A Paternal Skate-Fastener.'Ere you are, Missie—set down onthis 'ere cheer—and you, too, my little dear—lor,theywon't do them cheers no 'arm, Mum, bless their little 'arts! Lemme tyke yer little skites orf, my pooties.I'llbe keerful, Mum—got childring o' my own at 'ome—the moral o'yourtwo, Mum!
The F. M.(toGoverness). 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,Ido.... "Not another penny?" Well, if you do everythink as cheap as you do yer skiting, you orter be puttin' money by,youought! 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 smallNiece). 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 accomplishedFriend). 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 theF. S.comes down in the form of a St. Andrew's Cross). Y—yes. More like a Spread Eagle though, ain't it?
"GO IT, OLE FRANKY, MY SON!""GO IT, OLE FRANKY, MY SON!"
Pretty Girl(toMr.Ackmey,who has been privileged to take chargeof herself and herPlain Sister). Do come and tell me if I'm doing it right, Mr. Ackmey. Yousaidyou'd go round with me!
The Plain S.How can you be soselfish, Florrie? You've had ever so much more practice thanIhave! Mr. Ackmey, I wish you'd look at my left boot—itwillgo like that. Is it my ankle—or what? And this strapishurting 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 giveeachof 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;Alicedoesn't thinkMr. 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 seemea 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!'Edon't care, not'e!... Orf he goes agin!... That'sanotheron 'em down, and ole Franky atop—'e'll 'ave the ring all to 'isself presently! Up agin! Oh, ain't helovely! I never see his loike afore nowheres....Roundyer go—that's the stoyle! My eyes, if he ain't upset another—a lydy this time—she's done'erskytin 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.
(A Reminiscence of the Past Month.)
Scene—Main thoroughfare near Hyde Park. Time8P.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.Thereissuthin 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 norightto 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,youmight 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 theyoung'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.
Mr. F.There's only one objection to that suggestion—viz., that it'sperfectly 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 weare.
Mrs. F.And how do you expectthemto 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 ourownway out fust, Guv'nor. We'reinside!
A Belated Reveller(lurching up toMr. 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 notFanny). 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 thePoliceman,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). Sothereyou 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 haveyoubeen 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 soverylate. Such anicedinner! Everybody turned up exceptyou, Marmaduke—but Itoldthem 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,closeto where you left me. Just fancy, Marmaduke, he might have got into the carriage withme, instead!
Mr. F.(gloomily). Yes, hemight—only, he—er—didn't, you know!
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.Wouldyou 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 excellentmoral, you know. I'm sure you'll do it sobeautifully!
Mr. Tootler(a shy man). I—I'd do it with pleasure, I'm sure—only I really don't know anything aboutValentine and Orson!
The V.'s D.Oh, whatdoesthat 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 ofValentine 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 theVicar's D."Is that correct?"The V.'s D."Quite,quitecorrect!")—good conduct, the villagers are celebrating the—er—auspicious event by general rejoicings. How true it is that if we are onlygood, 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. Withsome ofus it is—(He improves the occasion). Our next picture represents—(ToAssistant). 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'spursuits. 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 fullyas he is able.) (The Youthful Rustic."Theer baint nawone a-erntin' of 'un, Zur.") What? Oh, but thereis, 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 outrunourpursuer—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 Iamtalking!ToAssistant. I say, are there manymoreof this sort? because wedon'tseem to be getting on!)—Well, now we come to—(a Moonlight Scene, with a Cottage in Winter, appears)—to the—ah—home of Valentine'smother. 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 theVicar's Daughter.) "I really cannotkeep 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'sallright. Dopleasego on. They'resointerested!"The Young Heckler."'Ow 'bout Valentoine, Zur?—wheer be 'ee?" Ah, where is Valentine, indeed? (ToAss.) Next slide—quick! (Recognises with dismay a View of the Grand Canal.) No—but, I say—really, Ican'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 zeednaytheron '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! (ToAss.) I can't stand this any moreValentine and Orson must be underneath the rest. Find them, and shove them in quick. Never mind the numbering! (The screen remains blank while theAssistantfumbles.) Well, have yougotthem?
RECOGNISES WITH DISMAY A VIEW OF THE GRAND CANAL.RECOGNISES WITH DISMAY A VIEW OF THE GRAND CANAL.
The Assistant.No, Sir; I'm rather afraid they ain'there. Fact is, they've sent me out with the wrong set o' slides. This ain'tValentine and Orson—it's a miscellaneous lot,Sir!
[Collapse of Curate as Scene closes in.
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!
THE SISTERS SILVERTWANG.THE SISTERS SILVERTWANG.
