Punch, Or The London Charivari, Vol. 101, November 14th, 1891 - Mr. Various (affordable ebook reader TXT) 📗

to carry home to your children?

 

No, it is a live one, that, if it bursts a yard nearer, will blow us into

smithereens.

 

Do you propose returning to your lodging to-night?

 

That is a matter that will be decided by the Commander of the nearest

practising gun-boat.

 

 CUTTING REMARKS.

 

 

Mr. HENRY AUTHOR JONES has taken a theatre wherein to play his own plays to

his own taste. On the first night of _The Crusaders_ this taste was not

exactly the taste of the audience. Mr. HENRY AUTHOR JONES seemed to object

to be tied to time, and the result was the prompt appearance of that

terrible conqueror of things terrestrial, General Boredom. Since the

initial performance, it is reported that matters have gone on more

smoothly. According to the "usual sources of information" the dramatist has

been cheered on leaving his theatre, and heartily congratulated. On one

occasion he actually supplemented his piece with a speech! Apparently he

was under the impression that there could not be too much of a good

thing--JONES for choice! It may be that since the first performance, there

has been some curtailment made in the play. To judge from appearances it

was a question of cutting--either the author the play, or the public the

theatre!

 

QUITE A NEW SPEC.--We have just received a prospectus of a Company entitled

"_The Monarch Insurance Society_." Of course, all the Crowned Heads of

Europe will be in it. We haven't yet read it, the title being sufficient

for the present. _Ça donne à penser_. Will it provide New Monarchs for old

ones? Will it give good sovereigns in exchange for bad ones? If so--where

will the profit come in?

 

FRENCH AS SHE IS "WRIT."

 

The _Standard's_ own Vienna Correspondent, when reporting the unpleasant

incident in the life of the Duc d'ORLÉANS, told us how the Prince, on

unwittingly "accepting service," said to the astute lawyer's clerk, "Mais,

Monsieur, ce n'est pas le moment." To which the clerk replied, "also in

French," says the _Standard_, "One time is as good as another." But why was

not the lawyer's clerk's French as she is spoke given as well as that of M.

le Duc? And how much more telling it would have been had M. le Duc been

served well and faithfully by a clerk like _Perker's Mr. Lowten_, fresh,

very fresh, from a carouse at the "Magpie and Stump," or even by one of

_Messrs. Dodson and Fog's_ young men who enjoyed themselves so much when "a

twigging" of the virtuous _Mr. Pickwick_.

 

"Mais, Monsieur, ce n'est pas le moment," says the Duke, to which our _Mr.

Lowten_ would have replied in Magpie-and-Stumping French, "Eggskewsy moy,

Mossoo, le Dook, ung Tom is aussy bong qu'ung autre. Mossoo ler Dook ar

maintenong pérusé ler documong; voici le copy et voilà two. Bonsoir, il

faut que je l'accroche."

 

Whereupon he would have "hooked it," as it appears this particular lawyer's

clerk did, and was not seen again. No doubt he joined a circle of admiring

friends in the legal neighbourhood (some Magpies-and-Stumps still exist),

where, over a glass and a cigar, he recounted the merry tale of how he had

served a Duke.

 

   

The relation of Hypnotiser to the Hypnotised at the Aquarium may be simply

described as "GERMANE to the subject.'

 

   

SONG AND CHORUS FOR THE COUNTY COUNCIL ON NEXT DEBATE ON THE WATER

SUPPLY--"Young BENN he was a nice young man."

 

   

THE TRAVELLING COMPANIONS

 

No. XIV.

 

SCENE--_Gardens belonging to the Hôtel du Parc, Lugano. Time, afternoon;

the orchestra is tuning up in a kiosk._ CULCHARD _is seated on a bench in

the shade, keeping an anxious eye upon the opposite door._

 

_Culch._ (_to himself_). She said she had a headache, and made her father

and VAN BOODELER go out on the lake without her. But she certainly gave me

to understand that she might come out when the band played, if she felt

better. The question is, whether she _means_ to feel better or not. She is

the most tantalising girl! _I_ don't know what to make of her. Not a single

reference, as yet, to that last talk we had at Bingen. I must see if I

can't recall it to her memory--if she comes. I'll wait here, on the chance

of it--we are not likely to be dis--. Confound it all--PODBURY! (_with

suppressed irritation as_ PODBURY _comes up_). Well, do you _want_ anything

in particular?

