Chapter L: G. came up to Carryon Hall heavily masked. I gave him an excellent

dinner and some equally good advice, and he left much heartened.

* * *

Dined at Lady RANDOLPH'S. A merry crowd there. Every one very gay and amusing; but we forgot that WINSTON was our hostess's son and castigated him badly. Lady JULIET said that with some people, no matter what they begin to talk about, even with Cabinet Ministers, it all comes back to food.

* * *

Wrote a careful article pointing out that we must have at least one hundred more divisions in the West before next Friday.

* * *

I was gratified to learn to-day that in consequence of my articles _The Morning Post_ has doubled its circulation, while _The Times_ hardly sells a copy.

* * *

Lunched with MASSINGHAM of _The Nation_, who eats more sensibly than he writes.

In Paris. Saw CLEMENCEAU at the War Ministry. His table was littered with papers and reports, amongst which he pointed out laughingly one of my articles. I can't think why he laughed. Lunched at Voisin's.

* * *

Left for rapid tour of inspection to British H.Q. Found much to put right. Issued an Order of the Day to soldiers of all ranks. The Germans, hearing of my presence, made desperate attempts to bomb me, but failed. Food at the Front not very alluring.

Yesterday's article, I learn, put the wind up the War Cabinet, and great things may result. All my pleasure spoilt, however, by breaking a tooth on a pellet in a Ritz grouse.

* * *

Visited the French H.Q. and was pleased with FOCH, whom I asked to run over to Carryon when he was ever in any doubt. Sent home a powerful article which, when it is reproduced in all the French papers, as it will be, should encourage him and improve his position.

* * *

Dined at Lady RIDLEY'S. A very cheery party and much chaff. Mrs. ASQUITH said that she was writing her reminiscences. I made no mention of my diary, but if I don't get it out in book form before hers I'm not the Colonel of the Nuts.

* * *

To-day's article should bring things to a head very shortly. Shall be very glad when it is over and I can rest a little. Took some bicarbonate of soda.

* * *

Armistice signed. Spent the day in a kind of triumphal procession from restaurant to restaurant, at each of which I was hailed with applause.

* * *

Reached Versailles and let the news be known. A visible quickening up already to be noted.

* * *

Sent for President WILSON, but something must have prevented his coming. Lunched at Paillard's and dined at Larue's. Saw an amusing Palais Royal farce.

* * *

_June 28th_, 1920.--Treaty of Peace, for which I have worked so long, signed at last. Now I can utter my _Nunc Dimittis_, having accomplished the two ends I had in view--to bring the first world War to a more or less satisfactory finish and to make it dangerous for any but the deaf and dumb to dine out.

E. V. L.

* * * * *

THE LATE WORM

(_Being a correction of "A Ballad of the Early Worm," "Punch," October 6th_).

OH ye whose hearts were rent with pain
A few short weeks ago,
Is it unkind to harp again
Upon that tale of woe?

You know the tale--in _Punch_, I mean--
Pathetic every word;
Three wormlets fought to stand between
Pa and the Early Bird.

You sorrowed for their non-success
(By use of triple strength
They saved their father's life--ah yes--
But not his total length).

You thought, of course--I know you did--
That Father left his hole,
A briskly virtuous annelid,
To take an early stroll.

Well, now just go and read a book
Called _Vegetable Mould
And Earthworms_ (DARWIN); if you look
You'll find that you've been sold.

It's not my own, it's DARWIN'S firm
Authority I cite:
_There never is an early worm;
Pa had been out all night._

He swaggered forth at eventide
And stayed till dawn next day;
For I will not attempt to hide
That _worms behave that way._

So pious folk like you and me
Should not be filled with woe
At thought of Father's tragedy;
_His morals were so low._

* * * * *

Our Courtly Contemporaries.

"The Earl of Athlone walked away on foot, as is the simple way of
our Royal Family." _Sunday Paper._

* * * * * "High-backed chair of Tudor period, about 1660."--_Advt. in Daily Paper._

We don't question its genuineness, but infer that it has been subjected to Restoration.

* * * * *

"Furnished House, consisting of dining, drawing, eight breakfast
rooms, etc." _Sunday Paper._

Would suit a large family inclined to be short-tempered in the morning.

* * * * *

ALIEN RIOTER. "DOWN WITH EVERYBODY!"

P.C. JOHN BULL. "WELL, WE'LL MAKE A START WITH YOU."]

* * * * *

THE HERO WHO KEEPS UP HIS ARMY EXERCISES, STRIKE OR NO STRIKE.]

