قراءة كتاب Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 146, April 29, 1914
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Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 146, April 29, 1914
Never mind the whitebait now, sweet'eart, when we're going to be spliced this afternoon. 'Ullo, 'ere 's Bill.
Enter Bill.
Bill. Wot cher, Alf! The guv'nor wants yer. (Exit Alfred hastily.) And now, Polly, my girl, wot's all this about marrying Alf when you're engaged to me?
Polly. Oh, Bill, I'm sorry. Do let me off. I love Alfred.
Bill. I'll let yer off all right.
[He goes towards Randolph's stable.
Polly (shrieking). Bill! Wotcher doing?
Bill (opening the stable door). Just giving Randolph a bit of a run like. 'E wants exercise.
[Randolph, the fiercest of the whitebait, dashes out and springs at Polly's throat.
Polly. Help! Help!
Bill. P'raps Alfred will 'elp you—when 'e comes back. I'll tell 'im.
[Exit leisurely.
Scene IV.
A saddler's shop at Canterbury, New Zealand.
Molly. Busy, Willie?
William. Always busy at the beginning of the lamb season, Molly. The gentlemen in London will have their saddle.
Molly. Too busy to talk to me?
Willie. Plenty of time to talk when we're married. Shan't have to work so hard then.
Molly. Because of my money you mean, Willie dear. You aren't only marrying me for my money, are you?
Willie. Of course not.
[He kisses her perfunctorily and returns to his work.
Molly. Because—because I've lost it all.
Willie (sharply). What's that?
Molly. I've lost it all.
Willie. Then what are you doing in my shop? Get out!
Molly (with dignity). I'm going, Willie, And I haven't lost my money at all. I just wanted to test you. Good-bye for ever.
[She goes out. Willie in despair rushes into the garden and buries his head in the mint.
Scene V.
Actor-manager. Yes, I like your play immensely. I don't suppose any actor-manager has ever played so many parts before in one evening. But couldn't you get another scene into it?
William. Well, I've got an old curtain-raiser here, but it doesn't seem to fit in somehow.
Actor-manager. Nonsense. In a dream play it doesn't matter about fitting in. What's it about?
William. Oh, the usual sort of love thing. Only it's in the tropics, and I really want an ice-pudding scene.
Actor-manager. Then make it the North Pole.
William. Good idea.
[Exit to do so.
Epilogue.
Next morning.
William. I've had an extraordinary, dream, dear, and—er—I've decided not to eat so much in future.
Mary. My darling boy!
[She embraces him; and as the scene closes William takes his fifth egg.
Curtain.
AN ALTRUIST MALGRÉ LUI.
NEWS FROM THE FRONT.
["The Sardine War."—Headline in a daily paper.]
There was peace at first in the tight-packed tin,
Content in the greasy gloom,
Till the whisper ran there were some therein
With more than their share of room;
And I saw the combat from start to end,
I heard the rage and the roar,
For I was the special The Daily Friend
Sent out to the Sardine War.
The courage was high on every face
As the wronged ones took their stand
On the right of all to a resting-place
In a tinfoil fatherland;
Yes, each one, knowing he fought for home,
Cast craven fear to the gales,
And the oil was whipped to a creamy foam
By the lashing of frenzied tails.
You may think that peace has been quite assured
When you've packed them tight inside,
But the sardine's spirit is far from cured
When you salt his outer hide;
They gave no quarter, they scorned to yield,
To a fish they died in the press,
And, dying, lay on the stricken field
In an oleaginous mess.
ISABEL IN SPRINGTIME.
There is a gladness in her eye,
And in the wind her dancing tread
Appears in swiftness to outvie
The scurrying cloudlets overhead;
In brief, her moods and graces are
Appropriate to the calendar.
And yet methinks that Mother Earth,
Awake from sleep, hath less a share
In this, my darling's, present mirth,
Than Madame Chic, costumiére;
My love would barter Spring's display
For Madame's window any day.
"The members at the Club dance last Saturday were rather small—but this is only natural after four dances in 'the week' and the summer approaching."—Pioneer.
Certainly nothing gets the weight down so quickly.
THE IMPRESSING OF PERKINS.
"I hope," said my friend and host, Charles, "I hope that you'll manage to be comfortable."
I looked round as much of the room as I could see from where I stood and ventured also to hope that I should.
"The tap to the right," he said, indicating the amenities, "is hot water; the left tap is cold, and the tap in the middle...."
"Lukewarm?" I asked.
"Soft water, for shaving and so on. But Perkins will see to it."
Some people can assume a sort of detached attitude in the early morning, while body-servants get them up and dress them and send them downstairs, but me, I confess, these attentions overawe. "Perkins is one of those strong silent men, is he not," I asked, "who creep into one's bedroom in the morning and steal one's clothes when one isn't looking?"
Charles has no sympathy with Spartans and did not answer. "I think you'll find everything you want. There's a telephone by the bed." I said that I was not given to talking in my sleep. "Then," said he, "if you prefer to write here is the apparatus," and he pointed to a desk that would have satisfied all the needs of a daily editor.
"Thanks," I said, looking at the attractive bed, "but I expect to be too busy in the morning even to write." I yawned comfortably. "Though it may be that I shall dictate, from where I lie, a note or two to my stenographer."
Charles doubted, with all solemnity, whether Perkins could manage shorthand, but promised to enquire about it. He's a dear solid fellow, is Charles, and