Chapter II: Part 2

We trotted a perfect three miles, and she had an eye to the country and a word to say about all she saw. When we turned to come back, I felt Brimstone make his usual spurt forward, but I was not prepared for Treacle's sudden break away. He was off like a rocket. That small child's cap was flung across my eyes in a sudden gust. I had retrieved it in a second, but it was time lost, and, by Jove! she was out of sight round a bend. I followed after, might and main, but the racket of Brimstone's hoofs only sent Treacle flying faster. I caught sight of the small figure leaning back, the bright hair flying. Then they were gone again. My heart beat very fast. "She had never learned to gallop!" At every bend I hardly dared to look for what I might find. I knew Treacle, once started, would dash for home. If the child could only stick it, all might be well. I pounded along, and after a two-mile run I came on them. She had pulled him in and was walking him, waiting for me, a little turned in the saddle, one minute hand resting lightly on his broad back. She was prettily flushed, her hair blown, but she hadn't even lost her crop.

"Did you stop to get my cap?" she said as we came up. "Thanks awfully."

I wanted to hug the little thing, but her dignity forbade any such exhibition.

The only other reference to the afternoon's experience was on a postcard I happened to see written the same night, addressed to her mother.

"DARLING BEE" (it ran in very large baby characters),--"I had the most adorable ride to-day I ever had. I learned to galup all by myself. I thaut at first the horse was running away with me, but Uncle Dick soon caut me up. He had my cap.

Your loving
PHILLIDA."

I only hope that Isabel will think it was all just as deliberate as that.

* * * * *

"YOU NEEDN'T BE A BIT NERVOUS ABOUT HANDLING THE CHILD, ME LAD. IT'S NOT A REAL ONE."]

* * * * *

"The Ashton-under-Lyne fight is beginning, and _The Daily News_ comes
forward to-day with the suggestion that the Liberal candidate should
withdraw.

The practical effect of the candidature of a Liebral may be only to
reduce the Labour majority....

In such circumstances we think it matter for great regret that there
should be any Libtral candilature....

Upon this the comment at the Liberal headquarters to-day was, 'Well, it
is a little difficult to know just where we are, isn't it?'"--_Evening
Paper._

Yes, or _what_ we are, for that matter.

* * * * *

"GILBERT-SULLIVAN OPERAS.

Friday, 'Trial by July.'"--_Provincial Paper._

It seems a long remand.

* * * * *

JOURNALISTIC CAMARADERIE.

"The whole of this preliminary business is nauseating, and in _real_
sporting circles it is taboo as a topic of conversation. No wonder _The
Times_ devoted a leading article to the matter the other day."--_Daily
Mail._

How these NORTHCLIFFE journals love one another!

* * * * *

* * * * *

MORE CHAMPIONSHIPS.

The sporting public is so intrigued by the prospect of a DEMPSEY-CARPENTIER match that other impending championship events are in danger of being forgotten.

The present position in the challenge for the World's Halma Championship is this. Mr. George P. Henrun is patriotically endeavouring to secure the contest for Britain, and to that end has put up a purse of half-a-guinea. The Société Halma de Bordeaux has cut in with a firm offer of twenty-two francs, and the matter now remains in abeyance while financial advisers calculate the rate of exchange in order to ascertain which proposal is the more advantageous. The challenger, of course, is Tommy Jupes, aged twelve, of Ashby-de-la-Zouche. His opponent, the champion, has an advantage of three years in age and two inches in reach, but the strategy of Master Jupes is said to be irresistible. Only last week he overwhelmed his mother, herself a scratch player, when conceding her four men and the liberty to cheat twice.

The public will be thrilled to hear that a match has now been arranged between the two lady aspirants for the World's Patience Championship, _viz._, Miss Tabitha Templeman, of Bath, and Miss Priscilla J. Jarndyce, of Washington. To meet the territorial prejudices of both ladies the contest will take place in mid-Atlantic, on a liner. There will be no seconds, but Miss Templeman will be accompanied by the pet Persian, which she always holds in her lap while playing, and Miss Jarndyce will bring with her the celebrated foot-warmer which is associated with her greatest triumphs. The vexed question of the allocation of cinema royalties has been settled through the tact of Mr. Manketlow Spefforth, author of _Patience for the Impatient_. One lady wanted the royalties to be devoted to a Home for Stray Cats, and the other expressed a desire to benefit the Society for the Preservation of Wild Bird Life. Mr. Spefforth's happy compromise is that the money shall be assigned to the Fund in aid of Distressed Spinsters.