* * * * *

A LETTER TO THE BACK-BLOCKS.

DEAR GINGER,--So you have bought a very promising little gold-mine from a rollicking Irish nobleman called Patrick Terence O'Ryan, who is retiring on Mayo to take up the paternal estates. H-m!--have you? And you think you yourself will be retiring home presently on the proceeds of the said mine? H-m! again. There is a certain familiarity in your description of the gentleman. Tell me, has this Hibernian philanthropist a slight squint, a broken nose and a tendency to lisp in moments of excitement?

I think I see you nod.

Ginger, I once bought a mine from that man. His name was Algernon Maddox Cholmondely _then_, and he was homeward bound to assume the ancestral acres in Flint. He escorted me down the hole and displayed visible gold sparkling all along the reef. A week after he had gone I found that he had put it there with a shot-gun--an old "salter's" trick, but new to me at the time. You are not likely to be seeing Patrick Algernon Terence Maddox O'Ryan-Cholmondely again, but, if you should, remember me to him, please--with the business end of a pick-axe. Always delighted to keep in touch with old friends.

Ginger, _you never can tell_. This is not an original remark. One of our brainy boys--George Bernard, unless I err--thought of it before I did; went away into the wilderness, wrapped his grey-matter in wet Jaeger bandages, subsisted on a diet of premasticated grape-nuts and produced this aphorism. And there's a world of truth in it, my son. You certainly never can.

One fine morning last August (yes, there was _one_), I stepped out of my diggings in an obscure Cornish fishing-village to find a gentleman busily engaged strangling a lady on the cliff side. He had her by the throat and was gradually forcing her over the edge. Once in Bristol I interposed in a slogging contest between husband and wife and was very properly chastised for my interference, not only by the happy pair but by the entire street, who had valuable bets laid on the event. That, you say, should have been a lesson to me. But you know me, Ginger, impetuous, chivalrous, brave; I simply couldn't stand there and watch a defenceless woman--moreover a good-looking woman--foully done to death like that. I flung myself upon the villain--that is to say I spoke to him about it.

"Oh, dash it, old bean," I said, "draw it mild!"

Somebody shouted something behind me, but I didn't catch its purport for the sufficient reason that at that moment the long-suffering cliff gave way and we all went overboard, all three of us, he, she and it--me.

Fortunately the drop wasn't terrific--not more than four feet or so--and the tide happened to be in at the time, which was very decent of it. My first thought as I came to the surface--or, at any rate, _one_ of my first thoughts--was "What of the woman?" I struck out for the poor creature. At the same moment she struck out for me, and, what is more, she got me too, clean between the eyes--a straight left-hander.

"Out of my way, fathead!" she hissed and went on for the shore under her own steam at about forty knots an hour. I was washed up myself, along with a quantity of other jetsam, a few minutes later, to be met by a small furious man with a heliotrope complexion and white spats who wagged bunches of typescript under my nose and informed me that I had absolutely ruined about twenty million feet of the Flickerscope Company's five-reel paralyser, "The Smuggler's Bride."

Of course you say that you saw what was coming all along. Of course you did. But wait a moment.

Yesterday afternoon I was strolling down a certain fashionable street when a loud explosion occurred in a near-by shop and a cloud of acrid grey smoke came rolling out. Being by nature as inquisitive as a chipmunk I was on the point of shoving my head round the door-jamb to see what was up when caution prompted me to turn round. Yes, there they were, of course, a tall, thin youth winding away at a cine-camera like an Italian at a barrel-organ, and beside him a heavy-weight Israelite, dancing a war-dance, waving bunches of typescript and howling at me to stand clear. I had very near ruined a further mile or two of film.

I sprang out of range, and then, wishing to atone for my previous blunders and prove that I really had no malevolent intentions towards a struggling industry, I went round and assisted the caracoling producer in stemming the crowd. Among others I stemmed a pushful policeman. I didn't notice he was a policeman until he was biting the dust, with my stick between his legs. However an instantaneous application of palm-oil made it all right between us, and he squatted half-stunned on the kerb, nursing his brow with one hand, my five bob with the other and took no further interest in the proceedings. And very interesting they were, too.

Three masked men dashed out of the shop laden with booty and were pursued by a fourth, whom they knocked on the head and left lying for dead on the pavement. Most realistic. The crowd, led by me, cheered like mad. Then the thieves jumped into a waiting car and were whirled away. That done, the photographer and his step-dancing friend leapt into a second car and were whirled away also. Once more we cheered. I made a short speech to the effect that everything was all right with the British Cinema business and, after leading a few more cheers for myself, came home.

