Chapter II: Part 2

"Sergeant Steel," I said, "you always _did_ have the knack of being in exactly the right spot at the right moment. I haven't set eyes on you since that very hot day in '16, when you brought up the remnants of 14 platoon and pulled me out of that tight corner at Guillemont. That was a valuable bit of work, Sergeant, but nothing to this--simply nothing!"

The solicitous curve had straightened out from his broad shoulders. His hands had ceased their soothing massage. His heels were together, his arms glued to his sides, his eyes glaring at a fixed point directly over the top of my head.

"Thought it was you, Sir, as soon as I saw you. But of course I wasn't going to say anything till you did." It was not the ingratiating voice now, but that rasping half-whisper he always used for nocturnal conferences in the front line. "Never heard anything of you, Sir, since you went down with a Blighty after Guillemont. Beg your pardon, Sir, but you looked a bit windy as you came in just now, so I thought I'd keep in support.... Yes, Sir, got my ticket last month--only been back on my old job a fortnight."

I tapped the parcel that Miss Robinson's own fair hands had made up for me.

"This a good issue, Sergeant?" I said. "Sound and reliable and all that?"

"Couldn't be better, Sir. I had my eye on her. We only drew it ourselves lately. That's the stuff to give 'em. You can safely carry on with that, Sir ... a perfect match ... exquisite blending of colour ... those art shades are to be very fashionable this season, I assure you, Sir."

Imperceptibly his hands had resumed their massage, the solicitous curve had returned to his broad shoulders, his voice was ingratiating again.

"We have a large range of all the daintiest materials. I believe our charmeuse, ninons and crêpe-de-Chines to be unrivalled in town, Sir. A little damp under foot to-day, Sir, but warmer, I think--distinctly warmer. Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir, _Good_ day, Sir."

And Sergeant Steel (D.C.M. and four chevrons) bowed me into the street.

* * * * *

* * * * *

LITERARY GOSSIP.

MR. WELLS has a new volume of collected Prefaces coming out this week, with an Introduction and an Epilogue by Sir HARRY JOHNSTON. It will be remembered that in _Joan and Peter_, a comparatively early work of Mr. WELLS--it was published, if our memory serves us, before the Armistice--handsome acknowledgment was made of Sir HARRY JOHNSTON'S administrative ability and high aims; and it is pleasant to know that in the long interval that has elapsed nothing has occurred to modify their mutual admiration.

* * * * *

The firm of Black and Green will shortly publish Lord DYSART'S monumental monograph on _China Tea: the Universal Antidote._ Lord DYSART establishes the remarkable fact that the word "dyspepsia" was practically unknown until the introduction of Indian and Ceylon tea. Mr. WELLS, who contributes an illuminating Preface, points out that the troubles of Russia are entirely due to the cutting off of the supplies of caravan tea from China (the leading Bolshevists prefer vodka to tea in any form) and the consequent recourse to inferior synthetic substitutes. The rival merits of cream, milk and lemon are carefully discussed both from the gustatory and hygienic standpoint, Mr. WELLS pronouncing in favour of lemon, in which idiosyncrasy he resembles Mr. CONRAD and Mr. GALSWORTHY. The volume is richly illustrated with pictures of rare tea-pots, tea-caddies and samovars, and contains a set of humorous verses dedicated to the author by Mr. T. LEIF JONES.

* * * * *

The Right Hon. REGINALD MCKENNA'S new book, _The Proud Podsnaps_, will be his first novel, and we hear it is to be humorous. His distinguished relative, Mr. STEPHEN MCKENNA, Mr. WELLS and Mr. HERBERT JENKINS have all written encouraging Prefaces to it; and Master ANTHONY ASQUITH has added two essays on commercial aviation and a couple of brilliant caricatures of Mr. LLOYD GEORGE and Mr. WINSTON CHURCHILL.

