CHOOSING CHRISTMAS TOYS.
(A Sketch in the Lowther Arcade.)
Between the sloping banks of toys, and under a dense foliage of coloured rosettes, calico banners, and Japanese-lanterns, the congested Stream of Custom oozes slowly along, with an occasional overflow into the backwaters of the shops behind, while the Stall-keepers keep up a batrachian and almost automatic croak of invitation.
Fond Grandmother. So you've chosen a box of soldiers, have you, Franky?—very well. Now what shall we get for little Elsie and Baby?
Franky (promptly). Another box of soldiers would do nicely for Elsie, Grandmamma, and—I know, a fort for Baby!
Grandm. (doubtfully). But they're such little tots—they won't know how to play with them.
Franky. Oh, but I can teach them, you know, Grandmamma.
Grandm. That's right—I like to see a boy kind to his little sisters.
[She adopts Master Franky's disinterested suggestion.
A Mother. Now, Percy, it's all nonsense—you can't want any more toys—those you've got are as good as new. (To her Friend.) He's such a boy for taking care of his things—he'll hardly trust his toys out of their boxes, and won't allow anyone else to touch them!
The Friend. Dear little fellow—then I'm sure he deserves to be given a new toy for being so careful!
The Mother. Well, he'll give me no peace till I do give him something. I know—but mind this, Percy, it's only to keep you quiet, and I'm not going to buy Eddie anything. (To Friend.) He gives all his things away as it is! [Master Percy takes both these valuable moral lessons to heart.
Mrs. Stilton (to her less prosperous Sister-in-law, Mrs. Bloomold). Nonsense, Vinnie, I won't hear of it! Reggie has more toys already than he knows what to do with!
Mrs. Bloom. (apologetically). Of course, my dear Sophia, I know your children are born to every——but still, I have no one but myself now, you know—and if I might—it would be such a pleasure!
Mrs. Stilton. I have already told you there is not the slightest occasion for your spending your money in any such foolish manner. I hope that is enough.
Mrs. Bloom. I'm sure he would like one of these little water-carts—now wouldn't you, Reggie? [Reggie assents shyly.
Mrs. Stilton. Buy him one, by all means—he will probably take the colour out of my new carpets with it—but, of course, that's of no consequence to you!
Mrs. Bloom. Oh dear, I quite forgot your beautiful carpets. No, to be sure, that might——but one of those little butcher's shops, now!—they're really quite cheap!
Mrs. S. I always thought cheapness was a question of what a person could afford.
Mrs. Bloom. But I can afford it, dear Sophia—thanks to dear John's bounty, and—and yours.
Mrs. S. You mustn't thank me. I had nothing to do with it. I warned John at the time that it would only——and it seems I was right. And Reggie has a butcher's shop—a really good one—already. In fact, I couldn't tell you what he hasn't got!
Reggie. I can, though, Aunt Vinnie. I haven't got a train, for one thing! (To his Mother, as she drags him on.) I should like a little tin train, to go by clockwork on rails so. Do let Auntie——what's she staying behind for?
Mrs. Bloom. (catching them up, and thrusting a box into Reggie's hands). There, dear boy, there's your train—with Aunt Vinnie's love! (Reggie opens the box, and discovers a wooden train.) What's the matter, darling? Isn't it——?
Mrs. S. He had rather set his heart on a clockwork one with rails—which I was thinking of getting for him—but I am sure he's very much obliged to his Aunt all the same—aren't you, Reginald?
Reggie (with a fortunate inspiration). Thank you ever so much, Auntie! And I like this train better than a tin one—because all the doors open really—it's exactly what I wanted!
Mrs. S. That's so like Reggie—he never says anything to hurt people's feelings if he can possibly help it.
Mrs. B. (with meek ambiguity). Ah, dear Sophia, you set him such an example, you see! (Reggie wonders why she squeezes his hand so.)
A Vague Man (to Saleswoman). Er—I want a toy of some sort—for a child, don't you know. (As if he might require it for an elderly person.) At least, it's not exactly a child—it can talk, and all that.
"Er—I want a Toy of some sort—for a Child, don't you know!"
Salesw. Will you step inside, Sir? We've a large assortment within to select from. Is it for a boy or a girl?
The Vague Man. It's a boy—that is, its name's Evelyn—of course, that's a girl's name too; but it had better be some thing that doesn't—I mean something it can't—— [He runs down.
Salesw. I quite understand, Sir. One of these little 'orses and carts are a very nice present for a child—(with languid commendation)—the little 'orse takes out and all.
The V. M. Um—yes—but I want something more—a different kind of thing altogether.
Salesw. We sell a great many of these rag-dolls; all the clothes take off and on.
