Chapter V

MY STRONG SUIT.

Not for me the profiteer's
Lucky hauls,
But a prospect of lean years
That appals;
Yet, although I dimly grope
On an ever downward slope,
I espy one gleam of hope--
Overalls.

When the experts prophesy
Further squalls,
And my income, never high,
Falls and falls,
Then the twenty-guinea suit
Is to me forbidden fruit,
But I cordially salute
Overalls.

Not to mention other woes,
Other calls,
Paying tailors through the nose
Greatly galls;
So farewell, expensive tweeds,
Though my manly bosom bleeds,
For the situation needs
Overalls.

* * * * *

"NURSERY Governess (not over 40) wanted for three children, girl 10
years, twins (boy 2, girl 8)."--_Times._

Oh, gemini!

* * * * *

THE HARDENING EFFECTS OF WAR.

IF THE BRONTOSAURUS CAME TO LONDON.]

* * * * *

_Clara._ "'E WAS, MUM! BUT I DIDN'T 'ARF GIVE 'IM WOT FOR. I SEZ, 'WHO D'YER BLINKIN' WELL THINK YOU'RE A-TALKIN' TO? I'M MRS. SMYTHE DER WILLOUGHBY!"]

* * * * *

ELIZABETH AND HER YOUNG MAN.

The study door burst open and one end of Elizabeth--the articulate end--was jerked into view.

"Wot will you 'ave for lunch?" she demanded breathlessly. "Lamb or 'am?"

Abruptly recalled from the realms of fiction-writing, I (her mistress) looked up a little dazed. "'Lamb or 'am,'" I repeated dully, "lamorram? Er--ram, I think, please, Elizabeth."

Having thus disposed of my domestic obligations for the day I returned to my writing. I was annoyed therefore to see the other end of Elizabeth travel round the doorway and sidle into the room. Her pretext for entering--that of dusting the roll-top desk with her apron--was a little thin, for she has not the slightest objection to dust. I rather think it cheers her up to see it about the place. Obviously she had come in to make conversation. I laid down my pen with a sigh.

"I yeerd from my young man this morning," she began. A chill foreboding swept over me. (I will explain why in a minute.)

"Do you mean the boiler one?" I asked.

"'Im wot belongs to the Amalgamated Serciety of Boilermakers," she corrected with dignity. "Well, they've moved 'is 'eadquarters from London to Manchester."

There was a tense silence, broken only by Elizabeth's hard breathing on a brass paper-weight ere she polished it with her sleeve.

"If 'e goes to Manchester, there I goes," she went on; "I suppose I'd quite easy get a situation there?"

"Quite easy," I acquiesced in a hollow voice.

She went out leaving me chill and dejected. Not that I thought for one moment that I was in imminent danger of losing her. I knew full well that this was but a ruse on the part of the young man to disembarrass himself of Elizabeth, and, if he had involved the entire Amalgamated Society of Boilermakers in the plot, that only proved how desperate he was.

I have very earnest reasons for wishing that Elizabeth could have a "settled" young man. You see, she never retains the same one for many weeks at a time. It isn't her fault, poor girl. She would be as true as steel if she had a chance; she would cling to any one of them through thick and thin, following him to the ends of the earth if necessary.

It is they who are fickle, and the excuses they make to break away from her are both varied and ingenious. During the War of course they always had the pretext of being ordered to the Front at a moment's notice, and were not, it appears, allowed to write home on account of the Censor. Elizabeth used to blame LLOYD GEORGE for these defects of organisation. And to this day she is extremely bitter against the Government.

In fact, she is bitter against everyone when her love affairs are not running smoothly. The entire household suffers in consequence. She is sullen and obstinate; she is always on the verge of giving notice. And the way she breaks things in her abstraction is awful. Elizabeth's illusions and my crockery always get shattered together. My rose-bowl of Venetian glass got broken when the butcher threw her over for the housemaid next-door. Half-a-dozen tumblers, a basin and several odd plates came in two in her hands after the grocer's assistant went away suddenly to join the silent Navy. And nearly the whole of a dinner service was sacrificed when LLOYD GEORGE peremptorily ordered her young man in the New Army to go to Mesopotamia and stay there for at least three years without leave.

You will now understand why I was dejected at the perfidy of the follower belonging to the Boilermakers' Society. I saw a dreary period of discomfort ahead of me. And worst of all I was expecting the Boscombes to dinner that very week. They had not before visited us and Henry was anxious, for business reasons, to make a good impression on them. I will not elaborate the case. All I can say is that there is no earthly possibility of making a good impression on any living thing if Elizabeth is in one of her bad moods. And it would be no use explaining the situation to Mrs. Boscombe, because she has no sense of humour; or to Mr. Boscombe, because he likes a good dinner.

Finally, the Domestic Bureau failed me. Hitherto they had always been able to supply me with a temporary waitress on the occasion of dinner-parties. Now it appeared these commodities had become pearls of great price which could no longer be cast before me and mine (at the modest fee of ten shillings a night) without at least fourteen days' notice.

The Bureau promised to do its best for me, of course, but reminded me that women were scarce. I asked, with bitterness, what had become of the surplus million we heard so much about. They replied with politeness that, judging from the number of applications received, they must be the million in search of domestics.

