Chapter I: Part 1

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

VOL. 159.

July 28th, 1920.

CHARIVARIA.

"The public will not stand for increased railway fares," says a contemporary. They have had too much standing at the old prices.

* * *

A Mile End man writes to _The Daily Express_ to say that one of his ducks laid four eggs in one day. It seems about the most sensible thing the bird could have done with them.

* * *

As a result of the recent Tube extension, passengers can now travel from the Bank to Ealing in thirty-five minutes. It is further claimed that the route passes under some of the most beautiful scenery in England.

* * *

Mersey shipyard workers have made a demand on their employers for five pounds ten shillings a week when not working and seven pounds a week when working. This proposal to discriminate between the men who work and those who don't is condemned in more advanced trade union circles as savouring dangerously of capitalism.

* * *

"One evening at Covent Garden," says M. ABEL HERMANT in _Le Temps_, "will teach more correct behaviour than six months' lessons from a certified professor of etiquette." Opinion among the smart set is divided as to whether he means Covent Garden Theatre or Covent Garden Market.

* * *

The Bolshevists in Petrograd are finding a difficulty in the appointment of a public executioner. This is just the chance for a man who wants a nice steady job.

* * *

On looking up our diary we find that the MAD MULLAH is just about due to be killed again. We wonder if anything is being done in the matter.

* * *

A German merchant is anxious to get into touch with a big stamp-dealer in this country. Our feeling is that the POSTMASTER-GENERAL is the man he wants.

* * *

We are asked to deny the rumour that Sir PHILIP SASSOON has been appointed touring manager to the Peace Conference.

* * *

A Newbury man has succeeded in breeding pink-coated tame rats. It is said that the Prohibitionists hope to exterminate these, as they did the green ones.

* * *

A blunder of thirty million pounds in the estimates for British operations in Russia is revealed in a White Paper. It is expected that the Government will bequeath it to the nation.

* * *

Owing to the high cost of material we understand that a certain pill is to-day worth £1 11s. 6d. a box.

* * *

The Sinn Feiners now threaten to capture one of our new battleships. We sincerely hope that the Government will place a caretaker on board each of our most valuable Dreadnoughts.

* * *

A Lanarkshire magistrate the other day doubted whether a miner could remember details of an accident which happened two years ago. It is said that the miner had vivid recollections of the affair as it happened to be the day he was at work.

* * *

It is urged that all taxi-cabs should have a cowcatcher in front in case of accidents. We gather that the drivers are quite willing provided they are allowed to charge for anyone they pick up as an "extra."

* * *

It is reported that the muzzling order may come into force again in South Wales. We understand that a dog which thoughtlessly attempted to bark in Welsh in the main street of Cardiff was responsible for the belief that rabies had broken out again.

* * *

During a brass-band contest a few days ago three members of the winning band were taken ill just after they had finished playing. It was at first feared that they had overblown themselves.

* * *

"A true lover of nature is nowadays very hard to find," complains a writer in a Nature journal. Yet we know a golfer who always shouts "Fore!" on slicing a ball into a spinney.

* * *

The two African lions which escaped from the Zoo in Portugal have not yet been captured, and were last seen near the border-line of Switzerland. It is thought that they are endeavouring to walk across Europe as a reprisal for the flight across Africa by two Europeans.

* * *

The Dublin Trades Council called a one-day strike last week "to secure the release of Mr. JAMES LARKIN." So successful was the strike, we understand, that the United States authorities have decided that the presence of Mr. LARKIN at forthcoming celebrations of a similar character would be quite superfluous.

* * *

Speaking to an audience of miners at Morpeth Mr. RAMSAY MACDONALD said he dreamed of a time when the miners would govern the country. Not even the miners, on the other hand, would dream of letting Mr. RAMSAY MACDONALD govern it.

* * *

"Does the Government realise," asks a newspaper correspondent, "that as regards the situation in Ireland we are on the edge of a crater or with a thunderbolt over our heads?" We rather imagine that the Government, like the writer, isn't quite sure which.

* * *

Oswestry Guardians have accepted an offer to supply Bibles to tramps. This is the first occasion on which the current belief that the tramp class is nowadays being recruited largely from the ranks of the minor clergy has received formal recognition.

* * *

A bricklayer has been summoned for not sending his son to school. It appears that the father, finding his boy could count up to twenty and wishing him to follow his own occupation, thought further schooling unnecessary.

* * *

"When the country really understands the need of the Government," says an essayist, "we shall travel far." But not at twopence a mile, thank you.

* * * * *

"YOUR EEL, I THINK, SIR?"]

* * * * *

A CRIMINAL TYPE.

To-day I am MAKing aN inno6£vation. as you mayalready have gessed, I am typlng this article myself Zz½lnstead of writing it, The idea is to save time and exvBKpense, also to demonstyap demonBTrike= =damn, to demonstratO that I can type /ust as well as any blessedgirl 1f I give my mInd to iT"" Typlng while you compose is realy extraoraordinarrily easy, though composing whilr you typE is more difficult. I rather think my typing style is going to be different froM my u6sual style, but Idaresay noone will mind that much. looking back i see that we made rather a hash of that awfuul wurd extraorordinnaryk? in the middle of a woRd like thaton N-e gets quite lost? 2hy do I keep putting questionmarks instead of fulstopSI wonder. Now you see i have put a fulllstop instead Of a question mark it nevvvver reins but it pours.

the typewriter to me has always been a mustery£? and even now that I have gained a perfect mastery over the machine in gront of me i have npt th3 faintest idea hoW it workss% &or instance why does the thingonthetop the klnd of overhead Wailway arrrangement move along one pace afterr every word; I haVe exam@aaa ined the mechanism from all points of view but there seeems to be noreason atall whyit shouould do t£is . damn that £, it keeps butting in: it is Just lik real life. then there are all kinds oF attractive devisesand levers andbuttons of which is amanvel in itself, and does somethI5g useful without lettin on how it does iT.