* * * * *

Mr. HAROLD BEGBIE'S _Life of the Kaiser_ is already far advanced, but he has laid it on one side in order to collaborate with Sir ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE in the authoritative biography of Sir OLIVER LODGE. It is understood that of the chapters dealing with the physiognomy and phrenological aspect of the subject Mr. HAROLD BEGBIE will be exclusively responsible for those on the frontal regions of Sir OLIVER'S cranium, while Sir ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE will devote himself to the occipital Hinterland. In this way it is hoped that the whole area, which is enormous, will be adequately covered. The book will be published by Messrs. Odder and Odder at 10s. 6d.; but a limited number of copies, with special tambourine and planchette attachments, will be available at £2 2s.

* * * * *

To the list of biographies of the PRIME MINISTER already published or in contemplation there remains to be added one by an author who veils his identity under the pseudonym of "Mount Carmel." It will bear the title, _Lloyd George_--_Saint or Dragon_? and will be prefaced by an introduction by Mr. Stickham Weed, in which that eminent publicist discusses the antagonism of the Celtic temperament to Jugo-Slav ideals. The book will be published at Fontainebleau.

* * * * *

The new Cardiff firm of Jenkins and Jones announce a novel from the pen of Mr. Caradoc Blodwen, who had to fly from his native village last year owing to the realistic picture he gave of local life in _The Home of the Squinting Widows_. It is to be called _Taffy was a Thief_; and those who have had the privilege of seeing early copies of the book, which Mr. Blodwen wrote during his seclusion amongst the Hairy Ainus, describe it as lurid in the extreme.

* * * * *

Mr. Cuthbert Skrimshanks's new novel is being looked forward to expectantly by those who admire the vital and distinguished artistry of his work. The author, it will be remembered, was employed in a firm of ginger-beer bottlers before he took to literature, and Mr. WELLS, who contributes a Preface, dwells happily on the stimulating and phosphorescent quality which his literary work owes to his employment, and contrasts it favourably with the flatness of Eton "Pop."

* * * * *

Yet another Shakspearean volume, which promises to be of engrossing interest, has been written by Lord BLEDISLOE. It is to be called _Bacon and Hamlet_, and Sir THOMAS LIPTON has contributed an Introduction, in which the organisation of the food supply in the Elizabethan age is exhaustively described. This exhaustive work, which is dedicated to General STORRS, the Governor of Jerusalem, will be published by Messrs. FORTNUM and MASON.

* * * * *

_Tony_. "I KNOW. ADAM. I CAN ALWAYS GUESS THESE SUNDAY RIDDLES."]

* * * * *

"C'EST LA GUERRE."

A brace of chemists' labels:--

This preparation is issued in amber glass pots, as a War Emergency
Measure, when white glass is not available owing to shortage."

"War Bottle. Amber glass is not obtainable just now, so we have to
use white glass. May we ask you to grant us your kind indulgence
under the circumstances?"

* * * * *

"A bullet fired at a pig from a humane killer, struck the wall
of a Merthyr Tydvil slaughterhouse, ricochetted and wounded a
butcher's manager."--_Daily Paper_.

The victim regards the name of the instrument as most inept.

* * * * *

"Lord Salvesen, the presiding judge, arrived in Aberdeen on Monday
night, and gave a winner in the Palace Hotel."--_Sunday Paper_.

We hope to meet him in London before the Derby.

* * * * *

POLLY.

_(With acknowledgments to Mr. KIPLING.)_

I went into a private 'ouse to get a place as cook;
The lady ups an' greets me with a most angelic look:
"I've just been makin' tea," she sez, "I 'opes as you will try
These little scones wot I 'ave baked;" and to myself sez I:
"It was Polly this, an' Polly that, an' 'Polly, scrub the
floor,'
But it's 'If you please, Miss Perkins,' since we won the
bloomin' War;
We won the bloomin' War, my girls, we won the bloomin' War,
It's 'If you please, Miss Perkins,' since we won the
bloomin' War."

The lady she was out to please; we talked about the weather,
An' when the tea was done we smoked a cigarette together,
An' then we talked o' jazzin' an' the BILLIE CARLETON case,
An' so we come in course o' time to talkin' o' the place.

"You won't mind cookin' lunch?" sez she. Sez I, "Without a doubt,
On Toosdays an' on Fridays, which they ain't my 'alf-days out;
An' dinner, too, I'll manage"--'ere the lady give a grin--
"On Mondays an' on Thursdays, which they 'll be my evenings in."

