myself, o' course not, but I fetched it down to show him--oh, I know what you'll say, but he must know _something_ about such things; he knew my uncle, and I can tell you what he _is_--he's a florist, and married nineteen years, and his wife's forty--years older than me, but I've scarcely spoke to _her_, and no children, so I fetched it to show him, and as soon as he sets eyes on it, he says----(FEMALE "CHARACTER-COMIC" _on Stage_, _lugubriously_. "Ritolderiddle, ol de_ray_ ritolderiddle, olde-_ri_-_ido_!") I can't tell you _how_ old it is, but 'undreds of years, and Chinese, I shouldn't wonder, but we can't trace its 'istry--that's what _he_ said, and if _he_ don't know, _nobody_ does, for it stands to reason he must be a judge, though nothing to me,--when I say nothing, I mean all I know of him is that he used to be----(TENOR VOCALIST ON STAGE. "My Sweetheart when a Bo-oy!") I always like that song, don't you? Well, and this is what I was _wanting_ to tell you, _she_ got to know what I'd done--how is more'n _I_ can tell you, but she did, and she come straight in to where I was, and I see in a minute she'd been drinking, for drink she does, from morning to night, but I don't mind _that_, and her bonnet all on the back of her head, and her voice that 'usky, she----(TENOR. "She sang a Song of Home Sweet Home--a song that reached my heart!") And I couldn't be expected to put up with _that_, you know, but I haven't 'alf told you yet--_well_, &c., &c.

IN THE RESERVED STALLS.

FIRST PROFESSIONAL LADY, "_resting_," _to_ SECOND DITTO (_as_ MISS FLORRIE FOLJAMBE _appears on Stage_). New dresses to-night.

SECOND DITTO. Yes. (_Inspects_ MISS F.'S _costume_.) Something wrong with that boy's dress in front, though, cut too low. Is that silver bullion it's trimmed with? That silver stuff they put on my pantomime-dress has turned quite yellow!

FIRST DITTO. It will sometimes. Did you know any of the critics when you were down at Slagtown for the Panto?

SECOND DITTO. I knew the _Grimeshire Mercury_, and he said most awfully rude things about me in his paper. I was rather rude to him at rehearsal, but we made it up afterwards. You know Lily's married, dear?

FIRST DITTO. What--Lily? You don't mean it!

SECOND DITTO. Oh, yes, she _is_, though. She went out to Buenos Ayres, and the other day she was taken in to dinner by the Bishop of the Friendly Islands.

FIRST DITTO. A Bishop? _Fancy!_ That _is_ getting on, isn't it?

MISS FOLJAMBE (_on Stage, acknowledging an encore_). Ladies and Gentlemen, I am very much obliged for your kind reception this evening, but having been lately laid up with a bad cold, and almost entirely lost my vice, and being still a little 'orse, I feel compelled to ask your kind acceptance of a few 'ornpipe steps, after which I 'ope to remain, Ladies and Gentlemen, always your obedient 'umble servant to command--Florrie Foljambe!

[_Tumultuous applause, and hornpipe._

CHAIRMAN. Professor Boodler, the renowned Imitator of Birds, will appear next!

THE PROFESSOR (_on Stage_). Ladies and Gentlemen, I shall commence by an attempt to give you an imitation of that popular and favourite songster the Thrush--better known to some of you, I dare say, as the Throstle, or Mavis! (_He gives the Thrush--which somehow doesn't "go."_) I shall next endeavour to represent that celebrated and tuneful singing-bird--the Sky-lark. (_He does it, but the Lark doesn't quite come off._) I shall next try to give you those two sweet singers, the Male and Female Canary--the gentleman in the stalls with the yellow 'air will represent the female bird on this occasion, he must not be offended, for it is a 'igh compliment I am paying him, a harmless professional joke. (_The Canaries obtain but tepid acknowledgments._) I shall now conclude my illustrations of bird-life with my celebrated imitation of a waiter drawing the cork from a bottle of gingerbeer, and drinking it afterwards.