"Well," you say, "all very jolly and so on, but what about it?"

There's this about it, old companion, just this, that I am very probably spending a meditative winter in gaol. The charge is that I did aid and abet a peculiarly ingenious gang of desperadoes to blow a jeweller's safe, knock the jeweller on the head and get safely away with the stuff. I am even accused of obstructing the police. An inspector has been round to see me this morning and he tells me there is practically no hope. He advises me, as between friends, to make a clean breast of it, return the boodle, betray my accomplices, plead mental deficiency and trust to the clemency of the Court. It's pretty rough, after making all arrangements for spending a cheerful Christmas in Algiers, to have it changed to cold porridge in Parkhurst or Princetown. Of the two I hope it'll be Parkhurst, for Princetown, so _habitues_ tell me, is no place for a growing lad when the wintry winds do blow.

Thine, _de profundis_ PATLANDER.

* * * * *

_Mabel._ "I _AM_ GOING OUT."]

* * * * *

Rhymes of Unrest.

There was a young miner of Ayr
Who gave himself up to despair;
For he said, "If we're paid
On our 'get,' I'm afraid
That I canna ca' canny no mair."

"Strike while the iron is hot,"
Said the wise old saw of old;
But the miners say, "What rot!
Strike while the weather's cold."

* * * * *

"The art of decoration is alien to painting in this--that you must
mix your colours with your brains."--_Daily Paper._

We await a reply from the intellectuals of Chelsea.

* * * * *

"There is one building now being erected, within a few miles of
Manchester as the cock crows."--_Provincial Paper._

We are unfamiliar with this method of mensuration.

* * * * *

ABOUT CONFERENCES.

WE may not have coal, but we can have conferences. A conference is the most typically English thing that there is. The old Anglo-Saxons had them and called them moots. Why they called them a silly name like that, when "conferences" would have done just as well, one can't imagine; but they had their notions and stuck to them. They would have called Parliament a moot; in fact they did. They called it a moot of wise men. Sarcastic beggars, these Anglo-Saxons!

The advantages of having a conference about everything are almost too numerous to explain. For one thing, suppose Smith is coming to see you at 2.30 P.M. "It's no use his waiting now," you say. "I've got a conference at 3. Tell him to come back at 5.30." And when he comes back at 5.30 of course the conference is still going on, so you don't have to see him at all.

There is nothing again that makes you feel so deliciously important as being at a conference. You may be a leader of quite an insignificant body of workers, like the Nutcracker-Teeth Makers' Union, but you rub shoulders at a conference with men whose names are a household word throughout the whole of Great Britain, amongst those who have houses. The distinguished and the undistinguished lay their heads together; the spat-wearing get their feet mixed with the non-spat-wearing; though there is rather a fake, mind you, about this spat-wearing business, for it may simply mean that the uppers are very badly worn, or that only that very bright pink pair of socks came home from the wash this week, or even that there are no socks underneath at all.

But anyhow, at a conference, Tom, Dick and Harry hobnob with Bob, James and George, and all are equal, except perhaps the chairman, who has two more pens in front of him and a much larger ash-tray. Mr. BEVIN and Sir ERIC GEDDES smile affably across at each other, and the PRIME MINISTER and Mr. CRAMP find out how much they have in common, such as love of poetry and pelargoniums. The mine-owner offers the miners' representative a cigarette, and the miners' representative says to the mine-owner, "Many thanks, old boy; but I'll have one of my own." And after it is over they all go out and stand arm-in-arm in a long row to be photographed for the papers, and are read next morning from left to right. It is the ambition of every properly constituted Englishman to wake up some morning and find that his portrait is being read from left to right; but how few succeed.

The total output of conferences in this country during one year has never been computed yet, but it is supposed to exceed that of any country in the world, except Red India. If there were to be a strike of conferents or conferees, whatever they are called, in England, it is impossible to say what would happen. But it might be possible to lay down a datum line--a shilling extra for the first million words above two hundred and fifty million per shift, and two shillings more for every million words above that. Fortunately this will never be necessary, for people who confer are so fond of conferences that they will never down chairs.