Forinstance on this machinE which is A mi/et a mijge7 imean a mi/dgt, made of alumium,, and very light sothat you caN CARRY it about on your £olidays (there is that £ again) and typeout your poems onthe Moon immmmediately, and there is onely one lot of keys for capITals and ordinay latters; when you want todoa Capital you press down a special key marked cap i mean CAP with the lefft hand and yo7 press down the letter withthe other, like that abcd, no, ABCDEFG . how jolly that looks . as a mattr of fact th is takes a little gettingintoas all the letters on the keys are printed incapitals so now and then one forgets topress downthe SPecial capit al key. not often, though. on the other hand onceone £as got it down and has written anice nam e in capitals like LLOYdgeORGE IT IS VERY DIFFICULT TO REmemBER TO PUT IT DOWN AGAIN ANDTHE N YOU GET THIS SORT OF THING WICH SPOILS THE LOOOK OF THE HOLE PAGE . or els insted of preSSing down the key marked CAP onepresses down the key m arked FIG and then insted of LLOYDGEORGE you find that you have written ½½96% :394:3. this is very dissheartening and £t is no wonder that typists are sooften sououred in ther youth.

Apart fromthat though the key marked FIG is rather fun, since you can rite such amusing things withit, things like % and [Symbol: face] and dear old & not to mention = and ¼ and ¾ and!!! i find that inones ordinarry (i never get that word right) cor orresponden£c one doesn't use expressions like @@ and % % % nearly enough. typewriting gives you a new ideaof possibilities of the engli£h language; thE more i look at % the more beautiful it seems to Be: and like the simple flowers of england itis per£aps most beauti£ul when seeen in the masss, Look atit

% % % % % % % % % % % %
% % % % % % % % % % % %
% % % % % % % % % % % %
% % % % % % % % % % % %

how would thatdo for a BAThrooM wallpaper? it could be produced verery cheaply and itcould be calld the CHER RYdesigN damn, imeant to put all that in capitals. iam afraid this articleis spoilt now but butt bUt curse . But perhaps the most excitingthing a£out this mac£ine is that you can by presssing alittle switch suddenly writein redor green instead of in black; I donvt understanh how £t is done butit is very jollY? busisisness men us e the device a gre t deal wen writing to their membersof PARLIAment, in order to emphasasise the pointin wich the£r in£ustice is worSe than anyone elses in£ustice . wen they come to WE ARE RUINED they burst out into red and wen they come to WE w WOULD remIND YOU tHAT ATtHE LAST E£ECTION yoU UNDERTOOk they burst into GReeN. thei r typists must enjoy doing those letters. with this arrang ment of corse one coul d do allkinds of capital wallpapers. for |nstance wat about a scheme of red £'s and black %'s and gReen &'s? this sort of thing

£ % £ % £ % £ % £ %
& £ & £ & £ & £ & £
£ % £ % £ % £ % £ %
& £ & £ & £ & £ & £

Manya poor man would be glad to £ave that in his parLour ratherthan wat he has got now. of corse, you wont be ab?e to apreciate the fulll bauty of the design since i underst and that the retched paper which is going to print this has no redink and no green inq either; so you must £ust immagine that the £'s are red and the &'s are green. it is extroarordinarry (wat a t erribleword!!!) how backward in MAny waYs these uptodate papers are wwww¼¼¼¼¼¼½=¾ now how did that happen i wond er; i was experimenting with the BACK SPACE key; if that is wat it is for i dont thinq i shall use it again. iI wonder if i am impriving at this½ sometimes i thinq i am and so metimes i thinq iam not . we have not had so many £'s lately but i notice that theere have been one or two misplaced q's & icannot remember to write i in capital s there it goes again.

Of curse the typewriter itself is not wolly giltless ½ike all mac&ines it has amind of it sown and is of like passsions with ourselves. i could put that into greek if only the machine was not so hopelessly MOdern. it 's chief failing is that it cannot write m'sdecently and instead of h it will keep putting that confounded £. as amatter of fact ithas been doing m's rather better today butthat is only its cusssedussedness and because i have been opening my shoul ders wenever we have come to an m; or should it be A m? who can tell; little peculiuliarities like making indifferent m's are very important & w£en one is bying a typewiter one s£ould make careful enquiries about themc; because it is things of that sort wich so often give criminals away. there is notHing a detective likes so much as a type riter with an idiosxz an idioynq damit an idiotyncrasy . for instance if i commit a murder i s£ould not thinq of writing a litter about it with this of all typewriters becusa because that fool ofa £ would give me away at once I daresay scotland Yard have got specimens of my trypewriting locked up in some pigeonhole allready. if they £avent they ought to; it ought to be part of my dosossier.

i thing the place of the hypewriter in ART is inshufficiently apreciated. Modern art i understand is chiefly sumbolical expression and straigt lines. a typwritr can do strait lines with the under lining mark) and there are few more atractive symbols thaN the symbols i have used in this articel; i merely thro out the sugestion

I dont tkink i shal do many more articles like this it is tooo much like work? but I am glad I have got out of that £ habit;

A.P.£.

* * * * *

"PRISON FOR FLAT LANDLORDS."--_Evening Paper._

Good. But is nothing going to be done about the landlords with round figures?

* * * * *

"With favourable weather, Thatcham can look forward to a pre-war show
this year."--_Local Paper._

Apparently Thatcham carries its eyes in the back of its head.

