Voces Populi Part 25

THE F. M. (_to_ GOVERNESS). Sayt un homme avec un bong ker.

Avez-vous--er--des cuivres, Ma'amzell?

THE P. S. (_disgustedly_). Wot?--only two bloomin' browns fur tykin' the skites orf them two kids' trotters! I want a sh.e.l.lin' orf o' you fur that job, _I_ do.... "Not another penny?" Well, if you do everythink as cheap as you do yer skiting, you orter be puttin' money by, _you_ ought!

That's right, tyke them snivellin' kids 'ome--blow me if ever I--&c., &c., &c. [_Exit party, pursued by powerful metaphors._

THE EGOTISTIC SKATER (_in charge of a small_ NIECE). Just see if you can get along by yourself a little--I'll come back presently. Practise striking out.

THE NIECE. But, Uncle, directly I strike out, I fall down!

THE E. S. (_encouragingly_). You will at first, till you get into it--gives you confidence. Keep on at it--don't stand about, or you'll catch cold. I shall be keeping my eye on you! [_Skates off to better ice._

THE FANCY SKATER (_to less accomplished_ FRIEND). This is a pretty figure--sort of variation of the "Cross Cut," ending up with "The Vine"; it's done this way (_ill.u.s.trating_), quarter of circle on outside edge forwards; then sudden stop----(_He sits down with violence_). Didn't quite come off that time!

THE FRIEND. The sudden stop came off right enough, old fellow!

THE F. S. I'll show you again--it's really a neat thing when it's well done; you do it all on one leg, like this----

[_Executes an elaborate back-fall._

HIS FRIEND. You seem to do most of it on no legs at all, old chap!

THE F. S. Haven't practised it lately, that's all. Now here's a figure I invented myself. "The Swooping Hawk" I call it.

HIS FRIEND (_unkindly--as the_ F. S. _comes down in the form of a St.

Andrew's Cross_). Y--yes. More like a Spread Eagle though, ain't it?

PRETTY GIRL (_to_ Mr. ACKMEY, _who has been privileged to take charge of herself and her_ PLAIN SISTER). Do come and tell me if I'm doing it right, Mr. Ackmey. You _said_ you'd go round with me!

[Ill.u.s.tration: "GO IT, OLE FRANKY, MY SON!"]

THE PLAIN S. How can you be so _selfish_, Florrie? You've had ever so much more practice than _I_ have! Mr. Ackmey, I wish you'd look at my left boot--it _will_ go like that. Is it my ankle--or what? And this strap _is_ hurting me so! Couldn't you loosen it, or take me back to the man, or something? Florrie can get on quite well alone, can't she?

MR. A. (_temporising feebly_). Er--suppose I give _each_ of you a hand, eh?

THE PLAIN S. No; I can't go along fast, like you and Florrie. You promised to look after me, and I'm perfectly helpless alone!

THE PRETTY S. Then, am I to go by myself, Mr. Ackmey?

MR. A. I--I think--just for a little, if you don't mind!

THE PRETTY S. Mind? Not a bit! There's Clara Willoughby and her brother on the next ring, I'll go over to them. Take good care of Alice, Mr.

Ackmey. Good-bye for the present.

[_She goes_; ALICE _doesn't think_ MR. A. _is "nearly so nice as he used to be."_

THE RECKLESS ROUGH. Now then, I'm on 'ere. Clear the way, all of yer!

Parties must look out fur themselves when they see _me_ a comin', I carn't stop fur n.o.body!

[_Rushes round the ring at a tremendous pace._

AN ADMIRING SWEEPER (_following his movements with enthusiasm_). Theer he goes--the Ornimental Skyter! Look at 'im a buzzin' round! Lor, it's a treat to see 'im bowlin' 'em all over like a lot er bloomin' ninepins!

Go it, ole Franky, my son--don't you stop to apollergise!... Ah, there he goes on his nut agen! _'E_ don't care, not _'e_!... Orf he goes agin!... That's _another_ on 'em down, and ole Franky atop--'e'll 'ave the ring all to 'isself presently! Up agin! Oh, ain't he _lovely_! I never see his loike afore nowheres.... _Round_ yer go--that's the stoyle! My eyes, if he ain't upset another--a lydy this time--she's done _'er_ skytin fur the d'y any 'ow! and ole Frank knocked silly.... Well, I ain't larfed ser much in all my life! [_He is left laughing._

In a Fog.

(_A Reminiscence of the Past Month._)

SCENE--_Main thoroughfare near Hyde Park. Time_ 8 P.M. _Nothing visible anywhere, but very much audible; horses slipping and plunging, wheels grinding, crashes, jolts, and English as she is spoke on such occasions._

MRS. Fl.u.s.tERS (_who is seated in a brougham with her husband, on their way to dine with some friends in Cromwell Road_). We shall be dreadfully late, I know we shall! I'm sure Peac.o.c.k could go faster than this if he liked--he always loses his head when there's much traffic. Do tell him to make haste!

MR. F. Better let him alone--he knows what he's doing.

MRS. F. I don't believe he does, or he wouldn't dawdle like this. If you won't speak to him, I must. (_Lets down the gla.s.s and puts out her head._) Peac.o.c.k!

A BLURRED SHADOW ON THE BOX. Yes, M'm.

MRS. F. What are we stopping for like this?

THE SHADOW. Fog very thick just 'ere, M'm. Can't see what's in front of us, M'm.

MRS. F. It's just as safe to keep moving as to stand still--go on at once.

THE S. Very good, M'm. (_To horse._) Pull urp! [_Crash!_

VOICE FROM THE UNSEEN. What the blanky blank, &c.

PEAc.o.c.k. There _is_ suthin in front, M'm. A van, from 'is langwich, M'm.

MRS. F. (_sinking back_). Marmaduke, this is awful. I'd no idea the fog was like this--or I should never have----(_With temper._) Really, people have no _right_ to ask one out on such a night.

MR. F. (_with the common sense that makes him "so aggravating at times"_). Well, f.a.n.n.y, you could hardly expect 'em to foresee the weather three weeks ahead!

MRS. F. At all events, _you_ might have seen what it was going to be as you came home from the Temple. Then we could have sent a telegram!

MR. F. It seemed to be lifting then, and besides, I--ah--regard a dinner-engagement as a species of kindly social contract, not to be broken except under pressing necessity.

MRS. F. You mean you heard me say there was nothing but cold meat in the house, and you know you'll get a good dinner at the Cordon-Blewitts,--not that we are likely to get there to-night. Have you any idea whereabouts we are?

MR. F. (_calmly_). None whatever.

MRS. F. Then ask Peac.o.c.k.

MR. F. (_lets down his window, and leans out_). Peac.o.c.k!