 

_Podb._ (_cheerfully, as he sits down_). Only the pleasure of your society,

old chap. How nicely you do put things!

 

_Culch._ The--er--fact is, I can't promise to be a particularly lively

companion just now.

 

_Podb._ Not by way of a change? Ah, well, it's a pity--but I must put up

with you as you are, I suppose. You see--(_with a grin_)--I've got that vow

to work out.

 

_Culch._ Possibly--but _I_ haven't. As I've already told you--I retire.

 

_Podb._ Wobbled back to Miss TROTTER again, eh? Matter of taste, of course,

but, for my part, I think your _first_ impression of her was nearer the

truth--she's not what I call a highly cultivated sort of girl, y' know.

 

_Culch._ You are naturally exacting on that point, but have the goodness to

leave my first impressions alone, and--er--frankly, PODBURY, I see no

necessity (_now_, at all events) to take that ridiculous--hum--penance

_too_ literally. We are _travelling_ together, and I imagine that is enough

for Miss PRENDERGAST.

 

_Podb._ It's enough for _me_--especially when you make yourself so doosid

amiable as this. You needn't alarm yourself--you won't have any more of my

company than I can help; only I _must_ say, for two fellows who came out to

do a tour _together_, it's-- [_Walks away, grumbling._

 

_Later. The band has finished playing;_ Miss TROTTER _is on the bench with_

CULCHARD.

 

_Miss T._ And you mean to tell me you've never met anybody since you even

cared to converse with?

 

_Culch._ (_diplomatically_). Does that strike you as so very incredible?

 

_Miss T._ Well, it strikes me as just a _little_ too thin. I judged you'd

go away, and forget I ever existed.

 

 

_Culch._ (_with tender reproach_). How little you know me! I may not be

an--er--demonstrative man, my--er--feelings are not easily roused, but,

once roused, well--(_wounded_)--I think I may claim to possess an ordinary

degree of constancy!

 

_Miss T._ Well, I'm sure I _ought_ to feel it a vurry high compliment to

have you going round grieving all this time on _my_ account.

 

_Culch._ Grieving! Ah, if I could only _tell_ you what I went through!

(_Decides, on reflection, that the less he says about this the better._)

But all that is past. And now may I not expect a more definite answer to

the question I asked at Bingen? Your reply then was--well, a little

ambiguous.

 

_Miss T._ I guess it's got to be just about as ambiguous now--there don't

seem anything I _can_ say. There's times when I feel as if it might be sort

of elevating and improving to have you shining around; and there's other

times when I suspect that, if it went on for any considerable period,

likely I'd weaken. I'm not just sure. And I can't ever make myself believe

but what you're disapproving of me, inside of you, most all the time!

 

_Culch._ Pray dismiss such--er--morbid misgivings, dear Miss TROTTER. Show

that you do so by accepting me as your guide and companion through life!

 

_Miss T._ My! but that sounds like a proposal?

 

_Culch._ I intended it to bear that--er--construction. It _is_ a

proposal--made after the fullest reflection.

 

_Miss T._ I'm ever so obliged. But we don't fix things quite that way in my

country. We want to feel pretty sure, first, we shann't get left. And it

don't seem to me as if I'd had opportunities enough of studying your

leading characteristics. I'll have to study them some more before I know

whereabouts I am; and I want you to understand that I'm not going to commit

myself to anything at present. That mayn't be sentiment, but I guess it's

common-sense, anyway. And all _you_'ve got to do is, just to keep around,

and kind of impress me with a conviction that you're the vurry brightest

and best man in the entire universe, and I don't believe you'll find much

difficulty about _that_. And now I guess we'll go into _table d'hôte_--I'm

just as _ravenous_!

 

_Culch._ (_to himself, as he follows her_). Really, this is not much better

than RUSKIN, after all. But I don't despair. That last remark was

distinctly encouraging!

 

SCENE--_A large Salle à Manger, decorated in the Pompeian style. Table

d'hôte has begun._ CULCHARD _is seated between_ Miss TROTTER _and a large

and conversational stranger. Opposite are three empty chairs._

 

_Culchard's Neighbour_. Then you're going on to Venice? Well, you take _my_

advice. When you get there, you ask for tunny. Don't forget--_tunny_!

 

_Culch._ (_who wants to talk to_ Miss T.) Tunny? Thank you. I--er--will

certainly remember his name, if I require a guide.