INDIGNANT LODGING-HOUSE KEEPER. "AND TO THINK OF THAT THERE ERIC WANTING TO SQUEEZE THE POOR HOLIDAY-MAKERS BEFORE I GETS AT 'EM."]

* * * * *

_Jarge (feeling that something ought to be said)._ "WHY, WILLYUM, OI THOUGHT THEY WAS BOTH GAMMY."]

* * * * *

ELIZABETH GOES ON HOLIDAY.

"Please, 'm, may I go for my 'olidays a week come Thursday?" asked Elizabeth. She was evidently labouring under some strong excitement, for she panted as she spoke and so far forgot herself in her agitation as to take up the dust in the hall instead of sweeping it under the mat.

"But you promised to go on your holiday when we have ours in September," I protested, aghast. (You will shortly understand the reason of my dismay.) "I don't see how I can possibly manage--"

"I'm sorry, 'm, but I _must_ take 'em then," interposed Elizabeth with a horrid giving-notice gleam in her eye which I have learnt to dread. "You see, my young man is 'avin' 'is 'olidays then an'--an'"--she drew up her lank form and a look that was almost human came into her face--"'e's arsked me to go with 'im," she finished with ineffable pride.

I am aware that this is not an unusual arrangement amongst engaged couples in the class to which Elizabeth belongs; nevertheless I felt it was the moment for judicious advice, knowing how ephemeral are the love-affairs of Elizabeth. No butterfly that flits from flower to flower could be more elusive than her young men. Our district must swarm with this fickle type.

"Do you think it right to go off on a holiday with a stranger?" I began diffidently.

"'Im! 'E isn't a stranger," broke in Elizabeth. "'E's my young man."

"Which young man?"

"My _new_ young man."

"But don't you think it would be better if he were not such a new young man--I mean, if he were an old young man--er--perhaps I ought to say you should know him longer before you go away with him. It's not quite the thing--"

"Why, wot's wrong with it?" demanded Elizabeth, puzzled. "All the girls I know spends their 'olidays with their young men, an' then it doesn't cost them nothink. That's the best of it. But it's the first time I've ever been arsked," she admitted, "an' I wouldn't lose a charnce like this for anythink."

Further appeal was useless, and with a sigh I resigned myself to the inevitable; but when, ten days later, Elizabeth departed in a whirl of enthusiasm and brown paper parcels I turned dejectedly to the loathsome business of housework.

It is a form of labour which above all others I detest. My _métier_ is to write--one day I even hope to become a great writer. But what I never hope to become is a culinary expert. Should you command your cook to turn out a short story she could not suffer more in the agonies of composition than I do in making a simple Yorkshire pudding.

My household now passed into a condition of settled gloom. My nerves began to suffer from the strain, and I came gradually to regard Henry as less of a helpmate and more of a voracious monster demanding meals at too frequent intervals. It made me peevish with him.

He too was far from forbearing in this crisis. In fact we were getting disillusioned with each other.

One evening I was reflecting bitterly on matters like washing-up when Henry came in. Only a short time before we should have greeted each other cordially in a spirit of _camaraderie_ and affection. Now our conversation was something like this:--

_Henry (gruffly)._ Hullo, no signs of dinner yet! Do you know the time?

_Me (snappily)._ You needn't be so impatient. I expect you've gorged yourself on a good lunch in town. Anyhow it won't take long to get dinner, as we are having tinned soup and eggs.

_Henry._ Oh, damn eggs. I'm sick of the sight of 'em.

You can see for yourself how unrestrained we were getting. The thin veneer of civilisation (thinner than ever when Henry is hungry) was fast wearing into holes.

The subsequent meal was eaten in silence. The hay-fever from which I am prone to suffer at all seasons of the year was particularly persistent that evening. A rising irritability engendered by leathery eggs and fostered by Henry's face was taking possession of me. Quite suddenly I discovered that the way he held his knife annoyed me. Further I was maddened by his manner of taking soup. But I restrained myself. I merely remarked, "You have finished your soup, I _hear_, love."

Henry, though feeling the strain, had not quite lost his fortitude. My hay-fever was obviously annoying him, but he only commented, "Don't you think you ought to see a doctor about that distressing nasal complaint, my dear?" I knew, however, that he was longing to bark out, "Can't you stop that everlasting sniffing? It's driving me mad, woman."

How long would it be before we reached that stage of candour? I was brooding on this when the front-door bell rang.

"You go," I said to Henry.

"No, you go," he replied. "It looks bad for the man of the house to answer the door."

I do not know why it should look bad for a man to answer his own door, unless he is a bad man. But there are some things in our English social system which no one can understand. I rose and went to open the front-door. Then my heart leapt in sudden joy. The light from the hall lamp fell on the lank form of Elizabeth.

"You've come back!" I exclaimed.

"I suppose you didn't expect to see me inside of a week," she remarked.

"I didn't; but oh, Elizabeth, I'm so glad to see you," I said as I drew her in. Tears that strong men weep rose to my eyes, while Henry, at this moment emerging from the study, uttered an ejaculation of joy (it sounded like "Thank God!") at the sight of Elizabeth.

"An' 'ow 'ave you got on while I've bin away?" she inquired, eyeing us both closely. "Did every think go orf orl right?"

I hesitated. How was I to confess my failures and muddling in her absence and hope to have authority over her in future? Would she not become still more difficult to manage if she knew how indispensable she was? I continued to hesitate. Then Henry spoke. "We've managed admirably," he said. "Your mistress has been wonderful. Her cooking has absolutely surprised me."