"An' wot about the breakfast?" "Don't you worry, mum," sez I,
"I'm willin' to oblige you every single blessed dye,
Bar Sundays, when my young man comes; 'e's such a bloomin' toff,
'E takes me up the river, so I takes the 'ole day off."

"That's excellent," the lady sez, "I'll easy do the rest,
So if you come, Miss Perkins, you will be our honoured guest,
For Mr. Vere de Vere an' I do all we can an' more
To please the splendid women wot 'ave bin an' won the War."

Well, seein' as the lady seemed to 'ave the proper view,
I took the situation an' I 'opes as it will do.
Of course there may be drawbacks, but you can't get _all_ you wish,
For aprons ain't quite overalls an' cookin' ain't munish.
It was Polly this, an' Polly that, an' "Ugh! the mutton's red;"
But it's "_Won't_ you come, Miss Perkins?" now we're paid to
stay in bed;
An' it's Polly this, an' Polly that, an' anythink you please;
An' Polly ain't a bloomin' fool--you bet that Polly sees!

* * * * *

"LES BEAUX ESPRITS SE RENCONTRENT."

"Persons expressing unpopular views (by which I mean views opposed
to such patriots as Horatio Bottomley, Colonel Lowther, and
our own hon. and gallant member of Parliament, et hog genus
omne)."--_Letter in "The Daily News_."

"There have been more pig posts than there have been big men able
to fill them.--Mr. Bonar Law."--_Bristol Times and Mirror_.

* * * * *

From an article on the Zeebrugge exploit:--

"An on-shore wind was needed to carry the fog-screen in advance
of the blockships. Absence of fog was essential. A fog would be
beneficial. These desiderata postulated a concurrence of
favourable conditions, and on April 23 they were not all
present."--_Cologne Post_.

We gather that the Censor, shortly to be demobilised at home, still maintains his watch on the Rhine.

* * * * *

CRITICISM IN EXCELSIS.

There was a good deal of excitement in the Elysian Fields when the news went round that the Committee had exercised their power of electing a certain distinguished Shade to full membership of the Asphodel Club without a ballot. The general opinion seemed to be that the Committee had acted wisely, and that the election was in every way justified. A few members, however, expressed disapproval, not so much on account of any demerits of his own as of the effect that his election might produce on the sensitive minds of some who were already members.

"This Dr. SAMUEL JOHNSON," said one who had been busy in canvassing opinions, "is fully qualified for membership, but I fear he may have a deleterious effect on JOHN MILTON and THOMAS GRAY. Did he not roughly criticise them in his _Lives of the Poets_, and do you think that MILTON is one who will sit down tamely under the affront? MILTON has been for years and is still one of our most distinguished members. Indeed, he has almost the standing amongst us of a highly-respected Bishop. He uses the Club a great deal, and I fear his comfort will be much reduced by the admission of one who regards his poetry with a hostile eye."

"In what way," said another, "has the denouncer of SALMASIUS become entitled to complain of rough attacks? Nor has his character been assailed. In that he remains episcopal. Only in his poetry is he made to suffer."

"But he is made to suffer pretty heavily," said a third. "Hear what JOHNSON said with regard to our friend's _Lycidas_:--

"'One of the poems on which much praise has been bestowed is _Lycidas_; of which the diction is harsh, the rhymes uncertain and the numbers unpleasing. What beauty there is we must therefore seek in the sentiments and images. It is not to be considered as the effusion of real passion; for passion runs not after remote allusions and obscure opinions. Passion plucks no berries from the myrtle and ivy, nor calls upon Arethuse and Mincius, nor tells of rough _satyrs_ and _fauns with cloven heel_. Where there is leisure for fiction there is little grief.

"'In this poem there is no nature for there is no truth; there is no art for there is nothing new. Its form is that of a pastoral: easy, vulgar and therefore disgusting.'

"Do you call that criticism?"

"Ah, but listen," said another and much agitated Shade, "to what he says of our respected THOMAS GRAY. The Committee must have forgotten how it goes:--

"These odes are marked by glittering accumulation of ungraceful ornaments; they strike rather than please; the images are magnified by affectation, the language is laboured into harshness. The mind of the writer seems to work with unnatural violence. _Double, double, toil and trouble_. He has a kind of strutting dignity and is tall by walking on tiptoe."

