Voces Populi Part 29

THE DAMSEL (_disgusted_). Fancy their puttin' up a monument to _'im_!

SUPERIOR 'ARRY (_talking Musichalls to his Adored One_). 'Ave you 'eard her sing "Come where the Booze is Cheapest?"

THE ADORED. Lots o' toimes. I _do_ like _'er_ singing. She mykes sech comical soigns--and then the _things_ she sez! But I've 'eard she's very common in her tork, and that--_orf_ the styge.

THE S. A. I shouldn't wonder. Some on 'em _are_ that way. You can't 'ave _everythink_!

HIS ADORED. No, it _is_ a pity, though. 'Spose we go out, and pl'y Kiss in the Ring? [_They do._

AMONG THE ETHNOLOGICAL MODELS.

WIFE OF BRITISH WORKMAN (_spelling out placard under Hottentot Group_).

"It is extremely probable that this interesting race will be completely exterminated at no very distant period." Pore things!

BRITISH WORKMAN (_with philosophy_). Well, _I_ sha'n't go inter mournin'

for 'em, Sairer!

LAMBETH LARRIKIN (_in a pasteboard "pickelhaube," and a false nose, thoughtfully, to_ BATTERSEA BILL, _who is wearing an old grey chimney-pot hat, with the brim uppermost, and a tow wig, as they contemplate a party of Botocudo natives_). Rum the sights these 'ere savidges make o' theirselves, ain't it, Bill?

BATT. BILL (_more thoughtfully_). Yer right--but I dessay if you and me 'ad been born among that lot, _we_ shouldn't care _'ow_ we looked!

VAUXHALL VOILET (_who has exchanged headgear with_ CHELSEA CHORLEY--_with dismal results_). They _are_ cures, those blackies! Why, yer carn't 'ardly tell the men from the wimmin! I expect this lot'll be 'aving a beanfeast. See, they're plyin' their myusic.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "RUM THE SIGHTS THESE 'ERE SAVIDGES MAKE O'

THEIRSELVES."]

CHELSEA CHORLEY. Good job we can't _'ear_ 'em. They say as n.i.g.g.e.rs'

music is somethink downright horful. Give us "Hi-tiddly-hi" on that mouth-orgin o' yours, will yer?

[VAUXHALL VOILET _obliges on that instrument_; _every one in the neighbourhood begins to jig mechanically_; _exeunt party, dancing_.

A PIMPLY YOUTH. "Hopium-eater from Java." That's the stuff they gits as stoopid as biled howls on--it's about time we went and did another beer.

[_They retire for that purpose._

DURING THE FIREWORKS.

CHORUS OF SPECTATORS. There's another lot o' bloomin' rockets gowin orf!

Oo-oo, 'ynt that lur-uvly? What a lark if the sticks come down on somebody's 'ed! There, didyer see 'em bust? Puts me in mind of a shower o' foiry s.m.u.ts. Lor, so they do--what a fancy you _do_ 'ave. &c., &c.

COMING HOME.

AN OLD GENTLEMAN (_who has come out with the object of observing Bank Holiday manners--which he has done from a respectful distance--to his friend, as they settle down in an empty first-cla.s.s compartment_).

There, now we shall just get comfortably off before the crush begins.

Now, to _me_, y'know, this has been a most interesting and gratifying experience--wonderful spectacle, all that immense crowd, enjoying itself in its own way--boisterously, perhaps, but, on the whole, with marvellous decorum! Really, very exhilarating to see--but you don't agree with me?

HIS FRIEND (_reluctantly_). Well, I must say it struck me as rather pathetic than----

THE O. G. (_testily_). Pathetic, Sir--nonsense! I like to see people putting their _heart_ into it, whether it's play or work. Give me a crowd----

[_As if in answer to this prayer, there is a sudden irruption of typical Bank Holiday-makers into the compartment._

MAN BY THE WINDOW. Third-cla.s.s as good as fust, these days! Why, if there ain't ole Fred! Wayo, Fred, tumble in, ole son--room for one more standin'!

