Punch (98.1890)

Mat 10, 1890.]

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

217

EIGHT HOURS ONLY.

{A Fancy Sketch of the Possiile.)

It was the first day under the operation of the new Act. Every-
one was a little nervous ahout the outcome, and John Jones, the
Barrister, was no exception to the general rule. At three o'clock
he was in the full swing of an impassioned appeal to the Jury.

" I beg your pardon, Mr. Jones," said the Judge, glancing at the

clock, "but I am afraid___

I must interrupt you.
I cannot hear you any
longer."

"But, my Lord, I have
not touched upon a third of
the case. I can assure you
my remarks shall be as brief
as possible."

" That is not the point,
Mr. Jones," replied his
Lordship. "I am following
your argument with the
liveliest interest, and I am
sure that all you would
wish to say would be of the
greatest possible service to
your client; but unfor-
tunately I happen to know
that you prepare your cases
in the early hours of the
morning. Now, you know
the law as well I do. If
you have not been at work
to-day for eight hours, of
course I shall be happy
to hear; but if you
have-"

" As your Lordship
pleases," said poor Jones,
and he gathered up his

papers, and left the Court. ~ ~

" Just in time, Sir," observed the attendant in the robing-room,
as he put the Barrister's wig in its box, and assisted him to divest
himself of his gown. " Had you come five minutes later, we should
have gone."

" Really! How would that have suited silk and stuff ? "

" Caused a fearful row, I am afraid, Sir. But we daren't exceed
the eight hours' limit, and we must keep two or three of them for
some work we have in the evening."

When Jones found himself in the Strand he noticed that the traffic
was considerably less than usual. _ The omnibuses were few and far
between, and he did not see a cab in any direction.

"Yes, Sir," replied a policeman, who was removing his band of
office, preparatory to going home; "you won't find many. Eight
hours'limit, Sir. Good-day, Sir. I am off myself."

The boats had ceased running ; there were no trams. To pass the
time he thought he would call upon the Editor, whose rooms were in
Fleet Street.

"I hope I am not interrupting you," he said, as he entered the
sanctum.

" Interrupting me I Why, I am delighted to see you. "We have
nothing to do. Mustn't exceed the eight hours, and they were up at
two o'clock. But how did you get in ? "

" Oh, the Publisher opened the door, and then returned to a rubber
of whist he was playing with the Reader, the Manager, and the
Head of the Advertisement Department. I was introduced to them
all. Then I watched a tug of war going on in the composing-room
between the Compositors on the one side, and the Machinists and
Foundry-men on the other, and came up here."

"Very glad to see you, my dear fellow!" and the Editor once
again shook hands.

A little later Jones entered a restaurant, but he was refused dinner.
The eight hours' limit had cleared off the cooks and the waiters.
Half-starving, he purchased a stall for the theatre. For a while his
thoughts were distracted by the excellence of the performance.
Suddenly, in the most interesting part of the play, the curtain was
prematurely dropped.

"Very sorry," said the Stage Manager, addressing the audience
from behind the footlights, " but, Ladies and Gentlemen, we have no
option. "We had a rehearsal this morning of the new piece, and,
taking this into consideration, our limit is reached. I may seize this
opportunity for regretfully announcing that as two performances
take more than eight hours, the customary Saturday Matinee will for
the future be discontinued."

The orchestra played a few bars of the National Anthem, and the
theatre cleared. Jones strolled on to the Embankment, and, the

MAXIMS FOB, THE BAR. No. V.

' A Curate may be cross-examined with comparative safety."

evening being pleasant, took a seat. Beside him was a student
reading for examination, a clergyman thinking out a sermon, and
an artist taking a rough sketch. Jones took out a brief himself and
opened it. ,. _ , , , ,

" It's no business of mine," said a policeman off duty, who hap-
pened to be passing, " but you gents will get yourselves into trouble
if you exceed the limit." , ,.

"I will go home," exclaimed Jones; and he walked to his
suburban villa. But the place was locked up, and the servants did

not dare to open the door
to him, as they had finished
their legal spell of labour
hours before.

"Don't feel well," he
murmured. " Will call
upon my Doctor."

"Now, my dear Sir,"
said the medical man, _ as
Jones appeared before him,
" you know I must not
prescribe for you. The
eight hours' limit was
reached at four."

" Then, I suppose I
must die. "Will the Act
allow me to do that t "

" Tou, as a Barrister,
ought to know best, my
dear Sir. What is your
idea?"

"My idea?" echoed the
considering Jones. "Well,

I should say- But,

stay; I am not entitled to
give a professional opinion
until to-morrow morning!
Still, offhand I may ob-
serve, that such an illegal
death would savour of
positive suicide ; but it
would not matter very
much, as under existing circumstances suicide in some form or
other seems to me inevitable!" And Jones was right!

IN THE KNOW.

{By Mr. Ptinch's Own Prophet.)

Those who have carefully read the remarks which I have thought
it my duty to make in these columns from time to time, must have
reaped a golden harvest at Newmarket last week. It is not easy,
of course, in these milk-and-water days to say what one means in
sufficiently plain words. Personally, I have always been mild in
my language, and have often been reproached on this score. But I
have always found it possible, without using vulgar and exaggerated
abuse, to express the contempt which, in common with every right-
minded man, I feel for the grovelling herd of incompetent boobies,
whose minds are as muddy as the Rowley Mile after a thunder-
storm. Surefoot was always a favourite of mine. Two months ago
I said, "if Surefoot can only face the starter for the Two Thousand
firmly, he will probably get off well, and ought not to be far behind
the first six at the finish. As to ~Le Nord, though he is not my
colour, he is not likely to be last." Only a mooncalf, with a
porridge-bowl instead of a head, could have mistaken these remarks.

So Sir Thomas Chucks has joined the ranks of aristocratic owners.
Here is a chance for the dilly-dallying professors of humbug to
distinguish themselves. What can be expected from a stable which
always runs its trials at one o'clock in the morning, with nobody but
Mr. Jekemt to look on ? No doubt we shall hear all about it in
the columns which Mr. J. devotes to the edification of dough-faced,
gruel-brained noodles who accept him as their prophet.

Catawampus ran well last week. With two stone less and a
Calyx-eyed saddle-bar, he would have shown up even better.
Whenever the barometer goes up two points Catawampus must be
remembered. He was foaled in a ditch on the old North Road,
somewhere between London and York, and having remained there
or thereabouts for a month, may be considered a good stayer.

The Emtise in the Time op Seveeus.—Wonderful Juggler at
the Empire, with a name that's not to be trifled with, Seveeus.
Some nights he may be better than on others, hut vou '11 be delighted
if you just catch him in the Juggler vein.

The Over-rated Rate-payers who fear the rising of the Rates
more than almost any other rising, express a hope that the L. C. C.
will be economical, and that Faeeeb may be "Nearer."

vol. xcvni.