[_Does so; rouses the audience to frantic enthusiasm, and retires after triple recall._

THE VOLUBLE LADY _in the Shilling Stalls_ (_during the performance of a Thrilling Melodramatic Sketch_). I've nothing to say against her 'usban', a quiet, respectable man, and always treated _me_ as a lady, with grey whiskers--but that's neither here nor there--and I speak of parties as I find them--_well_. _That_ was a Thursday. On the _Saturday_ there came a knock at my door, and I answered it, and there was she saying, as cool as you please----(HEROINE ON STAGE. "Ah, no, no--you would not ruin me? You will not tell my husband?") So I told her. "I'm very sorry," I says, "but I can't lend that frying-pan to nobody." So I got up. Two hours _after_, as I was going down stairs, she come out of her room, and says,--"'Allo, Rose, 'ow _are_ yer?" as if nothing had 'appened. "Oh, jolly," I says, or somethink o' that sort--_I_ wasn't going to take no notice of _her_--and she says, "Going out?"--like that. I says, "Oh, yes; nothing to stay in for," I says, careless-like; so Mrs. Piper, _she_ never said nothing, and _I_ didn't say nothing; and so it went on till Monday--_well_! Her 'usban' met me in the passage; and he said to me--good-tempered and civil enough, I _must_ say--he said----(VILLAIN ON STAGE. "Curse you! I've had enough of this fooling! Give me money, or I'll twist your neck, and fling you into yonder mill-dam, to drown!") So o' course I'd no objection to that; and all she wanted, in the way of eatables and drink, she _'ad_--no, let me finish _my_ story first. Well, just fancy _'er_ now! She asked me to step in; and she says, "Ow are you?" and was very nice, and I never said a word--not wishing to bring up the past, and--I didn't tell you _this_--they'd a kind of old easy chair in the room--and the only remark _I_ made, not meaning anythink, was----(HERO ON STAGE. "You infernal, black-hearted scoundrel! this is _your_ work, is it?") Well, I couldn't ha'put it more pleasant than that, _could_ I? and old Mr. Fitkin, as was settin' on it, he says to me, he says----(HERO. "Courage, my darling! You shall not perish if my strong arms can save you. Heaven help me to rescue the woman I love better than my life!") but he's 'alf silly, so I took no partickler notice of _'im_, when, what did that woman do, after stoopin' to me, as she 'as, times without number--but--Oh, is the play over? Well, as I was saying--oh, _I'm_ ready to go if you are, and I can tell you the rest walking home. [_Exit, having thoroughly enjoyed her evening._

A Recitation Under Difficulties.

SCENE.--_An Evening Party_; MISS FRESIA BLUDKINSON, _a talented young Professional Reciter, has been engaged to entertain the company, and is about to deliver the favourite piece entitled_, "_The Lover of Lobelia Bangs, a Cowboy Idyl_." _There is the usual crush, and the guests outside the drawing-room, who can neither hear nor see what is going on, console themselves by conversing in distinctly audible tones._ _Jammed in a doorway, between the persons who are trying to get in, and the people who would be only too glad to get out, is an_ UNSOPHISTICATED GUEST _who doesn't know a soul, and is consequently reduced to listening to the Recitation_. _This is what he hears_:--

MISS FRESIA BLUD. (_in a tone of lady-like apology_).

I am only a Cowboy----

[_Several Ladies put up their glasses, and examine her critically, as if they had rather expected this confession. Sudden burst of Society Chatter from without._

SOCIETY CHATTER. How d'ye do?... Oh, but her parties never _are_!... How are you?... No, I left her at .... Yes, he's somewhere about.... Saw you in the Row this mornin'.... Are you doing anything on----?... Oh, _what_ a shame!... No, but _doesn't_ she now?... No earthly use trying to get in at present ... &c., &c.

