ON THE SANDS.
(A Sketch at Margate.)
Close under the Parade Watt a large circle has been formed, consisting chiefly of Women on chairs and camp-stools, with an inner ring of small children, who are all patiently awaiting the arrival of a troupe of Niggers. At the head of one of the flights of steps leading up to the Parade, a small and shrewish Child-nurse is endeavouring to detect and recapture a pair of prodigal younger Brothers, who have given her the slip.
Sarah (to herself). Wherever can them two plegs have got to? (Aloud; drawing a bow at a venture) ALBERT! 'ENERY! Come up 'ere this minnit. I see yer!
'Enery (under the steps—to Albert). I say—d'ye think she do?—'cos if—
Albert. Not she! Set tight. [They sit tight.]
Sarah (as before). 'ENERY! ALBERT! You've bin and 'alf killed little GEORGIE between yer!
'Enery (moved, to Albert). Did you 'ear that, BERT? It wasn't me upset him—was it now?
Albert (impenitent). 'Oo cares! The Niggers'll be back direckly.
Sarah. AL-BERT! 'ENERY! Your father's bin down 'ere once after you. You'll ketch it!
Albert (sotto voce). Not till Father ketches us, we shan't. Keep still, 'ENERY—we're all right under 'ere!
Sarah (more diplomatically). 'ENERY! ALBERT! Father's bin and left a 'ap'ny apiece for yer. Ain't yer comin' up for it? If yer don't want it, why, stay where you are, that's all!
Albert (to 'Enery). I knoo we 'adn't done nothin'. An' I'm goin' up to git that ap'ny, I am.
'Enery. So'm I. [They emerge, and ascend the steps—to be pounced upon immediately by the ingenious SARAH.
Sarah. 'Ap'ny, indeed! You won't git no 'apence 'ere, I can tell yer—so jest you come along 'ome with me!
[Exeunt ALBERT and 'ENERY, in captivity, as the Niggers enter the circle.
Bones. We shall commence this afternoon by 'olding our Grand Annual Weekly Singing Competition, for the Discouragement of Youthful Talent. Now then, which is the little gal to step out first and git a medal? (The Children giggle, but remain seated.) Not one? Now I arsk you—What is the use o' me comin' 'ere, throwin' away thousands and thousands of pounds on golden medals, if you won't take the trouble to stand up and sing for them? Oh, you'll make me so wild, I shall begin spittin' 'alf-sovereigns directly—I know I shall! (A little Girl in a sun-bonnet comes forward.) Ah, 'ere's a young lady who's bustin' with melody, I can see. Your name, my dear? Ladies and Gentleman, I have the pleasure to announce that Miss CONNIE COCKLE will now appear. Don't curtsey till the Orchestra gives the chord. (Chord from the harmonium—the Child advances, and curtsies with much aplomb.) Oh, lor! call that a curtsey—that's a cramp, that is! Do it all over again! (The Child obeys, disconcerted.) That's worse! I can see the s'rimps blushin' for yer inside their paper bags! Now see Me do it. (Bones executes a caricature of a curtsey, which the little Girl copies with terrible fidelity.) That's ladylike—that's genteel. Now sing out! (The Child sings the first verse of a popular Music-hall song, in a squeaky little voice.) Talk about nightingales! Come 'ere, and receive the reward for extinguished incapacity. On your knees! (The little Girl kneels before him while a tin medal is fastened upon her frock.) Rise, Sir CONNIE COCKLE! Oh, you lucky girl!
The Child returns, swelling with triumph, to her companions, several of whom come out, and go through the same performance, with more or less squeakiness and self-possession.
First Admiring Matron (in audience). I do like to see the children kep' out o' mischief like this, instead o' goin' paddling and messing about the sands!
Second Ad. Mat. Just what I say, my dear—they're amused and edjucated 'ow to beyave at the same time!
First Politician (with the "Standard"). No, but look here—when GLADSTONE was asked in the House whether he proposed to give the Dublin Parliament the control of the Police, what was his answer? Why....
