Voces Populi Part 19

MRS. M. G. How _abominable_ of you! But surely he's famous for _something_? He talks like it. [_With reviving hope._

PHIL. Oh, yes, he's the inventor and patentee of the new "Sabrina"

Soap--he says he'll make a fortune over it.

MRS. M. G. But he hasn't even done _that_ yet! PHIL, I'll _never_ forgive you for letting me make such an idiot of myself. What _am_ I to do now? I _can't_ have him coming to me--he's really too impossible!

PHIL. Do? Oh, order some of the soap, and wash your hands of him, I suppose--not that he isn't a good deal more presentable than some of your lions, after all's said and done!

[MRS. M. G., _before she takes her leave, contrives to inform_ MR. TABLETT, _with her prettiest penitence, that she has only just recollected that her luncheon party is put off, and that her Tuesdays are over for the Season. Directly she returns to Town, she promises to let him hear from her; in the meantime, he is not to think of troubling himself to call. So there is no harm done, after all._

At the Military Tournament.

SCENE--_The Agricultural Hall. Tent-pegging going on._

STENTORIAN JUDGE (_in Arena_). Corporal Binks! (_The a.s.sistants give a finishing blow to the peg, and fall back._ Corporal BINKS _gallops in, misses the peg, and rides off, relieving his feelings by whirling his lance defiantly in the air_.) Corporal Binks--nothing!

A GUSHING LADY. Poor dear thing! I _do_ wish he'd struck it! He did look so disappointed, and so did that sweet horse!

THE JUDGE. Sergeant Spanker! (Sergeant S. _gallops in, spears the peg neatly, and carries it off triumphantly on the point of the lance, after which he rides back and returns the peg to the a.s.sistants as a piece of valuable property of which he has accidentally deprived them._) Sergeant Spanker--eight! (_Applause; the a.s.sistants drive in another peg._) Corporal Cutlash! (Corporal C. _enters, strikes the peg, and dislodges without securing it. Immense applause from the Crowd._) Corporal Cutlash--two!

THE GUSHING LADY. Only two, and when he really did hit the peg! I do call that a shame. I should have given him more marks than the other man--he has such a _much_ nicer face!

A CHILD WITH A THIRST FOR INFORMATION. Uncle, why do they call it _tent_-pegging?

THE UNCLE. Why? Well, because those pegs are what they fasten down tents with.

THE CHILD. But why isn't there a tent now?

UNCLE. Because there's no use for one.

CHILD. Why?

UNCLE. Because all they want to do is to pick up the peg with the point of their lance.

CHILD. Yes, but why _should_ they want to do it?

UNCLE. Oh, to amuse their horses. (_The_ CHILD _ponders upon this answer with a view to a fresh catechism upon the equine pa.s.sion for entertainment, and the desirability, or otherwise, of gratifying it_.)

A CHATTY MAN IN THE PROMENADE (_to his_ NEIGHBOUR). Takes a deal of practice to strike them pegs fair and full.

HIS NEIGHBOUR (_who holds advanced Socialistic opinions_). Ah, I dessay--and a pity they can't make no better use o' their time! Spoiling good wood, _I_ call it. I don't see no point in it myself.

THE CHATTY MAN. Well, it shows they can _ride_, at any rate.

THE SOCIALIST. Ride? O' course they can _ride_--we pay enough for 'aving 'em taught, don't we? But you mark my words, the People won't put up with this state of things much longer--keepin' a set of 'ired murderers in luxury and hidleness. I tell yer, wherever I come across one of these great lanky louts strutting about in his red coat, as if he was one of the lords of the hearth, well--it makes my nose bleed, ah--it _does_!

THE CHATTY MAN. If that's the way you talk to him, I ain't surprised if it do.