Returning home from the Bureau I found Elizabeth studying a time-table. "I see it's a hundred and eighty-three miles to Manchester," she commented, "an' the fare's 15_s._ 5-1/2_d._"

"That's an old time-table you've got," I hastened to remark; "it is now L2 6_s._ 4-1/2_d._--return fare."

"I shan't want no return ticket," said Elizabeth grimly.

Sickening outlook, wasn't it?

* * * * *

The day of my dinner-party dawned fair and bright, but Elizabeth was raging. Things got so bad in fact that about mid-day I decided I must telephone to the Boscombes and tell them Henry had suddenly been taken ill; and I was just looking up the doctor's book to find something specially virulent and infectious for Henry when Elizabeth came in. Amazing to relate, her face was wreathed in smiles.

"They've sent from the Domestic Boorow," she began.

"What!" I exclaimed, "did they get me a waitress after all?"

She smirked. "They've sent a man this time. A footman 'e was before the War, but since 'e's been demobbed 'e's been out of a job. That's 'ow it is 'e's takin' temporary work and----"

"He seems to have told you quite a lot about himself already," I interposed.

She smirked again. "I 'adn't been talkin' to him ten minutes before 'e asked me wot was my night out. 'E isn't 'arf a one."

"It seems he isn't," I agreed. And I sent up a silent prayer of thankfulness to Heaven and the Domestic Bureau. "But what about the amalgamated boilermaker?"

"Oh, 'im!" She tossed her head. "'E can go to--Manchester."

* * * * *

_Conductor._ "DON'T YOU WORRY, MISS--YOU'LL SOON 'AVE TWENTY-NINE."]

* * * * *

A Legacy of the War.

No one will lightly forget the noble services rendered by the Y.W.C.A. to our troops and those of our Allies during the War, and many of Mr. Punch's friends must have given practical expression to their gratitude. But we are liable to forget that the end of the War has not brought an end either to the work of the Y.W.C.A. or to the claim which that work has upon our recognition. There is pressing need of accommodation and protection and healthy environment for the large army of girls who have been demobilized and are now engaged in, or seeking for, civilian employment. The funds of the Y.W.C.A. do not admit of the establishment and maintenance of sufficient hostels for this good purpose. At the moment a chance is offered to them of purchasing a large, suitable and perfectly-equipped house--rented during the War, and after, by the Y.W.C.A.--in a densely-populated district in South London. The offer holds good for only a few days, and, if it is not taken, over two hundred girls will be turned adrift to wander in search of lodgings. The price is thirty thousand pounds. It is difficult to think of any cause to which money could be more usefully subscribed. Mr. Punch begs his readers to send to the promoters of this good work some token of their sympathy and appreciation. Gifts should be addressed to the Hon. Emily Kinnaird, 4, Duke Street, W.1.

* * * * *

"UNITED STATES AND ARMENIA.

It would be grossly misleading to say that Congress, in its present
frame of mind, would accept actual responsibility for a country whose
place on the map of Europe is not even known to the average
citizen."--_Daily Paper._

Even we ourselves were under the impression that it was still in Asia.

* * * * *

"The Conference of San Remo is virtually over, but the caravanserai of
peace must make yet another journey before its goal is reached."

_Irish Paper._

Forthcoming song by Mr. LLOYD GEORGE: "Where my caravanserai has rested."

* * * * *

* * * * *

THE TOW-ROPE GIRLS.

Oh, a ship in the Tropics a-foaming along,
With every stitch drawing, the Trade blowing strong,
The white caps around her all breaking in spray,
For the girls have got hold of her tow-rope to-day.

(And it's "Haul away, girls, steady an' true,
Polly an' Dolly an' Sally an' Sue,
Mothers an' sisters an' sweethearts an' all,
Haul away, all the way, haul away, haul!")

She's logging sixteen as she speeds from the South,
The wind in her royals, a bone in her mouth;
With a wake like a mill-race she rolls on her way,
For the girls have got hold of her tow-rope to-day.

The old man he stood on the poop at high noon;
He paced fore and aft and he whistled a tune;
Then put by his sextant and thus he did say,
"The girls have got hold of our tow-rope to-day.

"Of cargoes and charters we've had our full share,
Of grain and of lumber enough and to spare,
Of nitrates at Taltal and rice for Bombay,
And the girls have got hold of our tow-rope to-day.

"She has dipped her yards under, hove-to off the Horn;
In the fog and the floes she has drifted forlorn;
Becalmed in the doldrums a week long she lay,
But the girls have got hold of her tow-rope to-day!"

Oh, hear the good Trade-wind a-singing aloud
His homeward-bound chantey in sheet and in shroud;
Oh, hear how he whistles in halliard and stay,
"The girls have got hold of the tow-rope to-day!"

And it's oh for the chops of the Channel at last,
The cheer that goes up when the tug-hawser's passed,
The mate's "That'll do," and a fourteen months' pay,
For the girls have got hold of our tow-rope to-day.

(And it's "Haul away, girls, steady an' true,
Polly an' Dolly an' Sally an' Sue,
Mothers an' sisters an' sweethearts an' all,
Haul away, all the way, haul away, haul!")