I blessed Henry (the devil!) in that moment. "Thank you, dear," I murmured.

Then Elizabeth spoke and there was a note of relief in her voice. "Well, I'm reerly glad to 'ear that, as I can go off to-morrer after all. I 'aven't been for my 'oliday yet, like."

"What do you mean?" I gasped.

"Well, you see, 'm, my young man didn't turn up at the station, so I went and stayed with my sister-in-law at Islington. She wants me to go with 'er to Southend early to-morrer, but I thort as 'ow I'd better come back 'ere first and see if you reerly could manage without me, for I 'ad my doubts. 'Owever, as everythink's goin' on orl right I can go with an easy mind."

I remained speechless. So did Henry. Elizabeth went out again into the darkness. There was a long pause, broken only by my hay fever. Then Henry spoke. "Can't you stop that everlasting sniffing?" he barked out. "It's driving me mad, woman."

* * * * *

_First Rustic._ "D'YE 'EAR OLD DADDY SMITH'S COTTAGE WAS BURNT DOWN LAST NIGHT?"

_Second Rustic (of matured wisdom)._ "I BEAN'T SURPRISED. WHEN I SEES THE SMOKE A-COMING THROUGH THE THATCH I SEZ TO MYSELF, 'THERE'S SELDOM SMOKE WITHOUT FIRE.'"]

* * * * *

"REQUIRED an English or French resident governess for children from 30
to 45 years old, having notions of music."--_Standard (Buenos Ayres)._

We are glad they have picked up something during their prolonged juvenescence.

* * * * *

AUTHORSHIP FOR ALL.

[Being specimens of the work of Mr. Punch's newly-established Literary
Ghost Bureau, which supplies appropriate Press contributions on any
subject and over any signature.]

IV.--WHAT'S WRONG WITH THE DRAMA?

_By Marcus P. Brimston, the gifted producer of "Shoo, Charlotte!"_

I have been invited to say a few words to readers of _The Sabbath Scoop_ on the alleged decay of the British drama. There is indeed some apparent truth in this allegation. On all sides I hear managers sending up the same old wail of dwindling box-office receipts and houses packed with ghastly rows of deadheads. No "paper" shortage there, at any rate.

Sometimes these unfortunate people come to me for counsel, and invariably I give them the same admonition, "Study your public."

There is no doubt that, with a few brilliant exceptions (among which my own present production is happily enrolled), the playhouses have recently struck a rather bad patch. Useless to lay the blame either on the CHANCELLOR OF THE EXCHEQUER or on the weather. Give the playgoing public what it wants and no consideration of National Waste or of Daylight Saving will keep it from the theatre.

And that brings me to my point. Whence comes the playgoing public of to-day, and what does it want?

From the commercial point of view (and in the long run as in the short all art must be judged by its monetary value) the drama depends for its support on what used to be known as the better-dressed parts of the house. Now-a-days the majority of the paying patrons of these seats come from the ranks of the new custodians of the nation's wealth. These people, who have the business instinct very strongly developed, insistently and very rightly demand value for their money; and the problem is how to give them value as they understand the meaning of the word. My friend Mr. ARTHUR COLLINS gives it to them in sand; but that is a shifting foundation on which to build up a prosperous run.

Those who, like myself, have studied closely the tastes and intelligence of this new force that is directing the destiny of the modern theatre must have come to the conclusion that the essential factor in dramatic success is "punch," or, as our cross-Atlantic cousins would term it, "pep." The day of anæmic characterisation and subtle dissection of motives is past. The audience (or the only part that really counts) has no desire to be called upon to think; it can afford to pay others to do its thinking for it. There is much to be said for this point of view. The War and its effects (especially the Excess Profits Duty) have imposed on us all far too many and too severe mental jerks; in the theatre we may well forget that we possess such a thing as a mind.

As a charming and gifted little actress said to me only yesterday, "We want something a bit meatier than the dry old bones of IBSEN'S ghosts." Well, I am out to provide that something; my present success certainly does not lack for flesh.

In producing _Shoo, Charlotte!_ I have taken several hints from that formidable young rival of the articulate stage known as the Silent Drama. There effects are flung at the spectator's head like balls at a cocoanut; if they fail to register a hit it is the fault of the shier, not of the nut. My aim throughout has been to throw hard and true, so that even the thickest nut is left in no doubt as to the actuality of the impact. _Shoo, Charlotte!_ makes no high-sounding attempt at improving the public taste. As the dramatic critic of _The Sabbath Scoop_ pithily remarked, it is just "one long feast of laughter and _lingerie_," and its nightly triumph is the only vindication it requires.

The fundamental mistake of the British drama of to-day lies, in my humble opinion, in its perpetual striving after the unexpected. The public, such as I have described it, fights shy of novel situations; it isn't sure how they ought to be taken. But give it a play where it knows exactly what is going to happen next and you are rewarded with the delighted applause that comes of prophecy fulfilled. The thrill or chuckle of anticipation is succeeded by the shudder or guffaw of realisation. Father nudges Mother and says, "Look, Emma, he's going to fall into the flour-bin." He does fall into the flour-bin, and Father slaps his own or Mother's knee with a roar of triumph. After all, the old dramatic formulæ were not drawn up without a profound knowledge of human nature.

Let managers take a lesson from these few observations and they will no longer go about seeking an answer to the riddle, "Why did the cocoanut shy?"

* * * * *

THE BEST LAID SCHEMES.

[A contemporary declares that the side-car stands unrivalled as a
matchmaker. It would seem, however, that opinion on the subject is not
unanimous.]

