Punch (100.1891)

March 7, 1891.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. 109

VOCES POPULI.

LN A FOG.—A Reminiscence of the Past Month.
Scene—Main Thoroughfare near Hyde Park. Time

8 p.m. Nothing visible anywhere, but very much audible;

horses slipping and plunging, wheels griding, crashes,
jolts, and English as she is spoke on such occasions.

Mrs. Flusters (who is seated in a brougham with her
husband, on their way to dine with some friends in Crom-
well Road). We shall be dreadfully late, I know we
shall! I'm sure Peacock could go faster than this if he
liked—he always loses his head when there's much
traffic. Do tell him to make haste!

Mr. F. Better let him alone—he knows what he's doing.

Mrs. F. I don't believe he does, or he wouldn't dawdle
like this. If you won't speak to him, I must. (Lets
down the glass and puts out her head.) Peacock !

A Blurred Shadow on the Box. Yes, M'm.

Mrs. F. What are we stopping for like this ?

The Shadow. Fog very thick just 'ere, M'm. Can't
see what's in front of us, M'm.

Mrs. F. It's just as safe to keep moving as to stand
still—go on at once.

The S. Very good. M'm. (To horse.) Pullurp! [Crash!

Voice from the Unseen. What the blanky blank, &c.

Peacock. There is suthin in front, M'm. A van, from
'is langwich, M'm.

Mrs. F. (sinking back). Marmaduke, this is awful.
I'd no idea the fog was like this—or I should never

have- (With temper.) B,eally, people have no right

to ask one out on such a night.

Mr. F. (with the common-sense that makes him "so
aggravating at fo'mes.") Well, Fanny, you could hardly
expect 'em to foresee the weather three weeks ahead !

Mrs. F. At all events, you might have seen what it
was going to be as you came home from the Temple.
Then we could have sent a telegram !

Mr. F. It seemed to be lifting then, and besides, I—ah
—regard a dinner-engagement as a species of kindly social
contract, not to be broken except under pressing necessity.

Mrs. F. You mean you heard me say there was nothing
but cold meat in the house, and you know you '11 get a good
dinner at the Cordon-Blewitis,—not thatwe are likely to
get there to-night. Have you any ideawhereaboutsweare ?

Mr. F. (calmly). None whatever.

Mrs. F. Then ask Peacock.

Mr. F. (lets down his window, and leans out). Peacock!

The Shadow. Sir ?

Mr. F. Where have we got to now ?

Peacock. I ain't rightly sure, Sir.

3Irs. F. Tell him to turn round, and go home.

Mr. F. It's no use going on like this. Turn back.

Peacock. I dursn't leave the kerb —all I got to goby, Sir.

Mr. F. Then take one of the lamps, and lead the horse.

Peacock. It's the young 'orse, Sir.

Mr. F. (sinking back). We must put up with it, I sup-
pose. \_A smart crack is heard at the back of the carriage.

More Voices. Now, then, why the blanky dash, &c, &c.

Mr8. F. Marmaduke, I can't sit here, and know that
a bus-pole may come between us at any moment. Let us
get out, and take a cab home at once.

Mr. F. There's only one objection to that suggestion
—viz., that it's perfectly impossible to tell a cab from a
piano-organ. We must find out where we are first, and
then turn. Peacock, drive on as well as you can, and
stop when you come to a shop.

Mrs, F. What do you want to stop at a shop for ?

Mr. F. Why, then I can go in, and ask where we are.

Mrs. F. And how do you expect them to know where we
are ! (She sees a smear of light in the distance.) Mar-
maduke, there's a linkman. Get out quick, and hire him
to lead the way.

Mr. F. (who gets out, and follows in the direction of
the light, grumbling to hmiself), Hallo!—not past the
Park yet—here 's the railings ! Well, if I keep close to

them, I shall- (He suddenly collides with a bench.)

Phew! Oh, confound it! (He rubs his shins.) Now, if

it hadn't been for Fanny, I- Where's that linkman ?

Hi!—you there!—stop! (The light stops.) Look here—
I want you to come to my carriage, and show my man
the way out of this !

Voice from behind the Railings. We got to find our
own way out fust, Guv'nor. We 're inside f

A Belated Reveller (lurching up to Mr. F.) Beg your
pardon, bur cou' you dreck me nearesht way— er—
Dawshon Plashe ?

BITING SARCASM.

Gentleman with the Broom (icho has inadvertently splashed the Artist's favourite
Shipwreck). " Ow yus ! I suppose yer think ye 're the President o' the
Roy'l Acadermy I A settin there in the Lap er Luxury ! ! "

Mr. F. (savagely). First turning to the right, third to the left, and then
straight on till you come to it!

The B. R. I'm exsheedingly 'blished ; (confidentially) fact ish, I'm shuffrin'
shli' 'fection eyeshi', an' I 'shure you, can't shee anyshing dishtingly to-ni'. (He
cannons against a lamp-post, to which he clings affectionately, as a Policeman
emerges from the gloom.) Policeman. Now then, what are you doing 'ere, ehP
The B. R. Itsh all ri', P'lishman, thish gerrilman— (patting lamp-post affec-
tionately)—-has kindly promished shee me home.

Mr, F. Hang it! Where's Peacock and the brougham ? He discovers a
phantom vehicle by the kerb, and gets in angrily.) Now, look here, my dear,

it's no earthly good-!

Occupant of the Brougham (who is not Fanny), Coward, touch a defenceless
woman if you dare I I have nothing on me of any value. Help ! Police !
[Mr. F,, seeing that explanation is useless, lets himself out again, precipitately,
dodges the Policeman, and bolts, favoured by the fog, until all danger of pur-
suit is passed, at the end o f which time he suddenly realises that it is perfectly
hopeless to attempt to find his own carriage again. He gropes his way home, and
some hours later, after an extemporised cold supper, is rejoined by his Wife.
Mrs. F. (cheerfully). So there you are, Marmaduke ! I wasn't anxious—I
felt sure you 'd find your way back somehow !

Mr. F. (not in the best of tempers). Find my way back! It was the only
thing I could do. But where have you been all this time, Fanny ?

Mrs. F. Where ? Why, at the Blewitts, to be sure! You see, after you
got out, we had to keep moving on, and by-and-by the fog got better, and we
could see where we were going to,—and the Blewitts had put off dinner half an
hour, so I was not so very late. Such a nice dinner ! Everybody turned up
except you, Marmaduke—but I told them how it was. Oh, and old Lady
Horehound was there, and said a man had actually got into her brougham, and
tried to wrench off one of her bracelets !— only she spoke to him so severely that
he was struck with remorse, or something, and got out again ! And it was by
the Park, close to where you left me. Just fancy, Marmaduke, he might have
got into the carriage with me, instead !

Mr. F. (gloomily). Yes, he might— only, he—er—didn't, you know !

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