The V. M. Isn't that rather——and then, for a boy, eh?
Salesw. P'raps a box of wooden soldiers would be a more suitable toy for a boy, certainly.
The V. M. Soldiers, eh?—yes—but you see, it might turn out to be a girl after all—and then——
Salesw. I see, you want something that would do equally well for either. Here's a toy now. (She brings out a team of little tin swans on wheels.) You fix a stick in the end—so—and wheel it in front of you, and all the little swans go up and down.
[She wheels it up and down without enthusiasm.
The V. M. (inspecting it feebly). Oh—the swans go up and down, eh? It isn't quite—but very likely it won't—May as well have that as something else—Yes, you can send it to—let me see—is it Hampstead or Notting Hill they're living at now? (To the Saleswoman, who naturally cannot assist him.) No, of course, you wouldn't know. Never mind, I'll take it with me—don't trouble to wrap it up!
[He carries it off—to forget it promptly in a hansom.
A Genial Uncle (entering with Nephews and Nieces). Plenty to choose from here, eh? Look about and see what you'd like best.
Jane (the eldest, sixteen, and "quite a little woman"). I'm sure they would much rather you chose for them, Uncle!
Uncle. Bless me, I don't know what boys and girls like nowadays—they must choose for themselves!
Salesw. (wearily). Perhaps one of the young gentlemen would like a dredging-machine? The handle turns, you see, and all the little buckets go round the chain and take up sand or mud—or there's a fire-engine, that's a nice toy, throws a stream of real water.
[Tommy, aged eleven, is charmed with the dredging-machine, while the fire-engine finds favour in the eyes of Bobby, aged nine.
Jane (thoughtfully). I'm afraid the dredging-machine is rather a messy toy, Uncle, and the fire-engine wouldn't do at all, either—it would be sure to encourage them to play with fire. Bobby, if you say "blow!" once more, I shall tell Mother. Uncle is the best judge of what's suitable for you!
Uncle. Well, there's something in what you say, Jenny. We must see if we can't find something better, that's all.
Salesw. I've a little Toy-stige, 'ere—with scenes and characters in "Richard Cured o' Lyin'" complete and ready for acting—how would that do?
[Tommy and Bobby cheer up visibly at this suggestion.
Jane. I don't think Mother would like them to have that, Uncle—it might give them a taste for theatres, you know!
Uncle. Ha—so it might—very thoughtful of you, Jane—Mustn't get in your Mother's bad books; never do! What's in these boxes? soldiers? How about these, eh, boys? [The boys are again consoled.
Jane (gently). They're getting rather too big for such babyish things as soldiers, Uncle! I tell you what I think—if you got a nice puzzle-map for Tommy—he's so backward in his Geography—and a drawing slate for Bobby, who's getting on so nicely with his drawing, and a little work-box—not an expensive one, of course—for Winnie, that would be quite——
[These sisterly counsels are rewarded by ungrateful and rebellious roars.
Uncle. Tommy, did I hear you address your sister as a "beast"? Come—come! And what are you all turning on the waterworks for, eh? Strikes me, Jane, you haven't quite hit off their tastes!
Jane (virtuously). I have only told you what I know Mother would wish them to have, Uncle; and, even if I am to have my ankles kicked for it, I'm sure I'm right!
Uncle. Always a consolation, my dear Jenny. I'm sure no nephew of mine would kick his sister, except by the merest accident—so let's say no more of that. But it's no use getting 'em what they don't like; so suppose we stick to the fire-engine, and the other concern—theatre is it, Johnny?—Very well—and don't you get me into trouble over 'em, that's all. And Winnie would like a doll, eh?—that's all right. Now everybody's provided for—except Jane!
Jane (frostily). Thank you, Uncle—but you seem to forget I'm not exactly a child! [She walks out of the shop with dignity.
Uncle. Hullo! Put my foot in it again! But we can't leave Jenny out of it—can we? Must get her a present of some sort over the way.... Here, Tommy, my boy, you can tell me something she'd like.
Bobby (later—to Tommy). What did you tell Uncle to get for Jane?
Tommy (with an unholy chuckle). Why, a box with one of those puff-things in it. Don't you know how we caught her powdering her nose with Mother's? And Uncle got her one too! Won't she be shirty just!
[They walk out in an ecstasy of anticipation, as Scene closes.
Mr. Punch's Paragraphist says, "he was never good at dates," not even when served in dishes, for they're dry at the best; but, of the very newest and best kind of Date Cards, Marcus Ward & Co. have a capital selection. Among them the Grandfather's Clock makes a pretty screen, and, being a clock, is, of course, always up to the time of day.