We motored together, the maiden and I,
And I was delighted to take her,
For, frankly, I wanted my side-car to try
Its skill as a little matchmaker;
Though up to that time I had striven my best,
I'd more than a passing suspicion
The spark I was anxious to light in her breast
Still suffered from faulty ignition.

We started betimes in the promptest of styles
For scenes that were rustic and quiet;
I opened the throttle; we ate up the miles
(A truly exhilarant diet);
Till sharply, as over a common we went,
Gorse-clad (or it may have been heather),
The engine stopped short with a tactful intent
To leave the young couple together.

'Twas instinct (I take it) directing my course
That named as my first occupation
A fruitless endeavour to track to its source
The cause of this sudden cessation;
And so I had tinkered with tools for a space
Ere I thought of my favourite poet,
And said to myself, "Lo! the time and the place
And the loved one in unison; go it."

I might have remembered man seldom appears
Alluring in look or in manner
With a smut on his nose, oleaginous ears
And frenziedly clutching a spanner;
Though down by the cycle I fell to my knees
And ported my heart for inspection,
I only received for my passionate pleas
A curt and conclusive rejection.

* * * * *

"Gentlewoman, good family, small means, musical, devoted to parish
work, wishes to correspond with clergyman with view to being 'an
helpmeet for him.'"--_Church Times._

The _Matrimonial News_ must look to its laurels.

* * * * *

"The Picturedrome, ----, and ---- Cinema, have been acquired by a
London Syndicate, in which are several gentlemen."--_Provincial Paper._

We do not profess to know much about the film-trade, but is this so very unusual?

* * * * *

POST-WAR SIMPLICITY IN BATHING-GEAR.]

* * * * *

* * * * *

WAYS AND MEANS.

I have read somewhere that when and/or if railway fares are increased it will cost a man travelling with his wife and two children (the children being half-fares) as much as twenty pounds to take third-class return tickets to St. Ives.

Presumably this refers to the Cornish St. Ives, and to show how serious the problem will be for quite large families I need only refer my readers to the well-known poetical riddle which is generally supposed to refer to the Cornish St. Ives too. It will be seen at once that in the case of a septuagamist going to or returning from St. Ives with his family the cost will be vastly greater, even if no special luggage rates are leviable for the carriage of excess cats.

Fortunately there is a much nearer St. Ives in Huntingdonshire, and if I was going to St. Ives at all, with or without encumbrances, I should certainly choose that one. As a matter of fact the Huntingdonshire St. Ives is a very pleasant place indeed, with a lot of red-and-yellow cattle standing about, if one may take the authority of the County Card Game in these matters. It is almost as pleasant as Luton, where there is a fellow in a blue smock with side-whiskers and a reaping-hook, and Leicester, which consists solely of a windmill and a house where RICHARD III. slept on the night before the Battle of Bosworth Field. Not a word about RAMSAY MACDONALD.

But we are not talking about RAMSAY MACDONALD and the County Card Game; we are talking about Sir ERIC GEDDES and his railway fares, and talking pretty sharply too. What is to be done about this monstrous imposition? And how are we going to show the Government that you cannot play about with ozone as you can with margarine and coal? If only all passengers were prepared to act in concert it would be easy enough to bring Sir ERIC to his knees. The best and simplest plan would be for everybody to ask at the booking-office for a half-fare, stating boldly that his or her age was exactly eleven years and eleven months. It might not sound very convincing, of course, even if you had a red-and-black cricket-cap on the back of your head and covered your beard or what not with one hand; but a constant succession of people all demanding the same thing would most certainly cause the booking-clerk to give way. It might occur to him besides that, since so many people insisted on giving their wrong ages for the pleasure of fighting in war-time, they had a perfect right to do the same for the pleasure of travelling in peace-time; and in the case of the women his reputation for gallantry would be imperilled if he had the impudence to doubt their word.

But would everybody be prepared to take up this strong and reasonable line? I doubt it, and we must turn to the consideration of other economical devices.

One plan which I do not honestly recommend is travelling under the seats of the railway compartment, like _Paul Bultitude_ in _Vice Versa_. I say this partly because the accommodation under the seats is not all that it ought to be, and even where there is no heating apparatus a tight fit for large families, and partly because you have to face the possibility that your tickets may be demanded on the platform at the other end. Nor do I favour the method invariably adopted by people in cinema plays, which is to sit on the buffers or the roofs, or conceal yourself among the brakes or whatever they are underneath the carriages. Unless you drop off just before the terminus, which hurts, the same objection arises as in the under-the-seat method; and in any case you are practically certain to be spotted not only by the officials of the railway company concerned but with axle-grease.

It is of course possible to travel without concealment and without a ticket either, merely discovering with a start of surprise when you are asked for it that you have lost the beastly thing. But this involves acting. It involves hunting with a great appearance of energy and haste in all your pockets, your reticule, your hatband, the turn-ups of your trousers, _The Rescue_ (for you certainly used something as a book-marker) and finally turning out in front of all the other passengers the whole of your note-case, which proves that you cannot have been going to stay at the "Magnificent" after all, and the envelopes of all the old letters which you were taking down to the sea in the hopes of answering them there; and even after that you have to give the name and address of somebody you don't like (say Sir ERIC GEDDES) to satisfy the inspector.