Voluble Ladyin the Shilling Stalls(telling her Male Companion an interminable story with an evasive point). No, but you 'ear what I'm going totellyou, 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, butthatdoesn'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, excuseme, oh, yes,—well, there was this picture,—mind you, it's a lovelypainting, 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 knowsomethingabout such things; he knew my uncle, and I can tell you what heis—he's a florist, and married nineteen years, and his wife's forty—years older than me, but I've scarcely spoke toher, 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 derayritolderiddle, olde-ri-ido!") I can't tell youhowold it is, but 'undreds of years, and Chinese, I shouldn't wonder, but we can't trace its 'istry—that's whathesaid, and ifhedon't know,nobodydoes, for it stands to reason hemust 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 waswantingto tell you,shegot to know what I'd done—how is more'nIcan 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 mindthat, 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 withthat, you know, but I haven't 'alf told you yet—well, &c., &c.
IN THE RESERVED STALLS.
First Professional Lady, "resting,"toSecond Ditto(asMiss Florrie Foljambeappears on Stage). New dresses to-night.
Second Ditto.Yes. (InspectsMiss F.'scostume.) 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 theGrimeshire 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, sheis, 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!Thatisgetting 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 acceptanceof 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 Ladyin 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 treatedmeas a lady, with grey whiskers—but that's neither here nor there—and I speak of parties as I find them—well.Thatwas a Thursday. On theSaturdaythere 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 hoursafter, as I was going down stairs, she come out of her room, and says,—"'Allo, Rose, 'owareyer?" as if nothing had 'appened. "Oh, jolly," I says, or somethink o' that sort—Iwasn't going to take no notice ofher—and she says, "Going out?"—like that. I says, "Oh, yes; nothing to stay in for," I says, careless-like; so Mrs. Piper,shenever saidnothing, andIdidn'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, Imustsay—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 finishmystory first. Well, just fancy'ernow! 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 youthis—they'd a kind of old easy chair in the room—and the only remarkImade, not meaning anythink, was——(Hero on Stage."You infernal, black-hearted scoundrel! this isyourwork, is it?") Well, I couldn't ha'put it more pleasant than that,couldI? 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'mready to go if you are, and I can tell you the rest walking home. [Exit, having thoroughly enjoyed her evening.
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 anUnsophisticated Guestwho 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 neverare!... 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,whata shame!... No, butdoesn'tshe 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,muchcooler here.... Yes, delightful, wasn't it? Everybody one knows.... No, you don'treally?... 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 iteau de Nil, and it lookssonice!
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 heardherversion of it as yet, y' know.... Have you seen him in ... white bengaline with a Medici collar, and one of those ... nasty gouty attacks hewillhave 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.Solongsince 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 reallyoughtto go—so touching! Dick and I both regularly howled all through the last act.... Not in theleast, thanks. Well, if thereisa seat.... You're sure thereareany ices? Then, strawberry, please—no,nothingto drink!...Willyou 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'vehad 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 aroom, I think! &c., &c.
"I AM ONLY A COWBOY.""I AM ONLY A COWBOY."
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 theygaveus 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 soundWas 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 theUnsophisticated 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!
Soc. Chat.(fortissimo). Not for ages; but last time I met him he was ... in a dreadful state, with the cook down with influenza ... and so I suppose he'smarriedher by this time!
Miss F. B.(excitedly).
But hark! in the distance a weird shrill cry, a kinder mournful, monotonous yelp—(Further irruption ofSociety Chatter) ... is it jackal?—bison?—a cry for help.
Soc. Chat.Such a completerest, you know—so perfectly peaceful! Not a soul to talk to. Iloveit ... but, to really enjoy a tomato, you must see it dressed ... in thesweetestlittle sailor suit!
Miss F. B.
My horse was a speck on the pampas' verge, for I dropped the rein in my haste to stoop;Then I pressed my ear to the baking soil—and caught—ah, horror—the Indian whoop!
Soc. Chat.Some say itisn'tinfectious, but one can't be too careful, and, with children in the house, &c., &c.
Miss F. B.
I rose to my feet with quivering knees, and my face went white as a fresh-washed towel;I had heard a war-cry I knew too well—'twas the murderous bellow of Blue-nosed Owl!
Soc. Chat.Nice fellow—I'm very fond of him—so fresh—capital company—met him when I was over there, &c.
Miss F. B.
"What! leave you to face those fiends alone!" she cried, and slid from her horse's back;"Let me die with you—for I love you, Clem!" Then she gave her steed a resounding smack,And he bounded off; "Now Heaven be praised that my school six-shooter I brought!" said she."Four barrels I'll keep for the front-rank foes—and the next for you—and the last for me!"
Soc. Chat.Is it acomicpiece she's doing, do you know? Don't think so, I can see somebody smiling. Sounds rather like Shakespeare, or Dickens, or one of those fellahs.... Didn't catch what you said. No. Quite impossible to hear one's self speak,isn'tit?