The agitated Shade was about to proceed further with his protest when a sound of cheering stopped him. And lo and behold! an approving throng was circling round the new member, and in the thick of it were JOHN MILTON and THOMAS GRAY.

* * * * *

"FOR THIS RELIEF," ETC.

From a Girl Guides' report:--

"The thanks of the Association are due to the following ladies who
have resigned...."

* * * * *

"Sir George Newman and Mr. Philip Snowden have resigned their
membership of the Central Control Board" (Liquor Traffic).

"Caruso has sung at 550 performances."--_Evening Paper_.

All the same, there seems to have been a lack of harmony.

* * * * *

_Parlourmaid (with dignity)._ "NO, MADAM. HER LADYSHIP IS AT HOME ON THE FIRST AND THIRD WEDNESDAYS IN THE MONTH; BUT WHEN THERE IS A FIFTH WEDNESDAY THAT IS TO _OUR_ ADVANTAGE."]

* * * * *

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

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

_My War Experiences in Two Continents_ (MURRAY) is made up of the diary and letters of Miss MACNAUGHTAN, written during her search for work that might help in the great Task. The book, it is sad to say, must serve as her memorial to those many whom she has amused by her bright and wholesome stories. Worn out by labours and quests beyond her strength she fell sick at Teheran in 1916 and returned to England to die. In 1914 she had done fine service with her soup-kitchen in Flanders, where her energy and almost too tender sympathy had full scope and the reward of good work accomplished. She seemed also to be happy in her lecture tour on her return to England, trying to arouse the sluggish-minded to a sense of the gravity of the business. But in her Russian and Persian adventure it is clear that she was deeply disappointed at feeling herself unwanted and useless in a region of waste and muddle. It is probable that for all her courage and unselfish devotion she was too sensitive to the suffering she encountered ever to attain the routine indifference which makes work among such horrors possible. Her deep religious convictions aggravated rather than eased that suffering. She was honestly old-fashioned and never took quite kindly to the khaki-breeched free-spoken young women of the subsidiary war services, had a hatred of muddle and was a little severe on men, though acknowledging that "young men are the kindest members of the human race." True this, I should say, who am no longer young. "The war is fine, _fine_, FINE, though I don't get near the fineness except in the pages of _Punch_." Charming of her to say that.

* * * * *

The heroine of _Miss Fingal_ (BLACKWOOD) is called by her publishers "a woman whose distinguishing trait is femininity," to which they add, with obvious truth, "a refreshing creation in these days." Really, in this one phrase Messrs. BLACKWOOD have covered the ground so comprehensively that I have little more to do than subscribe my signature. To fill in details, Mrs. W.K. CLIFFORD'S latest is a quietly sympathetic tale about a lonely gentlewoman (this you can take either as one or two words) rescued from a life of penury by the will of a rich uncle, transferred from her tiny flat in Battersea to Bedford Square and a country cottage, expanding in prosperity, and generally proving the old adage that where there's a will there's a way, indeed several ways, of spending the result agreeably. As I have said, it is all the gentlest little comedy of happiness, not specially exciting perhaps. I find it characteristic of Mrs. CLIFFORD'S method that the only at all violent incident, a railway smash, happens discreetly out of sight, and does no more than provide its victim with an enjoyable convalescence, and the attentive reader with the suggestion of a psychological problem that is both unnecessary and unconvincing. The best of the tale is its picture of _Miss Fingal_ herself, rescued from premature decay and gradually recovering her youth under the stimulus of new interests and opportunities. Whether the now rather too familiar _Kaiser-ex-machina_ solution was needed in order to rid the stage of a superfluous character is open to question; but at all events it leaves _Miss Fingal_ happy in companionship and assured of the success that waits upon a satisfactory finish.