On the whole I think the best way is the one which I mean to adopt myself at the earliest opportunity. Let us suppose that you are going to Brighton. At Victoria Station you will purchase (1) a return ticket to Streatham Common, (2) a platform ticket. The platform ticket entitles you to walk on to the platform from which the Brighton train starts, and, when it is just moving out and all the tickets have been looked at, you will leap on board. This brings you to Brighton, and all you have to do there is to accost the man who takes the tickets in a voice hoarse with fury. "Look here," you will say, "I had an important business engagement at Streatham Common, worth thousands and thousands of pounds to me, and one of your fool porters told me a wrong platform at Victoria. What are you going to do about it?" Now you might think that the porter would reply, "Come off it, Mister; you don't kid me like that," or make some other disappointing and impolite remark; but not a bit of it. Bluster is the thing that pays. First of all he will apologise, and then he will fetch the station-master, and he will apologise too, and after a bit they will offer you a special train back to Streatham Common, probably the one the KING uses when he goes to the seaside. But you will of course refuse to be pacified and wave it away, saying, "Useless, absolutely useless. Now that I am in this awful hole I shall spend the night here. But I shall certainly sue your Company for the amount of the business that I have lost."

That is what I mean to do, and with slight variations the ruse can be applied to almost any non-stop run. Now that I have given the tip I shall hope to find quite a little crowd of disappointed business men round the station exits at holiday time when and/or if railway fares are increased.

* * * * *

_Magistrate_. "SILENCE!" _Tout._ "W'Y, THERE WASN'T NO SUCH 'ORSE RUNNING."]

* * * * *

OUR NATURAL HISTORY COLUMN.

_Letters to the Editor._

THE HYDE PARK MONUMENT.

DEAR SIR,--The experience of the Parisian scavenger who recently discovered a crocodile in a dustbin encourages me to write to you on a similar subject. I note with profound dismay the proposal to turn Hyde Park into a Zoological Garden. At least this is not an unfair deduction from the scheme to instal a huge python in the neighbourhood of Hyde Park Corner. I do not profess to know much about snakes, but I believe the python is a most dangerous reptile, and I see it stated that the pythons which have just arrived at Regent's Park are "large and vigorous, already active and looking for food." Surely this monstrous suggestion, threatening the safety of the peaceful frequenters of the Park, calls for a national protest. Can it be that the PREMIER is at the back of this, as of every invasion of our rights?

Yours faithfully, MATERFAMILIAS.

P.S.--My son says it is a pylon, not a python, but that only makes it worse.

STRANGE EXPERIENCE OF A HERMIT.

DEAR SIR,--My grandfather, who died in the 'fifties, used to tell a story of a hermit who lived in Savernake Forest, an extraordinarily absent-minded man with a beard of such colossal dimensions that several of the feathered denizens of the forest took up their abode in its recesses. This curious phenomenon was, I believe, commemorated in verse by an early-Victorian poet, but I have not been able after considerable research to trace the reference. I have the honour to remain,

Yours faithfully, ISIDORE TUFTON

(Author of _The Growth of the Moustache Movement, The Topiary Art as
applied to Whiskers_, and the article on "Pogonotrophy" in _The
Hairdressers' Encyclopædia_).

PRESENCE OF MIND IN A PORBEAGLE.

DEAR SIR,--The following verses, though not strictly relevant to the crocodile incident, commemorate an occurrence illustrating the extent to which piscine intelligence can be developed in favourable circumstances:--

"There was an unlucky porbeagle
Who was picked up at sea by an eagle;
On reaching the nest
It began to protest
On the ground that the speed was illegal."

I am Sir, Yours faithfully, GEORGE WASHINGTON COOK.

* * * * *

"Lieut.-Commander Kenworthy said it had been advocated in _The Times_.

The Premier: I will be prepared to believe anything of _The Times_, but
really I do not tink it has ever suggested tat."--_Daily Mail_.

Mr. LLOYD GEORGE is always ready to give _The Times_ tink-for-tat.

* * * * *

_Fellow-Guest._ "MY DEAR, HE'S ONE OF THE FEW DECENT PEOPLE HERE--BELONGS TO AN OLD ENGLISH LABOURING FAMILY."]

* * * * *

I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER.

(_Carefully imitated from the best models, except that it has somehow
got into metre and rhyme._)

Four-and-ninety English winters
Having flecked my hair with snows,
I am ready for the printers,
And my publishers suppose
That these random recollections
Of a mid-Victorian male,
Owing to my high connections,
Ought to have a fairish sale.

Comrades of my giddy zenith,
Gazing back in retrospect,
I should say Lord Brixton (Kenneth)
Had the brightest intellect;
Though of course no age enfeebles
James Kircudbright's mental vim
(Now the seventh Duke of Peebles)--
I have lots of tales of Jim.

We were gilded youths together
In our Foreign Office days;
Used to fish and tramp the heather
At his uncle's castle, "Braes;"
I recall our wild elation
One day when we stole the hat,
At the Honduras Legation,
Of a Danish diplomat.

James had scarcely any vices,
His career was made almost
When the Guatemalan crisis
Caused him to resign his post;
He possessed a Gordon setter
On whose treatment by a vet
I once wrote _The Times_ a letter
Which has not been published yet.

Politics were dry and dusty,
Still they had their moods of fun,
As, for instance, when the crusty
Yet delightful Viscount Bunn
Broke into the Second Reading
Of a Church Endowment Bill
With a snore of perfect breeding
Which convulsed the Earl of Brill.

Through my kinship with the Gortons
I was much at Widnes Square;
People of the first importance
Often came to luncheon there;
GLADSTONE, DIZZY, even older
Statesmen used to throng the hall;
PALMERSTON once touched my shoulder--
Which one I do not recall.

Then I went to routs and dances,
Ah, how fine they were, and how
Different from the dubious prances
That the young indulge in now;
There I first encountered Kitty,
Told the girl I was a dunce,
But implored her to have pity,
And she said she would, at once.

