Punch (77.1879)

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

[August 23, 1879.

CHEERING !

First Artist [on a Pedestrian Tour). " Can YOtr tell which is the best Inn in Baconhurst ? "
Rustic [bewildered). " Dunno."

Second Artist [tired). "Bur we can get Beds there, I suppose? Where do Travellers generally go?"
Rustic. " Go to the Union moostly !"

*i. flourish my bat, just to keep up some excitement, and say, "Well
played ! " in praise of the other side's performance. Except for the
look of the thing—by " the thing " I mean the racket in my hand—
I might be an impartial spectator who has stepped into the court
quite by accident. I am doing no good, and very little harm. I am
an armed neutrality, practising masterly inactivity.

My partner is working away tremendously—he is gasping. I
wonder whether he has been hitting balls that I ought to have taken P
He has just made a splendid hit from the furthest end of his court,
and I am watching his performance with unbounded admiration,
when he cries to me, I think, "Now take it! " and I become aware
of a ball jumping up, quite playfully, just in front of me. I make
for it. Too late. I only hit the ground. Ironical cheers from the
gallery on the lawn. Partner angry.

" You might have hit that" he says.

I explain, humbly, that I thought it was his ball.

" What do I mean by my ball ? " he wants to know, testily ; and,
before I can further explain my theory (which I find is peculiar to
myself), of each person having his own court and not interfering
with the other's, he cries out, " The other side ! " and I find that I
am just in his way when he is about to serve.

The other side, relying on my still remaining the sleeping partner,
send me what every one calls " a nasty one."

Immense surprise—I take it, and return it. Great success. I
feel, all in a moment, that I shall never be able to do it again, and
devoutly hope it won't be returned. Just to give me breathing time.

It is not returned. Thank goodness. I have breathing time, and,
so to speak, I breathe again. My partner is pleased. I think we've
won the game. No ; it's " Deuce." Now what the deuce is deuce ?

One of our opponents is called away, and a young Lady—a quiet-
looking young Lady—takes her place. She has to serve to me.

Now I shall have a chance. She will probably send an easy one.
I prepare to receive an easy one. I am in attitude (there's a good
deal m attitude), and she hits. I run forward. The ball is not over
the net. Fault.

I am walking a few steps backwards, quite leisurely, so as to re-
place myself, when, without any cry of "Play!"—it's so unfair
not to cry "Play ! "—she has served !

Surprise.—The ball comes at me. It is no longer a ball—it is an
invisible something, whirring like a rifle-bullet through the air!
Whizz !—1 hit out vaguely and spasmodically. Poars of laughter
from the gallery on the lawn. Bravo ! " Eh ? where is it P " I want
to know. My next question is, " Wasn't it out ? " Not a bit of it.
I dread the time when I shall have to stand up again before that
young Lady. It is some comfort to be told afterwards that she is
one of the best players in the county.

Wishing to be deeply interested in the game, I ask what the score
is, when my partner replies, "Vantage to us." I say, " Oh indeed! "
and haven't an idea what he means. I shall find out. But why ©n
earth can't this sort of game be scored simply like " fives" ? Why
can't the game be fifteen, the players who are "in" to score, their
opponents trying to put them out, and no "fault" to be allowed to the
" game ball" ? I am meditating on this, when my partner shouts
out something, —the ball arrives at my toes. I make some extra-
ordinary gymnastic effort, and hit my chin with my bat. How, I
don't know. It came up like a spoon.

Happy Thought.—New name for novel, Cometh up like a Spoon.
To be followed by Ooeth doivn like a Strawberry.

" You thought you were taking some more strawberries and
cream," observes my partner, sarcastically. We have lost the game.
More than that, we have lost the set.

Last Surprise.—The set! We've played a set! Don't like to
ask " How many go to a set ? " I fancy I hear someone say that our
opponents won five games out of six. Which did we win ? The
first, I think.

Hostess politely asks me if I will play again. With a great show
of self-denial, I say, "Oh no, let somebody else take my place."
Offer accepted at once.

" Now," I hear some one remark, " we shall have a good game."

I light a cigar, and join the gallery on the lawn.