Mr. Punch at the Seaside Part 14

_Mrs. Woodbee Swellington Jones._ "_Quite_ too shocking, dear Sir Talbot! Was she--er--a person of position?"

_Sir Talbot Howard Vere de Vere._ "POSITION, by George!! Dooced uncomfortable position, too, I should say!"]

[Ill.u.s.tration: FOR THE PUBLIC GOOD

_Bertie._ "Gertie, do just go back to the beach and fetch me a baby (you'll find a lot about), and I'll show you all the different ways of saving it from drowning!"]

ANNALS OF A WATERING-PLACE THAT HAS "SEEN ITS DAY"

[Ill.u.s.tration: TYNEMOUTH]

The weather which, in Mr. Dunstable's varied experience of five-and-twenty years, he a.s.sures me, has never been so bad, having at length afforded some indications of "breaking", I make the acquaintance, through Mrs. Cobbler, of Mr. Wisterwhistle, proprietor of the one bath-chair available for the invalid of Torsington-on-Sea, who, like myself, stands in need of the salubrious air of that health-giving resort, but who is ordered by his medical adviser to secure it with the least possible expenditure of physical strength.

Both Mr. Wisterwhistle and his chair are peculiar in their respective ways, and each has a decided history. Mr. Wisterwhistle, growing confidential over his antecedents, says, "You see, sir, I wasn't brought up to the bath-chair business, so to speak, for I began in the Royal Navy, under His Majesty King William the Fourth. Then I took to the coastguard business, and having put by a matter of thirty pound odd, and hearing 'she' was in the market,"--Mr. Wisterwhistle always referred to his bath-chair as 'she,' evidently regarding it from the nautical stand-point as of the feminine gender,--"and knowing, saving your presence, sir, that old Bloxer, of whom I bought her, had such a good crop of cripples the last season or two, that he often touched two-and-forty shillings a week with 'em, I dropped Her Majesty's service, and took to this 'ere. But, Lor, sir, the business ain't wot it wos. Things is changed woeful at Torsington since I took her up. Then from 9 o'clock, as you might say, to 6 P.M., every hour was took up; and, mind you, by real downright 'aristocracy,'--real live n.o.blemen, with gout on 'em, as thought nothink of a two hours' stretch, and didn't 'aggle, savin' your presence, over a extra sixpence for the job either way. But, bless you, wot's it come to now? Why, she might as well lay up in a dry dock arf the week, for wot's come of the downright genuine invalid, savin' your presence, blow'd if I knows. One can see, of course, sir, in arf a jiffy, as you is touched in the legs with the rheumatics, or summat like it; but besides you and a old gent on crutches from Portland Buildings, there ain't no real invalid public 'ere at all, and one can't expect to make a livin' out of you two; for if you mean to do the thing ever so 'ansome, it ain't reasonable to expect you and the old gent I was a referring to, to stand seven hours a day goin' up and down the Esplanade between you, and you see even that at a bob an hour ain't no great shakes when you come to pay for 'ousing her and keepin' her lookin' spic and span, with all her bra.s.s k.n.o.bs a shining and her leather ap.r.o.n fresh polished with patent carriage blackin': and Lor, sir, you'd not b'lieve me if I was to tell you what a deal of show some parties expects for their one bob an hour. Why, it was only the other day that Lady Glumpley (a old party with a front of black curls and yaller bows in her bonnet, as I dare say you've noticed me a haulin' up and down the Parade when the band's a playin'), says to me, says she, 'It ain't so much the easygoin' of your chair, Mr.

Wisterwhistle, as makes me patronise it, as its general genteel appearance. For there's many a chair at Brighton that can't hold a candle to it!'" But at this point he was interrupted by the appearance of a dense crowd that half filled the street, and drew up in silent expectation opposite my front door. Dear me, I had quite forgotten I had sent for him. But the boy who cleans the boots and knives has returned, and brought with him _the One Policeman_!

[Ill.u.s.tration: INDIAMAN GOING INTO PORT]

QUERY AT SOME FASHIONABLE SEASIDE RESORT.--Do the unpleasant odours noticeable at certain times arise from the fact of the tide being high?

If so, is the tide sometimes higher than usual, as the--ahem!--odours certainly are?

[Ill.u.s.tration: PERIL!

_Gruff Voice_ (_behind her--she thought she heard her own name_). "She's a gettin' old, Bill, and she sartain'y ain't no beauty! But you and I'll smarten her up! Give her a good tarrin' up to the waist, and a streak o'

paint, and they 'ont know her again when the folks come down a'

Whitsun'. Come along, and let's ketch 'old of her, and shove her into the water fust of all!!"

_Miss Isabella._ "Oh! the horrid wretches! No policeman in sight!

Nothing for it but flight!"

[Is off like a bird!

[Ill.u.s.tration: PREHISTORIC PEEPS

There were even then quiet spots by the sea where one could be alone with Nature undisturbed]

[Ill.u.s.tration: A SENSE OF PROPERTY

_Botanical Old Gent_ (_in the Brighton Gardens_). "Can you tell me, my good man, if this plant belongs to the 'Arbutus' family?"

_Gardener_ (_curtly_). "No, sir, it doan't. It b'longs to the Corporation!"]

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE MINOR ILLS OF LIFE

Portrait of a gentleman attempting to regain his tent after the morning bath]

[Ill.u.s.tration: MERMAIDS' TOILETS IN '67

_Blanche._ "I say, some of you, call after aunty! She has taken my _chignon_, and left me her horrid black one!"]

[Ill.u.s.tration: LOW TIDE ON SCARBOROUGH SANDS--BATHING UNDER DIFFICULTIES

The captain, who is well up in his cla.s.sics, translates, for his f.a.n.n.y's benefit, a celebrated Latin poem (by one Lucretius) to the effect that it is sweet to gaze from the cliff at the bathing machines vainly struggling to take the unfortunate bathers into deep water.]

[Ill.u.s.tration: SEASIDE PUZZLE

To find your bathing-machine if you've forgotten the number]

[Ill.u.s.tration: VENUS (ANNO DOMINI 1892) RISES FROM THE SEA!!]

SEASIDE DRAMA.--_Mrs. de Tomkyns_ (_sotto voce, to Mr. de T._).

"Ludovic, dear, there's Algernon playing with a strange child! _Do_ prevent it!"

_Mr. de T._ (_ditto, to Mrs. de T._). "How on earth am I to prevent it, my love?"

_Mrs. de T._ "Tell its parents Algernon is just recovering from scarlet fever, or something!"

_Mr. de T._ "But it isn't true!"

_Mrs. de T._ "Oh, never mind! Tell them, all the same!"

_Mr. de T._ (_aloud_). "Ahem! Sir, you'd better not let your little girl play with my little boy. He's only just recovering from--er--_Scarlet Fever_!"