Bert Hawkins, of Whitechapel, has expressed his willingness, on suitable terms, to meet T'gumbu, the powerful Matabele, in a twenty-ball contest for the World's Cokernut-Shying Championship. There is however a deadlock over details. T'gumbu's manager is adamant that the match shall take place in his nominee's native village of Mpm, but Mr. Hawkins objects, seeing little chance of escaping alive after the victory of which he is so confident. He says he would "feel more safer like on 'Ampstead 'Eaf." Another difficulty is that Mr. Hawkins insists on wearing his _fiancée's_ headgear while competing, and this is regarded by T'gumbu as savouring of witchcraft. Mr. Hawkins generously offers his opponent permission to wear any article of his wives' clothing; but the coloured candidate quite reasonably retorts that this concession is practically valueless. On one point fortunately there is unaniminity: both parties are firm that all bad nuts must be replaced.

* * * * *

ANOTHER ASIAN MYSTERY.

"OLD AND RARE PAINTINGS. Exquisite works of old Indian art. Mytholo-Roast Beef or Pork: Bindaloo Sausages gical, Historical, Mediæval."--_Englishman_ (_Calcutta_).

* * * * *

"Two capable young gentlemen desire Posts in good families as
Companions, ladies or children; mending, hairdressing, decorations;
willing to travel; in or near London."--_Daily Paper._

What did _they_ do in the Great War?

* * * * *

"One of the exquisite features was the presence of the Deacon's wives.
We had 83 upon our Roll of Honour, and of these 36 turned up."--_Parish
Magazine._

The other forty-seven being presumably engaged in looking after the Deacon.

* * * * *

"In addition to the fine work done by the Irish regiments he assured
them that many a warm Irish heart beat under a Scottish kilt."--_Local
Paper._

Surely Irishmen enlisted in Scottish regiments are not so down-hearted as all that!

* * * * *

THE TALE OF THE TUNEFUL TUB.

["Why do so many people sing in the bathroom?... The note is struck for
them by the running water. While the voice sounds resonantly in the
bath-room it is not half so fine and inspiring when the song is
continued in the dressing-room. The reason is that the furniture of the
dressing-room tends to deaden the reverberations."--_Prof. W.H. BRAGG
on "The World of Sound."_]

When to my morning tub I go,
With towel, dressing-gown and soap,
Then most, the while I puff and blow,
My soul with song doth overflow
(Not unmelodiously, I hope).

The plashing of the H. and C.
Castalian stimulus affords;
I reach with ease an upper G
And, like the wild swan, carol free
The gamut of my vocal chords.

And when, my pure ablutions o'er,
The larynx fairly gets to work,
Amid the unplugged water's roar
I caper, trolling round the floor,
In tones as rich as THOMAS BURKE.

But in my dressing-room's retreat
My native wood-notes wilt and sag;
Not there those raptures I repeat;
My bellow now becomes a bleat
(For reasons, ask Professor BRAGG).

So, Ruth, if song may find a path
Still through thy heart, be listening by
The bathroom while I take my bath;
But leave before the aftermath,
Nor while I'm dressing linger nigh.

On the acoustic side, I fear,
My chest of drawers is quite a "dud;"
The chairs would silence Chanticleer,
Nor would I have you overhear
When I have lost my collar-stud.

* * * * *

BOOKS AND BACKS.

The proposal to revive the old "yellow back" cover for novels, partly in the interest of economy in production, partly to attract the purchaser by the lure of colour, has caused no little stir in the literary world. In order to clarify opinion on the subject Mr. Punch has been at pains to secure the following expressions of their views from some of the leading authors of both sexes:--

Mr. J.M. KEYNES, C.B., the author of the most sensational book of the hour, contributed some interesting observations on the economics of the dye industry and their bearing on the question. These we are reluctantly obliged to omit. We may note however his general conclusion that the impact on the public mind of a book often varies in an inverse ratio with the attractiveness of its appearance or its title. At the same time he admits that if he had called his momentous work _The Terrible Treaty_, and if it had been bound in a rainbow cover with a Cubist design, its circulation might have been even greater than it actually is. But then, as he candidly owns, "as a Cambridge man, I may be inclined to attach an undue importance to 'Backs.'"

