Punch: Punch (101.1891)

120 PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. [September 5, 1891.

STORiCULES.

II.— TnE Back-View.
The boy had gone out to get change.

I was waiting in the studio, listening to the photographer. He
was in quite a small way of business, and no one would have expected
him to have any change for anything. I was sitting on a rustic stile,
with a Greek temple and some wilted Spiraeas in the background.

He was in the dark
room, busy, splash-
ing liquids about,
and reminiscent. I
still believe that he
thought the time of
waiting would seem
shorter to me if he
talked. The whole
place seemed to sug-
gest financial diffi-
culties, and smelt of
chemicals.

'1 You remember
the Punyer case?"
he asked. His voice
sounded thin and
far-off through the
closed door of the
dark room.

I did. Punter
had been a cashier,
and had absconded
with rather more
than the usual
amount.

"Well, _ I had
some dealings with
Ptjnyer. As a
cashier he was cer-
tainly dishonest, but as a man 'he was absolutely reliable, and
nothing would induce him to break his word. I know that to be a
fact from my personal experience of the man ; indeed, it was through
me that he was identified—or, rather, through one of my photographs."
"Really?"

"Yes. On the clay that he absconded, a four-wheeler drove up to
this house. The driver got off, and sent a message up to the studio
that a gentleman in a cab outside wished to speak to me. So, of
course, I went out. Inside the cab I found a man wearing a thick
green veil. He explained to me that his face had been injured in a
railway accident, and that he could not allow it to be seen by any
one. He wanted me to photograph the back of his head. He knew
that the request was unusual. ' But,' he said, pathetically, 'my few
friends have got to know the back of my head, just as they know the
faces of others who are—who are less unfortunate than myself. The
doctors tell me that I have not long to live, and my friends are eager
to have some slight memento of me.' I was much moved, and I
agreed to photograph him at once."

" The man was Puxyer ? "

" Of course. The photograph of the back of his head turned out
admirably—clear and full of character."
" But why did he get photographed at all ? "

"You shall hear; it all came out afterwards. I have already
told you that Punyer, in his private capacity, was a man of his
word. It appears that he was engaged to a Miss Miranda Bude.
Indeed, it was to her that I was to send the photographs when they
were finished. He had promised her that he would have his photo-
graph taken for her on his birthday; and the day on which he
absconded happened to be his birthday. He could not break his
promise. What was he to do ? At first he disguised himself as far
as he could; he shaved off his luxurious beard and moustache; he
had his long fair hair closely cropped and stained black. But there
was on his face one certain mark of identification which he could not
alter nor remove. It was a slight scar, extending diagonallv across
his forehead ; when he was a child he once fell into the fender, and
the mark had remained ever since. At last the bright idea occurred
to him that he might have the back of his head photographed instead
of his face, and so keep his promise to Miranda. It was really a
brilliant idea. For there was absolutely nothing in the view of the
back of his head by which he could be identified."

" But you told me just now that he actually was identified by your
photograph."

" So he was ;—I was just going to explain. I was sitting in my
studio one day, touching up the photographs of the back-view of
Punyer, when in came a detective from Scotland Yard. From his
appearance, a detective was the last thing on earth that you would
have taken him to be."

"They generally say that in the detective stories," I said,
meditatively.

" If you think I'm making this up-"

"No, no,—not at all. Go on."

" Well, he told me his business, and I at once showed him one of
the photographs, telling him under what circumstances they were
taken. He examined it carefully. ' Ah ! ' he said, ' if I only could
prove that this was Puxyer, I should be able to complete my case,
and my advancement would be certain. In my own mind I am
convinced of it, but at present I cannot prove it. Punyer had a
scar on his face. It was like his devilish cunning to have only the
back of his head photographed !' He was just leaving, when sud-
denly a new idea seemed to flash across him. He seized the photo-
graph, and rushed across to the mirror. You know that if anything
is written backwards, you can read it by holding it up to a looking-
glass. So, of course, the detective, bv holding up the photograph of
the back-view, saw the full-face reflected. The scar showed just
above the green veil, and consequently-"

At this point the boy returned with my change. The photographer
had locked himself into the dark room, and I could not get at him;
the law gives a man no redress under such circumstances, and so I
came away.

I might have got over the story, perhaps; but my change, I found
afterwards, was sixpence short, and that is not so easy to forgive.

ENTERTAINMENT/

[" People of this high class (Royal Highnesses, &c.) are said to ' entertain'
visitors, but that is an inversion of the actual fact; their object is to be
entertained. And quite right too. Nothing can surely be more delightful
than to have one's house full of friends at will, and then be able to turn them
out at a moment's notice (as a life-boat gets rid of superfluous water) by that
simple mechanism of a Chamberlain. When the Social System attains its
acme, all of us will have a Chamberlain and be entertained."—James Payx.]

Host {concerning Guest):—
TnE twenty-first day, and no signs of a budge !—

And it isn't for want of " suggestion."
I begin to suspect Hospitality's fudge,

Meaning—mutually ruined digestion !
He is such a bore, and his wife is so fat,

And as fond of her bed as a dormouse.
Myr girls say—in confidence—she is a cat;

I 'm sure he's a prig and a poor-mouse.
I fancied he 'd " influence," which he might use

For Dick, our third son, who 's a duffer.
It doesn't come off, and I really refuse

In Dick's interests longer to suffer.
Payn's right, and a Chamberhiin would be a boon.

Ah ! I know so precisely what Payn meant.
What! Be entertained—by one's guests ? I'd as soon

From a locust-swarm seek—Entertainment!

Guest {concerning Host):—

Hah! He wants to get rid of us, currish old cub !

But, although it's by no means amusing,
My only alternative now is the Club.

Confound Mrs. Jones for refusing
McMungo's " invite" into Scotland. She thought

This crib was as swell, and more cosy.
She hoped, too, to meet that young Magnus McNaught,

AYho once seemed so sweet on oux-Rosie.
We 're bored to extinction, and Bloggs is a "foots " ;

If we 're late down to breakfast, he snorts at us.
He worries our lives out with pic-nics and shoots,

And will nourish his Clarets and Ports at us.
My wife likes her ease and her breakfast in bed ;

I hate cellar-swagger and scurry.
Entertainment indeed ! We 're as lumpish as lead

When we 're not on the whirl or the worry.
But turn out to-morrow, my Bloggs ?_ No, not me,

Though I know what your " little hints " signify.
Your " dear Dick " forsooth ! Such a noodle as he

The title of " duffer " would dignify
You've given up hope about him, and so now

You would have us "make room." Not precisely !
Till the Tenth, when we 're due at Dunclacket, somehow

" The Doldrums" will do pretty nicely.
Payx's right. With " high rank and no manners," a man

His guests may " evict " at his pleasure ;
But Bloggs—till he hits on some "Chamberlain " plan —

Must leave 'em to flit at their leisure.
I made up my mind when I came to this place ;

For a month, at the least, to remain meant.
Though now my amusement at Bloggs's wry face

Is nearly my sole " Entertainment."

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