MISS FRESIA B. (_beginning again, with meek despair, a little louder_).

I am only a Cowboy; reckless, rough, in an unconventional suit of clothes; I hain't, as a rule, got much to say, and my conversation is mostly oaths.

[_Cries of "Ssh!" intended, however, for the people outside, who are chattering harder than ever._

When the cackle of females strikes my ear----

SOCIETY CHATTER (_as before_). Oh, _much_ cooler here.... Yes, delightful, wasn't it? Everybody one knows.... No, you don't _really_?... Oh, Popsy's flourishing, thanks.... The new Butler turned out a perfect demon ... but I said I wouldn't have his tail docked for anything ... so they've painted it _eau de Nil_, and it looks _so_ nice!

MISS F. B. (_pointedly_).

When the cackle of females strikes my ear, I jest vamose, for they make me skeered, And I sorter suspicion I skeer them too, with my hulking form, and my bushy beard!

[_Here, of course, she strokes a very round chin._

SOCIETY CHATTER. Seems to be somethin' goin' on in there--singin', actin', dancin', or somethin'.... Well, of course, only heard _her_ version of it as yet, y' know.... Have you seen him in ... white bengaline with a Medici collar, and one of those ... nasty gouty attacks he _will_ have are only rheumatism, &c., &c.

MISS F. B. (_when next heard_).

I cleared my throat and I tried to speak--but the words died strangled--

A FEMININE VOICE OUTSIDE. So _long_ since we had a quiet talk together! Do tell me all about, &c., &c.

MISS F. B.

----strangled by sheer alarm. For there in front----

[_Here she points dramatically at a stout matron, who fans herself consciously._

----was the slender form, and the sweet girl-face of our new "School Marm"! Say, boys! hev' ye heard an Æolian harp which a Zephyr's tremulous finger twangs? Wa'al, it kinder thrills ye the way I felt when I first beheld Lobelia Bangs!

SOC. CHAT. Oh, you really _ought_ to go--so touching! Dick and I both regularly howled all through the last act.... Not in the _least_, thanks. Well, if there _is_ a seat.... You're sure there _are_ any ices? Then, strawberry, please--no, _nothing_ to drink!... _Will_ you allow me?

... Told she could dress hair perfectly, but I soon found she was ... a Swedenborgian, my dear, or something horrid.... Haven't you? _I've_ had it three times, and ... so many people have asked me for cards that really I ... had the drains thoroughly looked to, and now they're ... delicious, but rather overpowering in a _room_, I think! &c., &c.

MISS F. B. (_with genuine feeling_).

Who would imagine one meek-voiced girl could have held her own in a deafening din! But Lobelia's scholars discovered soon she'd a dead-sure notion of discipline; For her satin palm had a sting like steel, and the rowdiest rebel respected her, When she'd stretched out six of the hardest lots in the Bible-Class with a Derringer!

SOC. CHAT. No, a very dull party, you could move about quite easily in all the rooms, so we ... kicked the whole concern to shivers and ... came on here as soon as we could.... Capital dinner they _gave_ us too ... &c., &c.

MISS F. B. (_with as much conviction as possible under the circumstances_).

And the silence deepened; no creature stirred in the stagnant hush, and the only sound Was the far-off lumbering jolt, produced by the prairie rolling for leagues around!

SOC. CHAT. (_crescendo_). Oh, an old aunt of mine has gone in for step-dancing--she's had several lessons ... and cut her knees rather badly, y'know, so I put her out to grass ... and now she can sit up and hold a biscuit on her nose ... but she really ought to mix a little grey in her wig!

[_&c., &c., to the distraction of the_ UNSOPHISTICATED GUEST, _who is getting quite interested in Lobelia Bangs, whom he suddenly discovers, much to his surprise, on horseback_.

MISS F. B.

And on we cantered, without a word, in the mid-day heat, on our swift mustangs. I was only ignorant Cowboy Clem--but I worshipped bright Lobelia Bangs!