Mr. FREDERIC HARRISON writes: "MATT. ARNOLD once chaffed me for keeping a guillotine in my back-garden. But my real colour was never sea-green in politics any more than it is yellow in literature or journalism. Yet I have a great tenderness for the old yellow-backs of fifty years ago. Yellow Books are another story. The yellow-backs may have sometimes affronted the eye, but for the most part they were dove-like in their outlook. Now 'red ruin and the breaking-up of laws' flaunt themselves in the soberest livery. I do not often drop into verse, but this inversion of the old order has suggested these lines, which you may care to print:--

"'In an age mid-Victorian and mellow,
Ere the current of life ran askew,
The backs of our novels were yellow,
Their hearts were of Quaker-like hue;
But now, when extravagant lovers
Their hectic emotions parade,
In sober or colourless covers
We find them arrayed.'"

Mr. CHARLES GARVICE points out that the choice of colour in bindings calls for especial care and caution at the present time, owing to the powerful influence of association. Yellow might lend impetus to the Yellow Peril. Red is especially to be avoided owing to its unfortunate appropriation by Revolutionary propagandists. Blue, though affected by statisticians and Government publishers, has a traditional connection with the expression of sentiments of an antinomian and heterodox character. At all costs the sobriety and dignity of fiction should be maintained, and sparing use should be made of the brighter hues of the spectrum. He had forgotten a good deal of his Latin, but there still lingered in his memory the old warning: "_O formose puer, nimium ne crede colori_."

Miss DAISY ASHFORD, another of our "best sellers," demurs to the view that a gaudy or garish exterior is needed to catch the public eye. The enlightened child-author scorned such devices. Books, like men and women--especially women--ought not to be judged by their backs, but by their hearts. She confessed, however, to a weakness for "jackets" as a form of attire peculiarly consecrated to youth.

Madame MONTESSORI cables from Rome as follows:--"The colour of book-covers is of vital importance in education. I wish to express my strong conviction that, where books for the young are concerned, no action should be taken by publishers without holding an unfettered plébiscite of all children under twelve. Also that the polychromatic series of Fairy Stories edited by the late Mr. ANDREW LANG should be at once withdrawn from circulation, not only because of the reckless and unscientific colour scheme adopted, but to check the wholesale dissemination of futile fables concocted and invented by irresponsible adults of all ages and countries."

* * * * *

SONGS OF THE HOME.

III.--THE GUEST.

I have a friend; his name is John;
He's nothing much to dote upon,
But, on the whole, a pleasant soul
And, like myself, no paragon.

I have a house, and, then again,
An extra room to take a guest;
And in my house I have a spouse.
It's good for me; I don't protest.

By her is every virtue taught;
Man does as he is told, and ought;
He has to eat his own conceit,
So, "Just the place for John!" I thought.

The unsuspecting guest arrives;
But (note the worthlessness of wives)
Does he endure the kill-or-cure
Refining process? No, he thrives.

He's led to think that he has got
The very virtues I have not;
Her every phrase is subtle praise
And oh! how he absorbs the lot.

She finds his wisdom full of wit
And listens to no end of it;
And if he dash tobacco-ash
On carpets doesn't mind a bit.

All that the human frame requires,
From flattery to bedroom fires,
Is his; and I must self-deny
To satisfy his least desires.

I have a friend; his name is John;
I tell him he is "getting on"
And "growing fat," and things like that....
He pays no heed. He's too far gone.

HENRY.

* * * * *

"PUPILS wanted for Pianoforte and Theory.--J.G. Peat, Dyer and
Cleaner."--_New Zealand Herald._

"That strain again! It had a dying fall."--_Twelfth Night_, Act I., Sc. 1, 4.

* * * * *

"The lowest grade of porter is the grade from which railway employees
in the traffic departments gravitate to higher positions."--_Daily
Paper._

The EINSTEIN theory is beginning to capture our journalists.

* * * * *

There was a Society Sinner
Who no longer was asked out to dinner;
This proof of his guilt
So caused him to wilt
That he's now emigrated to Pinner.

* * * * *

_Post-War Sportsman._"WOT'S THE MATTER?"

