Punch: Punch (69.1875)

September 18, 1875.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

113

THE FATAL CONTRACT.

{A Warning to Travellers.)

Scene I.—The Saloon of a Steamship hound from the Port of

London to - {passage two or more days). The Steward

discovered discoursing affably with his Subordinate.

Steward {smiling). Soup and biscuit. They will do well for the
opening luncheon. A modest refreshment truly, but one that will
be pardoned for the sake of the glories of the coming dinner.

Subordinate. Ha, ha, ha! The coming dinner!

Steward. You like the jest!

Subordinate. Right well. It is a merry one—a very merry one !
Ha, ha, ha!

Steward {smiling). "Well, I confess it lacks not quaintness. But
come, we must be serious. Have you prepared the final breakfast
—the breakfast that will be eaten at our destination by the thought-
less and unwary ?

Subordinate. Ay, ay. That indeed I have.

Steward. 'Tis well, 'tis very well. And now, Boy, back again to
deck to whistle away for the kindly storms that will keep our larder
sacred. {Exit Subordinate.) Clouds! {looking out of porthole)
clouds everywhere. 'Tis well, very well. Ah! I hear the fall of
footsteps. The sound denotes the arrival of passengers, -with whom
I must contract. Ha, ha, ha! But let me dissemble. {Enter Im-
perfect Sailor and Chables, his Friend.) Good morrow, Gentlemen.
I am the Steward of this pleasant ship. The journey will be a fine
one. You will contract ?

Imperfect Sailor. Faith, yes—if I do starve.

Charles {his Friend). Good! very good, indeed!

Steward. You speak truly, Sir—a very merry quip, indeed! Ha,
ha, ha! Your pardon, Sir, but you will be the death of me! But
you will not starve if you contract with me for your provisions.
First, lunch—a slight collation, some simple soup, a broken biscuit,
a little cheese and butter, nothing more. And then a good Old
English dinner: Salmon, meats of all kinds, fruit pies, nuts, cheese,
grapes, plums, pears, and everything you can require.

Imperfect Sailor. A noble meal!

Charles {his Friend). A noble meal, indeed!

Steward. So you will say when you do see it. After dinner a
rich meat tea—not devoid of kippered herrings. Supper for those
who will. The next morning coffee with the rising sun, to be
followed by a glorious breakfast (with fish, meat, and many eggs)—
a breakfast worthy of our sires. Another good Old English dinner,
and then tea, supper as before. Do you like the picture ?

Imperfect Sailor. Much.

Charles {his Friend). Very much, indeed!

Steward. And for all this—a dozen paltry shillings !

Imperfect Sailor. Done with you, Sir Steward.

Charles {his Friend). Ay, indeed—a goodly bargain. I too say
done.

Steward. Indeed, fair Sirs, then it would be uncourtly not to
echo " done! "

[The contract is signed, and the Imperfect Sailor and Chables
{his Friend) gaily discuss the lunch—soup and broken biscuits.
The Steward regards them with an air of triumph.

Scene II.—The Same. Off Greenwich.

Imperfect Sailor. This boat appears to breast the waves most
bravely. See, a gale is springing up. Already we have weather
that old sea-horses, making for Battersea Bridge from Westminster,
would call " dirty." Come, good Sir Steward, is dinner ready ?

Charles {his Friend). Yes, indeed,—we ask for dinner.

Steward. Anon, fair Sirs, anon. [Exit, smiling.

Scene III.—The Same. Two hours later.
Steward. Dinner waits, my masters. Salmon—the finest meats—
boiled mutton, and white-sauced fowls. Come, and be merry.
Imperfect Sailor {struggling with his emotion). Begone !
Charles {his Friend—ditto). Begone, and. quickly!

Scene IV.—The Same. Time— The evening of the second day.

Steward. I have called you once to breakfast, twice to dinner,
and still you will not come. You are eating nothing. Nay, good
my masters, let me urge you to take something—say a tiny piece of
good fat ham, cut thickly, and smothered well in large broad beans
and savoury melted butter.