The Niggers (striking up chorus). "Rum-tumty-diddly-umpty-doodah dey! Rum-tumty—diddly—um," was all that he could say! And the Members and the Speaker joined together in the lay. Of "Rum—tumty-diddly-umty doodah-dey!"
Second Pol. (with the "Star"). Well, and what more would you have 'ad him say? Come, now!
Alf. (who has had quite enough ale at dinner—to his fiancée). These Niggers ain't up to much, Loo. Can't sing for nuts!
Chorley (his friend—perfidiously). You'd better go in and show 'em how, old man. Me and Miss SERGE'll stay and see you take the shine out of 'em!
Alf. P'raps you think I can't. But, if I was to go upon the 'Alls now, I should make my fortune in no time! Loo's 'eard me when I've been in form, and she'll tell you—
Miss Serge. Well, I will say there's many a professional might learn a lesson from ALF—whether Mr. PERKINS believes it or not.
[Cuttingly, to "CHOH-LEY."
Chorley. Now reelly, Miss Loo, don't come down on a feller like that. I want to see him do you credit, that's all, and he couldn't 'ave a better opportunity to distinguish himself—now could he?
Miss Serge. I'm not preventing him. But I don't know—these niggers keep themselves very select, and they might object to it.
Alf. I'll soon square them. You keep your eye on me, and I'll make things a bit livelier! [He enters the Circle.
Miss Serge (admiringly). He has got a cheek, I must say! Look at him, dancing there along with those two Niggers—they don't hardly know what to make of him yet!
Chorley. Do you notice how they keep kicking him beyind on the sly like? I wonder he puts up with it!
Miss S. He'll be even with them presently—you see if he isn't.
[ALF attempts to twirl a tambourine on his finger, and lets it fall; derision from audience; Bones pats him on the head, and takes the tambourine away—at which ALF only smiles feebly.
Chorley. It's a pity he gets so 'ot dancing, and he don't seem to keep in step with the others.
Miss S. (secretly disappointed). He isn't used to doing the double-shuffle on sand, that's all.
The Conductor. Bones, I observe we have a recent addition to our Company. Perhaps he'll favour us with a solo. (Aside to Bones.) 'Oo is he? 'Oo let him in 'ere—you?
Bones. I dunno. I thought you did. Ain't he stood nothing?
Conductor. Not a brass farden!
Bones (outraged). All right, you leave him to me. (To ALF.) Kin it be? That necktie! them familiar coat-buttons! that paper-dicky! You are—you are my long-lost Convick Son, 'ome from Portland! Come to these legs! (He embraces ALF, and smothers him with kisses.) Oh, you've been and rubbed off some of your cheek on my complexion—you dirty boy! (He playfully "bashes" ALF's hat in.) Now show the comp'ny how pretty you can sing. (ALF attempts a Music-hall ditty, in which he, not unnaturally, breaks down.) It ain't my son's fault, Ladies and Gentlemen, it's all this little gal in front here, lookin' at him and makin' him shy! (To a small Child, severely.) You oughter know worse, you ought! (Clumps of sea-weed and paper-balls are thrown at ALF, who by this time is looking deplorably warm and foolish.) Oh, what a popilar fav'rite he is to be sure!
Charley (to Miss S.). Poor fellow, he ain't no match 'for those Niggers—not like he is now! Hadn't I better go to the rescue, Miss Loo?
Miss S. (pettishly). I'm sure I don't care what you do.
["CHORLEY" succeeds, after some persuasion, in removing the unfortunate ALF.
Alf. (rejoining his fiancée with a grimy face, a smashed hat, and a pathetic attempt at a grin). Well? I done it, you see!
Miss S. (crushingly). Yes, you have done it! And the best thing you can do now, is to go home and wash your face. I don't care to be seen about with a laughing-stock, I can assure you! I've had my dignity lowered quite enough as it is!
Alf. But look 'ere, my dear girl, I can't leave you here all by yourself, you know!
Miss S. I daresay Mr. PERKINS will take care of me.
[Mr. P. assents, with effusion.
Alf. (watching them move away—with bitterness). I wish all Niggers were put down by Act of Parliament, I do! Downright noosances—that's what they are!