["OLE FRED" _plays himself in with a triumphal blast on a tin trumpet, after which he playfully hammers the roof with his stick, as he leans against the door_.

OLE FRED. Where's my blanky friend? I 'it 'im one on the jaw, and I ain't seen 'im since! (_Sings, sentimentally, at the top of a naturally powerful voice._) "Comrides, Comrides! Hever since we was boys! Sharin'

each other's sorrers. Sharin' each hother's--beer!"

[_A "paraprosdokian," which delights him to the point of repet.i.tion._

THE O. G. Might I ask you to make a little less disturbance there, Sir?

[_Whimpers from over-tired children._

OLE FRED (_roaring_). "I'm jolly as a Sandboy, I'm 'appy as a king! No matter what I see or 'ear, I larf at heverything! I'm the morril of my moth-ar, (_to_ O. G.) the himage of _your_ Par! And heverythink I see or 'ear, it makes me larf 'Ar-har!'"

[_He laughs "Ar-har," after which he gives a piercing blast upon the trumpet, with stick obbligato on the roof._

THE O. G. (_roused_). I really _must_ beg you not to be such an infernal nuisance! There are women and children here who----

OLE FRED. Shet up, old umbereller whiskers! (_Screams of laughter from women and children, which encourage him to sing again._) "An' the roof is copper-bottomed, but the chimlies are of gold. In my double-breasted mansion in the Strand!" (_To people on platform, as train stops._) _Come_ in, oh, lor, _do_! "Oi-tiddly-oi-toi! hoi-toi-oy!"

[_The rest take up the refrain--"'Ave a drink an' wet your eye," &c. and beat time with their boots._

THE O. G. If this abominable noise goes on, I shall call the guard--disgraceful, coming in drunk like this!

THE MAN BY THE WINDOW. 'Ere, dry up, Guv'nor--_'e_ ain't 'ad enough to urt 'im, _'e_ ain't!

CHORUS OF FEMALES (_to_ O. G.). An' Bank 'Oliday, too--you orter to be _ashimed_ o' yerself, you ought! 'E's as right as right, if you on'y let him alone!

OLE FRED (to O. G.). Ga-arn, yer pore-'arted ole choiner boy! (_sings dismally_), "Ow! for the vanished Spring-toime! Ow! for the dyes gorn boy! Ow! for the"--(_changing the melody_)--"'omeless, I wander in lonely distress. No one ter pity me--none ter caress!" (_Here he sheds tears,_ _overcome by his own pathos, but presently cheers up._) "I dornce all noight! An' I rowl 'ome toight! I'm a rare-un at a rollick, or I'm ready fur a foight." Any man 'ere wanter foight me? Don't say no, ole Frecklefoot! (_To the_ O. G., _who perspires freely_.) "Oh, I _am_ enj'yin' myself!"

[_He keeps up this agreeable rattle, without intermission, for the remainder of the journey, which--as the train stops everywhere, and takes quite three-quarters of an hour in getting from Queen's Road, Battersea, to Victoria--affords a signal proof of his social resources, if it somewhat modifies the_ O. G.'S _enthusiasm for the artless gaiety of a Bank Holiday_.

A Row in the Pit; or, The Obstructive Hat.

SCENE--_The Pit during Pantomime Time. The Overture is beginning._

AN OVER-HEATED MATRON (_to her Husband_). Well, they don't give you much _room_ in 'ere, I _must_ say. Still, we done better than I expected, after all that crushing. I thought my ribs was gone once--but it was on'y the umberella's. You pretty comfortable where _you_ are, eh, Father?

FATHER. Oh, I'm right enough, I am.

JIMMY (_their Son; a small, bullet-headed boy, with a piping voice_). If _Father_ is, it's more nor what _I_ am. I can't see nothen, I can't!