* * * * *

"How can I"--I seem to hear the author of _Elizabeth and Her German Garden_ communing with herself--"how can I write a story, with all my necessary Teutonic ingredients in it, which shall be popular even during the War?" And then I seem to see the satisfaction with which she hit upon the solution of inventing pretty twin girls of seventeen, an age which permits remarks with a sting in them to be uttered apparently in innocence and yet is marriageable or, at any rate, engageable; making them orphans; giving them a German father and an English mother, and very mixed sympathies, in which England predominates; and sending them to America to pass its novelty under their candid European eyes. Much of the satisfaction which her scheme must have given to the authoress of _Christopher and Columbus_ (MACMILLAN) is shared by its readers, although the feeling that it has been made to order to fit a difficult market is never absent. For much of the dialogue, and often when most amusing, does not ring true, and we are occasionally asked to believe that the twins could be far slower in the uptake than at other, and less inconvenient, times they show themselves to be. But the book is another sufficing proof that the male sex has no monopoly of humour.

* * * * *

Mr. CHRISTOPHER CULLEY, in his rather superfluous and petulant preface to _Billy McCoy_ (CASSELL), observes that such reviewers as "may find time to skip through its pages" will probably call it a Romance. Well, skipping or not, here is one reviewer who will not disappoint him. A story of a hero who adventures into sinister places, disregards repeated warnings to "go back ere it is too late" (or the American for that entrancing formula), meets there a Distressed Damsel and kisses her as introduction, and finally, after an infinity of perils, is left with the D.D. as his B.B., or blushing bride--this I state emphatically to be not only Romance, but a most excellent brand of that article. What however Mr. CULLEY seems most to fear is that we shall think that _McCoy_ himself and the whole setting (New Mexican scenes) are all make-believe. He need have had no such alarm in my case. I have, I remember, already commented on the admirable reality of his cowboys, as exemplified in the hero of a previous story. _Billy_, if just a little less convincing, is in many ways a worthy companion. But Mr. CULLEY'S heroines always strike me as inferior to his men. They have the air of hanging about in corners of the tale, and generally of being rather a nuisance than a delight to their creator. But the heroine of _Billy McCoy_ makes hardly a pretence of being other than a lay figure; without her it would be just as entertaining and exciting, if perhaps less completely furnished for Romance.

* * * * *

While reading _"Q" Boat Adventures_ (JENKINS) I kept on telling myself that it ought to be read in small doses if the greatest enjoyment was to be got from it; but all the same I could not let it out of my hands. "The 'Q' boat," says Lieutenant-Commander AUTEN, V.C., "was a 'stunt' possible only to a nation of sailors. Officers might be found for 'Q' boats in any country with a seaboard; but men--no;" and I imagine that few Englishmen will be found to deny this statement. Elizabethan days for all their spaciousness contained nothing more incredibly brave than the exploits of these decoy boats, exploits which could only be carried out if absolutely every man taking part in them played his rôle to perfection. And it cannot be too widely noted that after the Huns had become suspicious the "Q" boat had to invite a torpedo as a preliminary to real business. Officers and men alike deserve all the gratitude their nation can give them, not only for their courage in action, but also for their patience when spending dreary months without getting to grips with the enemy. Few things are more demoralizing than to wait to be attacked and to find no one kind enough to accommodate you; but even during all these long periods of inaction the discipline and keenness of the "Q" boat crews never relaxed. Lieut.-Commander AUTEN has done a great service in telling us of these astounding achievements and of the infinite difficulties in the way of their successful accomplishment. We may be a nation of short memories, but it is impossible to believe that our "Q" boats will ever be forgotten.

* * * * *

Anything more Pettridgian than _The Bustling Hours_ (METHUEN) cannot be conceived and cannot certainly be written. That means that Mr. PETT RIDGE'S latest book will be heartily welcomed and thoroughly enjoyed by the large circle of his readers. Mr. PETT RIDGE is as good as a tonic in these depressing days, and without any effort he keeps at a high level of sane cheerfulness. His heroine is a certain _Dorothy Gainsford_, who has the gift of turning up at exactly the right moment and of getting exactly the right thing done, or more often of doing it herself. She really is a marvel and the last word in efficiency. There is only one thing at which I hint a doubt or hesitate dislike. She takes a banjo with her to a picnic on the Upper Thames.

* * * * *

* * * * *

There was a young man who said, "How,
With the minimum sweat of my brow,
Can I find jobs to do
For a maximum screw?"
So they said to him, "Why not try Slough?"