Eh, well, well! I must not linger
On those glorious halcyon days;
Time with his relentless finger
Brings me to the second phase;
Politics were always creeping
Like a ghost across my view--
I contested Market Sleeping
In the Spring of Seventy-Two.

GLADSTONE--[No, please not. ED.]

EVOE.

* * * * *

"BRIGHTON.--The ----. One minute sea, West Pier, Lawns. Gas fires in
beds."--_Advt. in Daily Paper._

Thanks, but we prefer a hot-water bottle.

* * * * *

THE RABBIT. "MY OFFENSIVE EQUIPMENT BEING PRACTICALLY _NIL_, IT REMAINS FOR ME TO FASCINATE HIM WITH THE POWER OF MY EYE."]

* * * * *

ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

The reply of the Soviet Government to the Spa Conference was described by Mr. LLOYD GEORGE as "incoherent; the sort of document that might be drawn up by a committee composed of Colonel WEDGWOOD, Commander KENWORTHY, Lord ROBERT CECIL, Mr. BOTTOMLEY and Mr. THOMAS." It is understood that these hon. Members intend to hold an indignation meeting to discuss means--if any--of refuting this charge.]

_Monday, July 19th._--Opinions may differ as to the wisdom of the Peers in reopening the DYER case, but the large audience which assembled in the galleries, where Peeresses and Indians vied with one another in the gorgeousness of their attire, testified to the public interest in the debate. At first the speakers made no attempt to "hot up" their cold porridge. In presenting General DYER'S case Lord FINLAY was strong without rage. In rebutting it the UNDER-SECRETARY FOR INDIA proved himself a grave and reverend SINHA, without a trace of the provocativeness displayed by his Chief in the Commons. Not until the LORD CHANCELLOR intervened did the temperature begin to rise. His description of the incident in the Jullianwallah Bagh was only a little less lurid than that of Mr. MONTAGU. The Peers would, I think, have liked a little more explanation of how an officer who admittedly exhibited, both before and after this painful affair, "discretion, sobriety and resolution," should be regarded as having on this one day committed "a tragic error of judgment upon the most conspicuous stage," and may have wondered whether, if the stage had been less conspicuous, the critics would have been more lenient.

For as long as I can remember the French have been _partant pour la Syrie_. Now they have got there, with a mandate from the Supreme Council, and have come into collision with the Arabs. As we are the friends of both parties the situation is a little awkward. Mr. ORMSBY-GORE hoped we were not going to fight our Arab allies, and was supported by Lord WINTERTON, who saw service with them during the War. A diplomatic speech by Mr. BONAR LAW, who pointed out that the French were in Syria on just the same conditions as we were in Mesopotamia, helped to keep the debate within safe limits.

_Tuesday, July 20th._--The Lords continued the DYER debate. Lord MILNER confessed that he had approached the subject "with a bias in favour of the soldier," and showed how completely he had overcome it by finally talking about "Prussian methods"--a phrase that Lord SUMNER characterised as "facile but not convincing." Lord CURZON hoped that the Peers would not endorse such methods, but would be guided by the example of "Clemency" CANNING. The Lords however, by 129 to 86, passed Lord FINLAY'S motion, to the effect that General DYER had been unjustly treated and that a dangerous precedent had been established.

The FIRST COMMISSIONER OF WORKS was inundated with questions about the pylon and explained that it had been designed by Sir FRANK BAINES entirely on his own initiative. Its submission to the Cabinet had never been contemplated, and its exhibition in the Tea Room was due to an hon. Member, who said that a number of people would be interested. Apparently they were.

Asked if the scheme might be regarded as quite dead, Sir ALFRED MOND replied that he certainly thought so. In fact, to judge by his previous answer, it was never really alive.

There is still anxious curiosity regarding the increase of railway fares, but when invited to "name the day" Mr. BONAR LAW remained coy. Suggestions for postponements in the interests of this or that class of holiday-maker finally goaded him into asking sarcastically, "Why not until after Christmas?" Whereupon the House loudly cheered.

_Wednesday, July 21st._--Tactful man, Lord DESBOROUGH. In urging the Government to call a Conference to consider the establishment of a fixed date for Easter he supported his case with a wealth of curious information, some of it acquired from the Prayer-book tables, as he said, "during the less interesting sermons to which I have listened." You or I would have said "dull" _tout court_, and in that case we should not have deserved to receive, as Lord DESBOROUGH did, the almost enthusiastic support of the Archbishop of CANTERBURY.

In spite of this Lord ONSLOW, for the Government, was far from encouraging. He quite recognised the drawbacks of the movable Easter, and agreed that it was primarily a matter for the Churches. But he feared the Nonconformists might dissent, and displayed a hitherto unsuspected reverence for the opinion of the Armenians. Besides, what about the Dominions and Labour? And with Europe in such a state of unrest ought we to throw in a new apple of discord? With much regret the Government could not see their way, etc. Whereupon Lord DESBOROUGH, who seems to be easily satisfied, expressed his gratitude and withdrew his motion.

In an expansive moment Mr. MONTAGU once referred to Mr. GANDHI as his "friend." He did so, it appears, in the hope that the eminent agitator would abandon his disloyal vapourings. But the friendship is now finally sundered. Mr. GANDHI has been endeavouring to organise a boycott of the PRINCE OF WALES' visit to India, and, as Mr. MONTAGU observed more in sorrow than in anger, "Nobody who suggests disloyalty or discourtesy to the Crown can be a friend of any Member of this House, let alone a Minister."