Miss F. B.
And ever louder the demons yelled for their pale-faced prey—but I scorned death's pangs,For I deemed it a doom that was half delight to die by the hand of Lobelia Bangs!Then she whispered low in her dulcet tones, like the crooning coo of a cushat dove!(At the top of her voice.) "Forgive me, Clem, but I could not bear any squaw to torture my own true love!"And she raised the revolver—"crack-crack-crack!"
[To the infinite chagrin of theUnsophisticated Guest,who is intensely anxious to hear how Miss Bangs and her lover escaped from so unpleasant a dilemma—the remaining cracks of her revolver, together with the two next stanzas, are drowned in afresh torrent of small-talk—after which he hearsMiss F. B.conclude with repressed emotion:
But the ochre on Blue-nosed Owl was blurred, as his braves concluded their brief harangues;And he dropped a tear on the early bier of our Prairie Belle, Lobelia Bangs!
[Which of course leaves him in a state of hopeless mystification.
Soc. Chat.Is that theend? Charming! Now we shall be able totalkagain! &c.,&c.
Scene—The Crystal Palace. The Nave is filled with a dense throng of Pleasure-seekers. Every free seat commanding the most distant view of a Variety Performance on the Great Stage has been occupied an hour in advance. The less punctual stand and enjoy the spectacle of other persons' hats or bonnets. Gangs of Male and Female Promenaders jostle and hustle to their hearts' content, or perform the war-song and dance of the Lower-class 'Arry, which consists in chanting "Oi tiddly-oi-toi; hoi-toi-oi!" to a double shuffle. Tired women sit on chairs and look at nothing. In the Grounds, the fancy of young men and maidens is lightly turning to thoughts of love; the first dawn of the tender passion being intimated, on the part of the youth, by chasing his charmer into a corner and partially throttling her, whereupon the maiden coyly conveys that his sentiments are not unreciprocated by thumping him between the shoulders. From time to time, two champions contend with fists for the smiles of beauty, who may usually be heard bellowing with perfect impartiality in the background. A small but increasing percentage have already had as much liquid refreshment as is good for them, and intend to have more. Altogether, the scene, if festive, might puzzle an Intelligent Foreigner who is more familiar with Continental ideas of enjoyment.
A Damsel(in a ruby plush hat with a mauve feather). Why, if they yn't got that bloomin' ole statute down from Charin' Cross! What's'edoin' of down 'ere, I wonder?
Her Swain(whose feather is only pink and white paper). Doin' of? Tykin' 'is d'y orf—like the rest of us are tykin' it.
The Damsel(giggling). You go on—you don't greenmethat w'y—a statute!
Swain.Well, 'yn't this what they call a "Statutory" 'Oliday, eh?
Damsel(in high appreciation of his humour). I'll fetch yousecha slap in a minnit! 'Ere, let's gow on the Swissback.
Another Damsel (in a peacock-blue hat with orange pompons). See that nekked young man on the big 'orse,Alf? It says "Castor" on the stand. 'Oo was'e?
Alf.Oh,Id' know. I dessay it'll be 'im as invented the Castor Ile.
The Damsel(disgusted). Fancy their puttin' up a monument to'im!
Superior 'Arry(talking Musichalls to his Adored One). 'Ave you 'eard her sing "Come where the Booze is Cheapest?"
The Adored.Lots o' toimes. Idolike'ersinging. She mykes sech comical soigns—and then thethingsshe sez! But I've 'eard she's very common in her tork, and that—orfthe styge.
The S. A.I shouldn't wonder. Some on 'emarethat way. You can't 'aveeverythink!
His Adored.No, itisa pity, though. 'Spose we go out, and pl'y Kiss in the Ring? [They do.
AMONG THE ETHNOLOGICAL MODELS.
Wife of British Workman(spelling out placard under Hottentot Group). "It is extremely probable that this interesting race will be completely exterminated at no very distant period." Pore things!
British Workman(with philosophy). Well,Isha'n't go inter mournin' for 'em, Sairer!
Lambeth Larrikin(in a pasteboard "pickelhaube," and a false nose, thoughtfully, toBattersea Bill,who is wearing an old grey chimney-pot hat, with the brim uppermost, and a tow wig, as they contemplate a party of Botocudo natives). Rum the sights these 'ere savidges make o' theirselves, ain't it, Bill?
Batt. Bill(more thoughtfully). Yer right—but I dessay if you and me 'ad been born among that lot,weshouldn't care'owwe looked!
Vauxhall Voilet(who has exchanged headgear withChelsea Chorley—with dismal results). Theyarecures, those blackies! Why,yer carn't 'ardly tell the men from the wimmin! I expect this lot'll be 'aving a beanfeast. See, they're plyin' their myusic.