And no wonder. Only a very strong man can hew coal, and only a very reckless one can make a speech, but almost anyone can confer if he has a large enough ash-tray; and there seems no reason why more people shouldn't confer. Everybody is interested in conferences, whatever they are about, and the British public ought to be admitted to this kind of thing. One is always reading in the paper that the sound commonsense or the traditional sense of fair play of the great British public will support the miners in any just claim; but this claim is not just or just isn't, or something of that sort. But how do they know what the great British public will feel about it? They aren't there, are they? There ought to be representatives of the G.B.P. on all these conferences. They ought to be chosen from a rota, like jurymen. Very likely one of them would have found out what a datum line is, anyway. There's a man who comes up in the train with me in the morning who thinks he knows, but unfortunately he gets out at Croydon so we haven't found out yet.

By having a lot more conferences and having a lot of representatives from the public on them all, and paying them well for it, one could practically settle the unemployment problem for the winter. If the Government can only be brought to see that this is the only statesmanlike course, and the sole course consistent with the Anglo-Saxon sense of justice, and capable of leading to a satisfactory Exploration of Avenues, Finding of Bridges and Discovery of Ways Out, we may all achieve our life's ambition some day and open the morning paper to find that we are being read at last from left to right. "Mr. ROBERT WILLIAMS, Mr. LLOYD GEORGE, Mr. J. H. THOMAS, Lord RIDDELL," and so on and so on, till you come at last to "J. Smith, Esq., R.B.P.," smiling the widest of all. R.B.P.'s, I think, should wear a distinguishing mark--a single spat perhaps. EVOE.

* * * * *

MORE SECRET HISTORY.

[According to a report in a daily paper, at the recent Peace
Conference held at Spa, where the delegates were royally
entertained in the matter of hotel accommodation, meals,
etc., the cigar bill (which has been sent in to the League
of Nations and sent out again) amounted to three thousand
two hundred pounds. What the delegates could not smoke they
seem to have taken away with them.]

'TIS sweet in darkish times like these to see a
Rent in the veil which keeps the public blind,
And thus obtain a pretty shrewd idea
Of what goes on behind;

To note how quite an innocent report'll
Reveal apparent trifles which befall,
Proving that men whom we supposed immortal
Are human after all.

But here, while I can hardly call you blameful
For smoking "free" cigars with so much zest,
Frankly I feel 'twas little short of shameful
To go and pinch the rest.

I can forgive your huge hotel expenses;
Your beef was rightly of a super-cut;
A modicum of wine does whet the senses;
But those cigars--tut, tut!

For there's a finer aid to meditation,
Much more appropriate, in my humble view,
When Nation nestles cheek by jowl with Nation,
And far, far cheaper too.

So, if you'd really slay Bellona's bow-wows,
Might I suggest your vicious ways should cease,
And that in future you conduct your pow-wows
Over the pipe of peace.

* * * * *

An Affectionate Diminutive.

"Lord Buxton, who retired this summer from the post of High
Commissioner and Governor-General of South Africa, has been made an
early."--_Daily Paper._

* * * * *

A correspondent, referring to Mr. Punch's quotation (from an Australian paper) of the title of a song, "It was a Lover and His Last," suggests "_Ne_ suitor _ultra crepidam._"

* * * * *

On the coal strike:--

"We look to the Government to keep all doors open. We look to the
public to keep cool."--_Westminster Gazette._

The public should have no difficulty in doing its part if the Government do theirs.

* * * * *

TRANSPORT: PAST, PRESENT AND FUTURE.]

* * * * *

_Curate._ "WHY NOT?"

_Giles._ "WELL, ZUR, NO CONSTITOOTION COULD STAND IT."]

* * * * *

THE CONSPIRATORS.

V.

MY DEAR CHARLES,--Let me remind you that the Bolshevist conspirator has to stir up conflagrations in other countries without leaving his own. Passports and things are put in to make it more difficult when he comes to getting his inflammable material and directions for use over the frontier. So he has to invent a way over the obstacles.

The first prize is awarded to the following: Secret instructions are printed in Arabic and the pages containing them are bound up in a five hundred page book in that language. The courier, an Oriental, carries this book openly in his hand when he presents himself at the frontier. It is ten to one that an innocent-looking book, thus carried, will not be suspected; a hundred to one against there being an official capable of reading it; five hundred to three against that official trying one of the guilty pages, if he is there and duly suspicious. Yet, with a hundred and sixty-six thousand chances against it, our Little Man got hold of those instructions.