 

_His N._ A guide? No, no--tunny's a _fish_, Sir, a coarse red fish, with

flesh like a raw beefsteak.

 

_Culch._ Is that so? Then I will make a point of asking for it--if I want

raw beefsteak. [_Attempts to turn to_ Miss T.

 

_His N._ That's what _I_ did when I was at Venice. I sent for the Manager.

He came. I said to him. "Look here, I'm an Englishman. My name's BELLERBY.

(CULCHARD _bows in patient boredom._) I've heard of your Venetian tunny. I

wish to taste it. _Bring_ me some!"

 

_Culch._ (_crushingly_). A most excellent method of obtaining it, no doubt.

(_To_ Waiter.) _Numéro vingt-sept, demi bouteille de Chianti, et siphon!_

 

_His N._ You don't wait till I've _done_, Sir! I _didn't_ obtain it--not at

first. The man made excuses. I was prepared for _that_. I told him plainly,

"I know what _you_'re thinking--it's a cheap fish, and you fancy I'm

ordering it out of economy!"

 

_Culch._ (_raising his eyebrows for_ Miss T.'s _benefit_). Of course, he

naturally _would_ think so. And _that_ is how you got your tunny? I see.

[Mr. BELLERBY _stares at him suspiciously, and decides to suppress the

remainder of his tunny._

 

_Miss T._ This hotel seems to be thinning some. We've three ghosts right in

front of us this evening.

 

_Culch._ (_turning with effusion_). So we have! My friend is one, and he'll

be here presently, but I much prefer myself to see every seat occupied.

There is something so depressing about a vacant chair, don't you think?

 

_Miss T._ It's calculated to put one in mind of _Macbeth's_ little

dinner-party, certainly. But you can cheer up, Mr. CULCHARD, here comes a

couple of belated _Banquos._ My gracious; I _do_ like that girl's face--she

has such a perfectly lovely expression, and looks real superior too!

 

_Culch._ (_who has just dropped his glasses into his soup_). I--ah--which

lady are you referring too? (_He cleans and adjusts his glasses--to

discover that he is face to face with_ Miss HYPATIA PRENDERGAST.) Oh ...

I--I see--precisely, quite so! (_He turns to_ BELLERBY _to cover his

confusion and avoid meeting_ Miss PRENDERGAST'S _eye_.) I _beg_ your

pardon, you were describing how you caught a tunny? Pray continue.

 

_Mr. Bellerby_ (_stiffly_). Excuse me, I don't seem fortunate enough to

have secured your undivided attention.

 

_Culch._ (_with intense interest_). Quite the contrary, I assure you! You

were saying you always ordered it out of economy?

 

_Mr. B._ Pardon _me_--I was saying nothing of the sort. I was saying that I

told the Manager I knew that was why he _thought_ I ordered it--a rather

different thing! "You're quite wrong," I said. "You may pay

twopence-halfpenny a pound for it, and charge me half-a-crown, if you like,

but I mean to _taste_ that tunny!" I was determined not to be done out of

my tunny, Sir!

 

_Culch._ (_breathlessly_). And what did the tunny--I mean the Manager--say

to _that_?

 

_Mr. B._ Oh, made more difficulties--it wasn't to be got, and so on. At

last I said to him (very quietly, but he saw I was in earnest), "Now I tell

you what it _is_--I'm going to _have_ that tunny, and, if you refuse to

give it me,--well, I shall just send my courier _out_ for it, that's all!"

So, with, _that_, they brought me some--and anything more delicious I never

tasted in all my life!

 

_Culch._ (_to himself_). If I can only keep him on at this tunny!

(_Aloud._) And--er--what _does_ it taste like exactly, now?

 

_Mr. B._ (_pregnantly_), You _order_ it, Sir--_insist_ on having it. Then

you'll _know_ what it tastes like! [_He devotes himself to his soup._

 

_Culch._ (_with his eyes lowered--to himself_). I _must_ look up in another

minute--and then! [_He shivers._

 

     

"TYPICAL DEVELOPMENTS."

 

One of our very occasional contributors, whose valuable time is mainly

occupied by the composition of successful novels, sends us the following,

written by his type-writer. From this specimen it will be gathered what a

real economy in correcting letter-press a type-writer must be.

 

 

   Dear Editor

 

   I send you my new book to reed and if you likit pleaase give me a

   legup. The story of my other book was