_Mrs. P.-W.S._"WHEN I WANT HIM TO JUMP THE FENCE HE JUST STOPS AND EATS IT. WHAT AM I TO DO?"

_P.-W.S._ "COME ALONG WI' ME, MY DEAR; I'LL SHOW YOU. 'E CAN'T EAT A GATE."]

* * * * *

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

(_By Mr. Punch's Staff of Learned Clerks._)

In the war-after-the-war, the bombardment of books that is now so violently raging upon all fronts, any contribution by a writer as eminent as Lord HALDANE naturally commands the respect due to weapons of the heaviest calibre. Unfortunately "heavy" is here an epithet unkindly apt, since it has to be admitted that the noble lord wields a pen rather philosophic than popular, with the result that _Before the War_ (CASSELL) tells a story of the highest interest in a manner that can only be called ponderous. Our ex-War Minister is, at least chiefly, responding to the literary offensives of BETHMANN-HOLLWEG and TIRPITZ, in connection with whose books his should be read, if the many references are properly to be understood. As every reader will know, however, Lord HALDANE could hardly have delivered his apologia before the accuser without the gates and not at the same time had an eye on the critic within. Fortunately it is here no part of a reviewer's task to obtrude his own political theories. With regard to the chief indictment, of having permitted the country to be taken unawares, the author betrays his legal training by a defence which is in effect (1) that circumstances compelled our being so taken, and that (2) we weren't. On this and other matter, however, the individual reader, having paid his money (7_s_. 6_d_. net), remains at liberty to take his choice. One revelation at least emerges clearly enough from Lord HALDANE'S pages--the danger of playing diplomat to a democracy. "Extremists, whether Chauvinist or Pacifist, are not helpful in avoiding wars" is one of many conclusions, double-edged perhaps, to which he is led by retrospect of his own trials. His book, while making no concessions to the modern demand for vivacity, is one that no student of the War and its first causes can neglect.

* * * * *

It is not Mr. L. COPE CORNFORD'S fault that his initials are identical with those of the London County Council, nor do I consider it to be mine that his rather pontifical attitude towards men and matters reminds me of that august body. Anyone ignorant of recent inventions might be excused for thinking that _The Paravane Adventure_ (HODDER AND STOUGHTON) is the title of a stirring piece of sensational fiction. But fiction it is not, though in some of its disclosures it may be considered sensational enough. In this history of the invention of the Paravane Mr. CORNFORD hurls a lot of well-directed bricks at Officialdom, and concludes his book by giving us his frank opinion of the way in which the Navy ought to be run. It is impossible, even if one does not subscribe to all his ideas, to refrain from commending the enthusiasm with which he writes of those who, in spite of great difficulties, set to work to invent and perfect the Paravane. If you don't know what a Paravane is I have neither the space nor the ability to tell you; but Mr. CORNFORD has, and it's all in the book.

* * * * *

A stray paragraph in a contemporary, to the effect that the portrait of the heroine and the story of her life in Baroness VON HUTTEN'S _Happy House_ (HUTCHINSON) is a transcript of actual fact, saves me from the indiscretion of declaring that I found _Mrs. Walbridge_ and her egregious husband and the general situation at Happy House frankly incredible. Pleasantly incredible, I should have added; and I rather liked the young man, _Oliver_, from Fleet Street, whom the Great Man had recently made Editor of _Sparks_ and who realised that he was destined to be a titled millionaire, for is not that the authentic procedure? Hence his fanatical obstinacy in wooing his, if you ask me, none too desirable bride. I hope I am not doing the author a disservice in describing this as a thoroughly wholesome book, well on the side of the angels. It has the air of flowing easily from a practised pen. But nothing will induce me to believe that _Mrs. Walbridge_, putting off her Victorian airs, did win the prize competition with a novel in the modern manner.