THE JUDGE. Sword _versus_ Sword! Come in there! (_Two mounted Combatants, in leather jerkins and black visors, armed with swordsticks, enter the ring_; JUDGE _introduces them to audience with the aid of a flag_.) Corporal JONES, of the Wess.e.x Yeomanry; Sergeant SMITH, of the Manx Mounted Infantry. (_Their swords are chalked by the a.s.sistants._) Are you ready? Left turn! Countermarch! Engage! (_The Combatants wheel round and face one another, each vigorously spurring his horse and prodding cautiously at the other; the two horses seem determined not to be drawn into the affair themselves on any account, and take no personal interest in the conflict; the umpires skip and dodge at the rear of the horses, until one of the Combatants gets in with a rattling blow on the other's head, to the intense delight of audience. Both men are brushed down, and their weapons re-chalked, whereupon they engage once more--much to the disgust of their horses, who had evidently been hoping it was all over. After the contest is finally decided, a second pair of Combatants_ _enter; one is mounted on a black horse, the other on a chestnut, who refuses to lend himself to the business on any terms, and bolts on principle; while the rider of the black horse remains in stationary meditation._) Go on--that black horse--go on! (_The chestnut is at length brought up to the scratch snorting, but again flinches, and retires with his rider._)

THE CROWD (_to rider of black horse_). Go on, now's your chance! 'It him! (_The recipient of these counsels pursues his antagonist, and belabours him and his horse with impartial good-will until separated by the Umpires, who examine the chalk-marks with a professional scrutiny._)

THE JUDGE. Here, you on the black horse, you mustn't hit that other horse about the head. (_The man addressed appears rebuked and surprised under his black-wired visor._) THE JUDGE (_rea.s.suringly_). It's all _right_, you know; only, don't do it again, that's all! (_The Combatant sits up again._)

THE GUSHING LADY. Oh, I can't bear to look on, really. I'm _sure_ they oughtn't to hit so hard--_how_ their poor dear heads must ache! Isn't that chestnut a _duck_? I'm sure he's trying to save his master from getting hurt--they're such sensible creatures, horses are! (_Artillery teams drive in, and gallop between the posts; the Crowd going frantic with delight when the posts remain upright, and roaring with laughter when one is knocked over._)

DURING THE MUSICAL RIDE.

THE GUSHING LADY. Oh, they're simply too _sweet_! How those horses are enjoying it--aren't they pets? and how perfectly they keep step to the music, don't they?

HER FRIEND. (_who is beginning to get a trifle tired by her enthusiasm_). Yes; but then they're all trained by Madame Katti Lanner, of Drury Lane, you see.

THE GUSHING LADY. What pains she must have taken with them; but you can teach a horse _anything_, can't you?

HER FRIEND. Oh, that's nothing; next year they're going to have a horse who'll dance the Highland Fling.

THE SOCIALIST. A pretty sight? Cost a pretty sight o' the People's money, I know that. Tomfoolery, that's what it is; a set of dressed-up bullies dancin' quadrilles on 'orseback; _that_ ain't military manoeuvrin'. It's sickenin' the way fools applaud such goin's on. And cuttin' off the Saracen's 'ed, too; I'd call it plucky if the Saracen 'ad a gun in his 'and. Bah, I 'ate the 'ole business!

HIS NEIGHBOUR. Got anybody along with you, Mate?

THE SOCIALIST. No, I don't want anybody along with _me_, I don't.

HIS NEIGHBOUR. That's a pity, that is. A sweet-tempered, pleasant-spoken party like you are oughtn't to go about by yourself. You ought to bring somebody just to enjoy your conversation. There don't seem to be anybody _'ere_ of your way of thinkin'.

DURING THE COMBINED DISPLAY.

THE GUSHING LADY (_as the Cyclist Corps enter_). Oh, they've got a _dog_ with them. Do look--such a dear! See, they've tied a letter round his neck. He'll come back with an answer presently. (_But, there being apparently no answer to this communication, the faithful but prudent animal does not re-appear._)

AFTER THE PERFORMANCE.

THE INQUISITIVE CHILD. Uncle, which side won?

UNCLE. I suppose the side that advanced across the bridges.

CHILD. Which side _would_ have won if it had been a _real_ battle?

UNCLE. I really couldn't undertake to say, my boy.

CHILD. But which do you _think_ would have won?

UNCLE. I suppose the side that fought best.