The Sherlock Holmes of fiction is a gaunt figure, with a hatchet face, spare of flesh. Our Little Man is a chubby lad, standing about four foot ten in his stockinged feet, rubicund and corpulent, and he wears a mackintosh with a very mackintoshy smell in all weathers. He never did a day's work, and he never means to try, but he is a genius at getting it out of others. Some say he is of Swiss origin, some say he is American, and some say that surely he must be Chinese; he was never certain himself until Czecho-Slovak was invented, and he plumped for that. He has the degree of Master of Arts; what arts I don't know; probably the black ones. His inner knowledge of the human species seems to give him plenty to laugh at. He notices everything, forgets nothing, and there is never a weakness in a man but he is on to it. He made up his mind that those secret instructions were passing and set about to find how they passed and what they were. He was too lazy to begin at the beginning, so he began at the end. He called in person, as a commercial traveller, at the suspected office of destination, and in the short time available ascertained that the door-keeper who turned him out was a patriotic and fervent admirer of the wine of the country.

Our Little Man had no vulgar idea of getting the secret out of him by making him drunk. If there was a secret it wouldn't be in the door-keeper. But he and that door-keeper got to drinking together and the door-keeper did all the paying; the drinking and the paying went on by progressive degrees till the door-keeper had no money and only a still almighty thirst left. The Little Man left him with his thirst for a few days, until it became intolerable, and the door-keeper insisted that something simply must be done about it. The Little Man regretted that he could not give the necessary money to finance further orgies, but he would gladly advance it. Four nights got the door-keeper well in his debt, and our Little Man then began to talk about repayment. The door-keeper said he had no money; the Little Man said he must get it. Off whom? His employer.

How was the door-keeper to get his employer's money off him? By selling him a safe. Our Little Man then divulged that he was in reality a commercial traveller in safes; if the door-keeper would get his employer to buy one of his safes the Little Man would forgive him his debt by way of commission. He felt sure that the Head of the Office had a weakness for precautions. The door-keeper, now enthusiastic, said he should just think he had! The Little Man felt he was getting warm. The door-keeper put the deal through and prevailed upon his master to instal a really safe safe in the office, instead of the old one. You had only to look at it to see it was impregnable by fire, water or the King's Enemies. But one set of keys stayed with the Little Man.

The drinking (by both) and the paying (by the door-keeper) were resumed. When the debt was again large enough the Little Man imposed new terms. This time he wanted to see the Head of the Office himself, to put further deals through. The door-keeper thought deeply, but could see no harm in this. The Little Man was thus introduced into the presence, and startled it by pointing to the safe and offering to do burglar on it any night of the week. The Head was manifestly concerned.

"We have here," said the Little Man, producing two formidable slabs of steel hinged together and leaving room between them when locked for a wad of papers only--"we have here a special strong box exactly suited for the storage of your bank-notes. Put them in this box, and the box in the safe, and then you really are ahead of your enemies."

The Head bought. He gave the Little Man less money than he had spent on the strong box, and the Little Man gave him less keys than he was entitled to. The drinking and the debt were resumed, and, when it came to a question of settlement for the third time, the Little Man pointed out to the door-keeper that, if he hadn't the money to repay, then he must steal it. He now divulged that he was not really a broker, but a breaker of safes and strong boxes. He handed the door-keeper a key of his employer's safe. In the safe would be found the strong box. In the strong box would be found some notes of high value, unless he was very much mistaken.

So the door-keeper went and opened the safe and returned. And the Little Man opened the strong box, and he _was_ very much mistaken. There was never a note there; just half-a-dozen pages torn out of a book printed in Arabic.

He was so angry that he gave the strong box one on the lid for itself, with the result that he couldn't lock it again. However, he said he had a friend who could lock or unlock anything, and he left the door-keeper drinking, for the first time at the Little Man's expense, while he took off the box to be repaired by his friend. The latter happened to be in the next room with a camera. The pages were photographed; the Little Man returned to the door-keeper with the strong box, now capable of being re-locked; the door-keeper returned to the office and put back the strong box, locked, into the safe, which he also locked, and was wiping the sweat off his forehead and congratulating himself that no one was the worse, when he was startled to find a policeman had been watching him all the time.

But he proved to be a very amenable policeman. He said he would take no action before he and the door-keeper had had time to talk it over next day. By the time that talk came the photographs had been developed, printed and translated. But the policeman did not wish to bore the door-keeper with the tiresome details. To put it quite shortly the policeman thought it was a most excellent crime, worthy of repetition at intervals.

Yours ever, HENRY.

(_To be continued._)

* * * * *

* * * * *

NEW RHYMES FOR OLD CHILDREN.

THE ----.