* * * * *

Mr. ALEXANDER MACFARLAN'S new story, _The Inscrutable Lovers_ (HEINEMANN), is not the first to have what one may call Revolutionary Ireland for its background, but it is by all odds the most readable, possibly because it is not in any sense a political novel. It is in characters rather than events that the author interests himself. A highly refined, well-to-do and extremely picturesque Irish revolutionary, whom the author not very happily christens _Count Kettle_, has a daughter who secretly abhors romance and the high-falutin sentimentality that he and his circle mistake for patriotism. To her father's disgust she marries an apparently staid and practical young Scotch ship-owner, who at heart is a confirmed romantic. The circumstances which lead to their marriage and the subsequent events which reveal to each the other's true temperament provide the "plot" of _The Inscrutable Lovers_. Though slender it is original and might lend itself either to farce or tragedy. Mr. MACFARLAN'S attitude is pleasantly analytical. It is indeed his delightful air of remote criticism, his restrained and epigrammatic style queerly suggestive of ROMAIN ROLAND in _The Market Place_, and his extremely clever portraiture, rather than any breadth or depth appertaining to the story itself, that entitle the author to a high place among the young novelists of to-day. Mr. MACFARLAN--is he by any chance the Rev. ALEXANDER MACFARLAN?--may and doubtless will produce more formidable works of fiction in due course; he will scarcely write anything smoother, more sparing of the superfluous word or that offers a more perfect blend of sympathy and analysis.

* * * * *

_Susie_ (DUCKWORTH) is the story of a minx or an exposition of the eternal feminine according to the reader's own convictions. I am not sure--and I suppose that places me among those who regard her heroine as the mere minx--that the Hon. Mrs. DOWDALL has done well in expending so much cleverness in telling _Susie's_ story. Certainly those who think of marriage as a high calling, for which the vocation is love, will be as much annoyed with her as was her cousin _Lucy_, the idealist, at once the most amusing and most pathetic figure in the book. I am quite sure that Susies and Lucys both abound, and that Mrs. DOWDALL knows all about them; but I am not equally sure that the Susies deserve the encouragement of such a brilliant dissection. Yet the men whose happiness she played with believed in _Susie's_ representation of herself as quite well-meaning, and other women who saw through her liked her in spite of their annoyance; and--after all the other things I have said--I am bound, in sincerity, to admit that I liked her too.

* * * * *

You could scarcely have given a novelist a harder case than to prove the likeableness of _Cherry Mart_, as her actions show her in _September_ (METHUEN), and I wonder how a Victorian writer would have dealt with the terrible chit. But FRANK SWINNERTON, of course, is able to hold these astonishing briefs with ease. Here is a girl who first turns the head of _Marian Forster's_ middle-aged husband in a pure fit of experimentalism, and then sets her cap with defiant malice at the young man who seems likely to bring real love into the elder woman's life. And yet _Marian_ grows always fonder of her, and she, in the manner of a wayward and naughty child, of _Marian_. Insolence and _gaucherie_ are on the one hand, coolness and finished grace on the other, and, although there are several moments of hatred between the two, their affection is the proper theme of the book. As for _Nigel_, he is impetuous and handsome, and falls in love with _Marian_ because she is sympathetic, and with _Cherry_ because she is _Cherry_, and also perhaps a little because the War has begun and the day of youth triumphant has arrived. But he does not make a very deep impression upon me, and as for _Marian's_ husband, who is big and rather stupid, and always has been, I gather, a bit of a dog, he scarcely counts at all. _Marian_, however, is an extremely clever and intricate study, and for _Cherry_--I don't really know whether I like _Cherry_ or not. But I have certainly met her.

* * * * *

Mr. Punch has pleasure in calling attention to two small volumes, lately issued, which reproduce matter that has appeared in his pages and therefore does not need any further token of his approbation: to wit, _A Little Loot_ (ALLEN AND UNWIN), by Captain E.V. KNOX ("EVOE"); and _Staff Tales_ (CONSTABLE), by Captain W.P. LIPSCOMB, M.C. ("L."), with illustrations, now first published, by Mr. H.M. BATEMAN. Also to _A Zoovenir_ (Dublin: The Royal Zoological Society of Ireland), by Mr. CYRIL BRETHERTON ("ALGOL"), a book of verses which have appeared elsewhere and are being sold for the benefit of the Dublin Zoo.

* * * * *

_The Carpenter._ "NAY, MASTER FOOL, I HAVE BUT ONE WHICH I FASHIONED MYSELF WITH MUCH LABOUR. IT GOETH THUS: 'WHEN IS A DOOR NOT A ----?'"

_The Fool._" ENOUGH! THAT JOKE HATH ALREADY COST ME TWO GOOD SITUATIONS."]