Punch (61.1871)

212

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

[November 18, 1871.

SIC VOS NON VOBIS.

Auctioneer. "Thirty Guineas—going at Thirty guineas ! Any Advance on Thirty Guineas fok this fixe Portrait by
Titian, painted in that Great Master's best Manner ?" (Hammerfalls.)

Brush (to Badger). "Downright Dishonest, I call it! Old Aaron's got Thirty for that Titian, and he only Gave
me Three for Painting it ! "

Durley is evidently turning the matter over in his mind, to find
out if, for the sake of conversation, he can produce an instance of
parallel talent on the part of a hen. He strokes his chin and
meditates. Bunter offers him a rod.

11 0 do fish! " cries his enslaver, as it he'd positively refused.

He takes the rod. He is dreaming, I see he is—he sees a happy
rustic cottage, himself supplying the second course, from the Lake,
for the evening meal, and his playful wife welcoming the tired
fisherman at the door. That's his dream. He can't speak. Tubby's
hooked.

Rough-looking Man comes up, followed by the Boy.

" We want a boat," says Wetherby.

" Ain't none," replies the Man.

"No boat?"

"No."

"Hum!" says "Wetherby, evidently meditating bribery and
corruption. " There's lots of pike here, I suppose. Eh?"

"A goodish few. In the middle and thereabouts. Sees 'em
playing like children. But you can't catch 'em."

" Can't ? " exclaims Wetherby, looking at his preparations.

"Why?" asks Miss Straithjiere, levelling her glance at the
poor Fisherman, to catch him.

" Acos no fishin' ain't allowed 'ere now. It's all preserved."

" But my card-" suggests Wetherby.

" Couldn't let you do it, Sir. Much as my place's worth." Then,
as if he felt he'd been too stern, he adds, "You can fish from the
bank as much as you like."

" But I can't catch anything there," says Wetherby, grumpily.

" No," returns the Fisherman ; " except dace and perch."

Bunter commences packing up the tackle. The Fisherman
begins to be communicative. He points in the direction of the
rushes and reeds.

" There's Couttses there ; they comes from and to the bank, but
they 're mostly there. All preserved."

I say, " 0, indeed ! " Our party is going on, and the Man has
sing-led me out for this information.

Flash of Enormous Lnportance.—It suddenly occurs to me that

he is pointing not to the reeds, but to a small house in the
distance ; and his meaning is, that this place belongs to Coutts's,
the bankers and that they preserve it strictly. I run on to
Wetherby.

I say to him, " You know the Coutts's ? " He does.

Very well. Breathless I indicate what I suppose to be their
fishing-lodge on the other side of the Lake. I repeat the Fisherman's
information; namely, that the Coutts's go up and down from the
Bank (this is my version) but are mostly there—that is, at the
fishing-lodge. "If so," says Wetherby, "it will be worthwhile
calling. Won't it, Betty ?" turning to Lady Wetherby, who
answers, " Decidedly ;" that " it will be an excellent plan, as it will
ensure him the fishing, if not for to-day, at all events for the future."

We return to the Fisherman, who is still standing contemplating us.

" Are the family at home ? " asks Wetherby.

The Man doesn't seem to understand. Wetherby repeats his
question.

" There's only my Missus," the Man replies, evidently puzzled by
our coming back so interested in his domestic affairs.
" No," says Wetherby, " I mean Mr. Coutts."
The Man looks at me for an explanation.

I remind him that he has just informed me how there are Couttses
over there ; and I point in the direction already indicated by him.

"So there are," he replies, rather sulkily, as if we were either
making fun of him, or didn't believe his statement.

I nod at Wetherby, as much as to say, " There—you hear I'm
right!"

The Man continues, " Hundreds of 'em."

"Hundreds of Coutts's!" exclaims Wetherby. "Perhaps he
means at Coutts's."

" Ay," returns the Man, rather nettled, and eyeing Wetherby
in anything but a friendly manner, "hundreds—thousands of 'em.
There's one on 'em now"—we are both deeply interested, and follow
the line of his finger—" he's sitting in among the rushes."

" Sitting in the rushes ! " says Wetherby.

I begin to think that Somebody's been mistaken.