Punch (99.1890)

72 PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. [August 9, 1890.

name now; Compensation Clauses dropped; but Jokim finds it dreary
work dragging the wreck along.

"Seems to me, Toby," he said, with a sob in his voice, "that
whatever I do is wrong. This Bill has gone through various trans-
mogrifications sinee, with a light heart, I brought it in as part of
Budget scheme. But it's all the same. Hit high or hit low, I can't
please 'em. Begin to think if there were any other business open
for me, should chuck this up."

" Ever been in the carpet-cleaning line ? said Maple-Blundell,
in harsh voice, and with curiously soured face. Generally beams

through life as if it were
all sunshine. Now cloud
seems to have fallen over
his expansive person, and
he is as gloomy as Jokim.

"It's all very well for
you," he continues, glower-
ing at Jokim, " to complain
of your lot; but till you go
into the carpet-cleaning
line you never know what
vicissitudes mean. One
day, alighting from your
four-in-hand, and happily
able to spare to Tottenham
Court Road a few moments
from direction of national
affairs, you look in at your
shop; enter a lady who
says she wants a carpet
cleaned. ' Very well,' you
say rubbing your hands,
and smiling blandly; ' and
what will be 'the next
article.' Nothing fmore.
Only this blooming carpet,
out of which, when the job

is finished and it is sent
Floored by the Carpet. home yQU make a modegt

five bob. Tour keen insight into figures, Jokim, will convince
you that the coin colloquially known as five bob won't go far
to enable you to cut a figure in Society, drive four-in-hand, give
pic-nics in your park to the Primrose League, and subscribe to
the Carlton Fund. However, there it is; carpet comes; you send
it out in usual way, and what happens ? "Why it blows itself up,
kills two boys, lames a man, and then you discover that you've been
entertaining unawares a carpet worth £1000 which you have to pay.
Did that ever happen to you at the Treasury?" Maple- Blundell
fiercely demanded. Jokim forced to admit that .his infinite sorrows
had never taken that particular turn.

"Very well, then," snapped Maple-Blundell, " don't talk to me
about your troubles. As far as I know this is the only carpet in the
world valued at £1000; it is certainly the only one that ever went off
by spontaneous combustion; and I had this particular carpet in
charge, at the very moment when it
was ready to combust spontaneously."

"Yes," said Jokim, softly, as
Maple-Blukdell went off, viciously
stamping on the carpet that oovers
the Library floor, "we all have our
troubles, and when I think of Maple-
Blunbell and his combustible carpet
I am able the better to bear the woes
I have."

Business done.—In Committee on
Local Taxation Bill.

Thursday.—" True, Toby," Old
Morality said, in reply to an obser-
vation, "I am a little tired, and
naturally; things haven't been going
so well as they did; but I could get
along well enough if it wasn't for
Summebs. Cokybeabe's cantan-
kerous ; Stoby is strenuous; Tanneb
tedious; and Dillon denunciatory.
But there's something about Som-
mebs that is peculiarly aggravating.
In the first place, he is, as far as
appearances go, such a quiet, amiable,
inoffensive young man. Looking at him, one would think that
butter wouldn't melt in his mouth, much less that Mixed Marriages
in Malta should keep him awake at night, and the question of Inter-
national Arbitration should lower his appetite. Yet you know how
it is. He seems to have some leisure on his hands; uses it to formu-
late conundrums; comes down here, and propounds them to me.
Just look at Ms list for to-night. Lintobn Simmojtds's Mission to

the Pope; Customs' Duty in Algeria; International Arbitration;
Walfish Bay, and Damara Land, together with the view the Cape
Colonies may take of the Anglo-German Agreement. That pretty
well for one night; but he's gone off now, to look up a fresh batch,
which he '11 unfold to-morrow. Now is the winter of our discontent,
which is chilly enough; but, for my part, I often think that life
would be endurable only for its Summers."