If anyone were to take exception to the accuracy of some of the PRIME MINISTER'S historical allusions in his post-Spa oration he would doubtless reply, "I don't read history; I make it." He was tart with the Turks, gratulatory to the Greeks, peevish with the Poles and gentle to the Germans. The German CHANCELLOR and Herr VON SIMONS were described as "two perfectly honest upright men, doing their best to cope with a gigantic task." Their country was making a real effort to meet the indemnity; it was not entirely responsible for the delay in trying the war-criminals, and even in the matter of disarmament was not altogether blameworthy. The Bolshevists also were handled more tenderly than usual. Their reply was "incoherent" rather than "impertinent"--it might have been drawn up by a WEDGWOOD-KENWORTHY-CECIL-BOTTOMLEY-THOMAS syndicate. Still they must not be allowed to wipe out Poland, foolish and reckless as the Poles had been.

A well-informed speech was made by Mr. T. SHAW, evidently destined to be the Foreign Minister of the first Labour Cabinet. Having travelled in Russia he has acquired a distaste for the Soviet system, both political and industrial, and is confident that no amount of Bolshevist propaganda will induce the British proletarian to embrace a creed under which he would be compelled to work.

_Thursday, July. 22nd._--The Peers held an academic discussion on the League of Nations. Lords PARMOOR, BRYCE and HALDANE, who declared themselves its friends, were about as cheerful as JOB'S Comforters; Lord SYDENHAM was frankly sceptical of the success of a body that had, and could have, no effective force behind it; and Lord CURZON was chiefly concerned to dispel the prevalent delusion that the League is a branch of the British Foreign Office.

The Commons had an equally unappetising bill-of-fare, in which Ireland figured appropriately as the _pièce de résistance_. Sir JOHN REES' well-meant endeavour to furnish some lighter refreshment by an allusion to the Nauru islanders' habit of "broiling their brothers for breakfast" fell a little flat. The latest news from Belfast suggests that in the expression of brotherly love Queen's Island has little to learn from Nauru.

* * * * *

A SCENE AT THE CLUB.

I never liked Buttinbridge. I considered him a vulgar and pushful fellow. He had thrust himself into membership of my club and he had forced his acquaintance upon me.

I was sitting in the club smoking-room the other day when Buttinbridge came in. His behaviour was characteristic of the man. He walked towards me and said in a loud voice, "Cheerioh, old Sport!"

I drew the little automatic pistol with which I had provided myself in case of just such an emergency, took a quick aim and fired. Buttinbridge gave a convulsive leap, fell face downwards on the hearthrug and lay quite still. It was a beautiful shot--right in the heart.

The room was fairly full at the moment, and at the sound of the shot several members looked up from their newspapers. One young fellow--I fancy he was a country member recently demobilised--who had evidently watched the incident, exclaimed, "Pretty shot, Sir!" But two or three of the older men frowned irritably and said, "Sh-sh-sh!"

Seeing that it was incumbent upon me to apologise, I said, in a tone just loud enough to be audible to all present, "I beg your pardon, gentlemen." Then I dropped the spent cartridge into an ash-tray, returned the pistol to my pocket and was just stretching out my hand to touch the bell when old Withergreen, the _doyen_ of the club, interposed.

"Pardon me," he said, "I am a little deaf, but almost simultaneously with the fall of this member upon the hearthrug I fancied I heard the report of a firearm. May I claim an old man's privilege and ask if I am right in presuming a connection between the two occurrences, and, if so, whether there has been any recent relaxation of our time-honoured rule against assassination on the club premises?"

Shouting into his ear-trumpet, I said, "I fired the shot, Sir, which killed the member now lying upon the hearthrug. I did so because he addressed me in a form of salutation which I regard as peculiarly objectionable. He called me 'Old Sport,' an expression used by bookmakers and such."

"Um! Old Port?" mumbled old Withergreen.

"OLD SPORT," I shouted more loudly. Then I stepped to the writing-table, took a dictionary from among the books of reference, found the place I wanted and returned to the ear-trumpet.

"I find here," I said, for the benefit of the room at large, for all were now listening, though with some impatience, "that in calling me a '_sport_' the deceased member called me a plaything, a diversion. If he had called me a _sportsman_, which is here defined as 'one who hunts, fishes or fowls,' he would have been not necessarily more accurate but certainly less offensive."

At this point there stood up a member whom I recognised as one of the committee. "I am sure, Sir," he said, "that all present are agreed that you fired in defence of the purity of English speech, and that the incident was the outcome of an unfortunate attempt to relieve the financial embarrassment of the club by relaxing our former rigorous exclusiveness. Speaking as one of the committee, I have no doubt that the affair will be dismissed as _justifiable homicide_."

Having bowed my acknowledgments I rang the bell. When the waiter appeared I bade him "Bring me a black coffee and then clear away the remains of Mr. Buttinbridge."

* * * * *

Then I was awakened by the voice of Buttinbridge yelling, "Wake up, old Sport!"

* * * * *

_Farmer's Man._ "WELL, TO BE SURE, SIR, WE'D LOST OUR ONE-POUND WEIGHT; BUT WE TOOK ONE OF YOUR POUND PACKETS OF TEA TO WEIGH IT WITH."]

* * * * *

THE PECULIAR CASE OF TOLLER.

Toller first floated into public notice on the fame of Rodman, who by an irony of fate is now all but forgotten. Rodman, it may be remembered, was a promising young poet during the first decade of this century. Out of a scandalous youth whose verses made their appearance in slim periodicals that expired before their periodicity could be computed, he was evolving into a reputable poet who was given a prominent position facing advertising matter in the heavy magazines when he met with his regrettably early end. Apart from his poems he left no literary remains, except a few letters too hideously ungrammatical for publication. The sole materials for a biography lay in the memory of Toller, who by a stroke of luck happened to have known him intimately.