Punch: Punch (101.1891)

September 19, 1891.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

135

Podb. "What if she is, she don't understand a word
we 're saying. I want to hear all about Her, you know.

Culch. My dear Podbury, we shall have ample time to
talk about her while we are at Nuremberg together - it
will be the greatest pleasure to me to do so as long as
ever you please.

Podb. Thanks, old chap ! I'd no idea you were doing
all this, you know. But just tell me this, what did she
say about me ?

Culch. {mystified). About you ? I really don't recol-
lect that she mentioned you particularly.

Podb. [puzzled). But I thought you said you'd been
speaking up for me ! What did you talk about then ?

Culch. Well, about myself—naturally.

\He settles his collar with a vague satisfaction.

Podb. {blankly). Oh ! Then you haven't been arrang-
ing to meet her again on 7?iy account ?

Culch. Good Heavens, no—what a very grotesque
idea of yours, my dear fellow ! \_He laughs gently.

Podb. Is it ? You always gave out that she wasn't
your style at all, and you only regarded her as a

study," and rot like that. How could i" tell you would
go and cut me out ?

Culch. I don't deny that she occasionally—er—jarred.
She is a little deficient in surface refinement—but that
will come, that will come. And as to " cutting you out,"
why, you must allow you never had the remotest-

Podb. I don't allow anything of the sort. She liked
me well enough till—till you came in and set her against
me, and you may think it friendly if you like, hut I
call it shabby—confoundedly shabby.

Culch. Don't talk so loud, I'm sure I saw that woman
smile !

Podb. She may smile her head off for all I care. [The
train stops; the Cripple and all but the Pale-haired Lady
get out.) Here we are at Nuremberg. "What hotel did
you sav you are going to ?

Culch. The Bavrischer-Hof. Why ?

\_He gets his coat and sticks, §c, out of the rack.

Podb. Because I shall go to some other, that's all.

Culch. [in dismay). My dear Podbury, this is really too
childish ! There 's no sense in travelling together, if
we 're going to stay at different hotels !

Podb. I'm not sure I shall go any further. Anyway,
while I am here, I prefer to keep to myself.

Culch. (with a displeased laugh). Just as you please.
It's a matter of perfect indifference to me. I'm afraid
you '11 be terribly bored by yourself, though.

Podb. That's my look out. It can't be worse than
going about with you and listening while you crow and
drivel about her, that's one comfort ! [The Pale-haired
Lady coughs in a suspicious manner.

Culch. You don't even know if there is another hotel.

Podb. I don't care. I can find a pot-house somewhere,
I daresay.

The Pah-haired Lady (in excellent English, to Pod-
bury as he passes out). Pardon me, you will find close
to the Bahnhof a very goot hotel—the Wurtemburger.
[Podbury thanks her and alights in some confusion ;
the Lady sinks back, smiling.
Culch. (annoyed). She must have understood every
word we said! Are you in earnest over this ? (Pod-
bubt nods grimly.) Well, you'll soon get tired of your
own society, I warn you.

Podb. Thanks, we shall see.
[He saunters off with his bag : CcxCHARD shrugs his
shoulders, and goes in search of the Bayrischer-Hof
Porter, to whom he entrusts his luggage tickets, and
takes his seat in the omnibus alone.

V

"ANGELS AND MINISTERS OF GRACE!"

[" The London Correspondent of the Manchester Guardian
hears that certain ungallant Members of Parliament are threaten-
ing at the beginning of next Session to make a formal protest
against the wholesale admission of ladies to the precincts of the
House."]

Ungallant '. Vastly fine ! But when they'crowd

The terrace seats, elbow us in the lobbies,
Chatter and laugh, and care no more about

(Elderly) senators than boys or bobbies ;
Why then, Sir, all M.P.'s of nerve and nous

Will say that, though we love the babbling beauties,
The swarming of these "Angels in the House,"

Will simply play the devil with its duties!

" NOS ET MUTAMUR IN ILLiS!"

(International Feline Amenities.)

Fair French Republican. "So you 'aye return from Paris ? How did you
like it ?"

Lady Godiva. "Oh, pas de tout—it is so altered for the worse ! For

I can remember what it was in the dear old days of the empire ! "

Fair French Republican. "Ah, Miladi, is it not possible zat Paris may

find you a little bit altered too ! "

STORICULES.

IV.—A Reviewer's Confession.

I am extremely fond of sitting and looking on; but I do not care about taking
part in anything. There are some people who cannot even witness a cab accident
without wanting to be the horse or the man who is sitting on the horse's head.
They walk round the prostrate animal and give advice ; and if they are allowed
to help in any way, they are quite happy. If such people watch a game of any
sort, they always wish they were taking part in it. I once went to a cricket-
ground to eat luncheon, and I went with an enthusiast of this kind. We noticed
that his attention seemed distracted, that he only replied in monosyllables when
we spoke to him, and that there was something on his mind. " I would give,"
he exclaimed, at last—and it was the only remark that he had volunteered for
half-an-hour—" I would give a year of my life for twenty minutes with that
bowling." He was evidently deeply affected. " Why don't they take him
off?" he moaned. There were tears in his eyes. I do not quite understand
that feeling. I can watch absolutely anything, but I never want to do more. I
was not made to undertake principal parts—I can witness amateur theatricals
without wishing to be the prompter. 1 review novels, but I do not write them.

The other day I watched a game of tennis. I had placed the lounge-chair in
a safe and shady position. I had got a paper-knife and the third volume with
me. The cat had followed me out of the library, and sat down in a convenient
position so that I could scratch it gently behind the ear if I wanted to. _ I was
smoking a pipe that had just reached the right stage of maturityand, in some
indefinable way, made life seem richer and better. Everything was well
arranged for the watching of tennis.

There were two players—Bill, a young son of the house, whom I knew
intimately, and Tommy, a boy of the same age, who had just come up from the
Rectory. I had not seen Tommy before. He was a nice-looking little boy, and
wore a black necktie in the collar of his silk tennis-shirt. Bill is not good-
looking; he is red and freckled, and grins vastly. He was wearing rather
unclean flannels, and did not look quite so refined and delicate as Tommy 1
compared the two boys, and thought that I preferred Bill. In the first game of
the set, Bill, who plays wonderfully well, won easily ; after that, my attention
got fixed on that third volume. I turned down a corner of the page whenever I
came across anything that was at all conventional. I was reading the book for