Haven't often heard Old Morality speak so bitterly ; generally,
even at worst time, overflowing with geniality; ready to take
kindest view of circumstances, and hope for the best. But Summers,
surveying mankind from China to Peru in search of material for
fresh conundrum, too much for mildest-mannered man. Old
Morality, goaded to verge of madness, jumps up; hotly declines to
reply to Summers ; begs him to address his questions to Ministers to
whose Department they belonged.

Business done.—Local Taxation Bill through Committee.

Friday.—Still in our ashes live our wonted fires. Dwelling just
now amid ashes of expiring Session ; everything dull and deadly ;
pounding away at Local Taxation Bill; Scotch Members to the fore,
for the fortieth time urging that the £40,000 allotted them in relief
of school fees shall be made £90,000. House divides, and also for
fortieth time says "No; " expect to go on with next Amendment;
when suddenly Harcourt springs on Old Morality's back, digs his
knuckles into his eyes, bites his ear, and observes that he " has never
seen a piece of more unexampled insolence." Old Morality, when
he recovers breath, goes and tells the Master—I mean the Speaker.
Speaker says Haboourt shouldn't use language like that: so Har-
couRT'Subsides, and incident closes as rapidly and suddenly as it opened.

A little later Compton goes for Raikes ; hints that he sub-edited
for Hansard portions of a speech delivered in House on Post Office
affairs. Raikes says " Noble Lord charged me with having deliber-
ately falsified my speech." Comptost says he didn't. "Then,"
said Raikes, with pleading voice that went to every heart, " I wish
the Noble Lord had the manliness to charge me with deliberate falsi-
fication." CoMPTOsr refused to oblige ; Raikes really depressed.

" Don't know what we're coming to, Toby," he said, " when one
almost goes on his knees to ask a man to charge him with deliberate
falsification, and he won't do it. Thought better of Comptoh ; see
him in his true light now." Business done.—A good deal.

A SPORTING STYLE.

Our next example of a true sporting stvle will be constructed on
the basis of Nos. 11, 12, and 13 of the Rules. These, it will be
remembered, require the writer to refer to " the good old days ; " to
be haughty and contemptuous, with a parade of rugged honesty; to
be vain and offensive, and to set himself up as an infallible judge of
every branch of sport and athletics. This particular variety of style
is always immensely effective. All the pot-boys of the Metropolis,
most of the shady bookmakers, and a considerable proportion of the
patrons of sport swear by it, and even the most thoughtful who read it
cannot fail to be impressed by its splendour. This style deals in para-
graphs. Second Example.—Event to be commented on: A Regatta.

I am led to believe by column upon column of wishy-washy
twaddle in the morning papers, that Henley Regatta has actually
taken place. The effete parasites of a decayed aristocracy who
direct this gathering endeavour year after year to make the world
believe that theirs is the only meeting at which honour has the least
chance of bursting into flower. I have my own opinions on this
point. Really, these tenth transmitters of foolish faces become more
and more brazen in their attempts to palm off their miserable two-
penny-half penny,',tin-pot, one-horse Regatta as the combination of
all the cardinal virtues.

These gentry presume to dictate to rowing men what shall consti-
tute the status of the Amateur. Eor my own part (and the world
will acknowledge that I have done some rowing in my time) I prefer
the straight-forward conduct of any passing rag-and-bone merchant
to the tricks of the high and mighty champions of the amateur quali-
fication in whose nostrils the mere name of professional oarsman seems
to stink. These pampered denizens of the amateur hothouse would,
doubtless, wear a kid-glove before they ventured to shake hands with
one who, like myself, despises them and their absurd pretensions.

As for the rowing, it was fantastic. I wasn't there. Indeed, those
who know me, would never think so meanly of me as to suppose that
I would attend this Regatta pour rire. But I know enough to be
sure that the Eights were slow, the Pours deficient in pace, the pairs
on the minus side of nothing, and the scullers preposterous. Rowing
must be in a bad way when it can boast no better champions (save the
mark!) than those who last week aired their incompetence, and
impeded the traffic of the people upon the_ Thames. Time was when
an oarsman was an oarsman, but now he is a miserable cross between
a Belgravian flunkey and a riverside tout. Which is all I care to
say on an unsavoury matter.

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