Imperfect Sailor {faintly). You torture me ! Begone !

Charles {his Friend—very faintly). 0 dear ! 0 dear! I 0 dear!!!

Scene Y.—The Same. The Steamer has arrived in Port. Imperfect
Sailor and Chables {his Friend), having recovered, are seen
eating breakfast.

Imperfect Sailor {giving money). Take thy cash, false Steward,
for food we did not eat—for phantom dinners and for shadowy teas.
Steward. They were there for you to eat. Why did you not come

for them ? I own the passage was a rough one, but was that fault
mine ?

Imperfect Sailor. Fault or no fault, begone! Let us enjoy at
least in peace the one poor solitary meal we have been able to eat
since leaving London.

Steward. Your pardon, fair Sirs. For this meal we charge you
each four shillings extra I

Tableau and Curtain.

WORDS TO THE WISE.

T this season of the year,
when so many of Mr.
Punch's friends cross the
seas in search of distant
lands, "advice to those
about to travel" rises to
a premium. Under these
circumstances, the
Greatest Sage of this or
any other age jots down a
few opinions of more or
less value—opinions which
must be taken for exactly
what they are worth; an
unknown quantity. It will
be seen by the intelligent
that the following advice
is tendered with a view to
enabling the recipient to
avoid what our "lively
neighbours" (by the way,
they are not particularly
" lively " on the Channel)
call mal de mer.

Angelina's Advice. —
Choose a day for the
passage when there is a
magnificent sun-set and
(insist upon this) a glori-
ous moonlight. Pass the
afternoon in reading Tenntson, and, as the evening star appears,
accompanied by the silvery moon, begin to talk softly (after having
disposed of Mamma in the Cabin) to Edwin. In his company, the
voyage will prove a very short one.

Mr. Decimal Point, M.P.,'s Advice.—A mere question of figures.
Take seventy blue-books, and find out the average of shipwrecks in
the summer months and the average of shipwrecks in the winter
months. Calculate the proportion of shipwrecks to the vessels
(taking care to distinguish between sailing vessels and steamers)
leaving the Port of London. Repeat the operation with the other
British Ports. Having obtained these figures, be guided by the
result, and choose a day for your passage which would seem to
warrant you in the belief that the statistics, properly considered,
should yield you a fine passage.

Mr. Thomas Nipper's Advice. — Keep it up, Sir, keep it up.
Choose any day you please. It don't matter a rap whether it's
rough or fine. All you have to do when you come on board is to
order the Steward to bring you a brandy and soda. Drink it. Next
smoke a pipe. This done, drink a quart bottle of stout. After that
take another pipe and another quart bottle of stout. Repeat the
remedy every ten minutes until you arrive at Calais, and wben you
get there you will find yourself quite able to hold your own with
the Mossoos who want to examine your luggage.

The Hon. Plantagenet Vagueboy's Advice. — The simplest thing
in the world. Tell your Fellow to choose a good thingummy for
you, and be careful when you go on board to see that the what-you-
may-call-'em is on a line with the thingumbob. Before you turn
in, ask for a glass of what-d'ye-eall-it (mind you don't take what's-
his-name, as it is never good on board ship), and be careful to
regulate the—dear me, what is it ?—by the—h'm, I had the word
only a moment ago. LE you make no mistake in carrying out these
directions, you are sure to be as right as possible in the very roughest
weather.

Mrs. Materfamilias's Advice.—Before going on board, mind you
have a good meat tea, and be careful to drink a bottle of champagne.
The moment you are in the cabin, put large lumps of ice on your
head and lie on your back, eating every now and then a mixture of
glycerine, ketchup, and camphor. These remedies were furnished
to me by the Family Doctor. I am not altogether sure that I have
given them quite correctly.

Mr. Punch's Advice (warranted infallible).—Take all the above
remedies, and choose the most comfortable berth in the vessel.
Then, if you want to be quite, well, come ashore, and allow the
steamer to start without you.