TWO WAYS OF AUDITING.
I.—The Old Way.
Scene.—A Chamber in a Civic Building. The Town Clerk and the Auditor discovered at a table covered with papers.
Clerk. Then I believe that you are entirely satisfied with the accounts?
Auditor. Oh, perfectly. (After a pause.) There is one item I wanted to ask about—I've no doubt you'll be able to explain it satisfactorily—it's this "£25 for ginger-beer to the Mayor and Council on the occasion of opening the new Cemetery." Does not—er—that sum represent a rather large number of bottles?
Clerk (in an off-hand way). Well, we put down ginger-beer, you know, as it looks better, and there's a rather strong temperance party in the borough. Of course, it was really champagne—"extra sec," too, you bet!
Auditor. Oh, of course. I merely mentioned the matter for the sake of form. And the "£15 for cigars"—that was an expenditure incurred at the same time, I conclude?
Clerk (carelessly). Oh, yes. Y'see, one of the Councillors is the leading tobacconist in the place.
Auditor (relieved). Ah, that accounts for it. Then these "models of the Crematorium in gold and jewels, as brooches for the wives of the Councillors"—I see they come to £105 in all.
Clerk (sternly). You don't object to the brooches, I presume?
Auditor (anxiously). Oh, not at all. Not in the least. A most—er—praiseworthy method of spending the ratepayers' money.
Clerk. Quite so. Our Mayor's our leading jeweller, you know. So, as you've put "Examined and Approved," shall we go in to lunch? For a "cold collation on the occasion of the audit" our Council always allows £10. It'll be rather a good feed.
[Exeunt into banqueting apartment.
II.—The New Way.
Auditor. Oh, what larks!
[Subsides into a chair, and takes two minutes to recover from his fit of merriment.
Clerk (surprised). I really fail to see where the joke comes in.
Auditor. Oh, don't you know? I'm one of the new class of comic auditors—"made in Manchester." What tickles me is this item of £17 for gold match-boxes for lighting the cigars of the Mayor and Aldermen on the occasion of the visit to the Sewage Farm. There's persiflage, if you like!
Clerk (smiling). I'm glad you take so humorous a view of the matter. Of course you allow that expenditure?
Auditor. Allow it! Not for worlds. Then—(with difficulty restraining another outburst of mirth)—how about "£27 for oysters and Chablis" after the visit?
Clerk. The Council naturally required some refreshment at the end of the journey—quite a quarter of a mile, in their own carriages—and oysters were rather dear just then—a little out of season.
Auditor (after a guffaw). Capital! "Out of season"—out of reason, too, I should say. Of course I must surcharge the oysters and Chablis. Really, I'm enjoying myself immensely!
Clerk (gloomily). I hope the Council will feel equal enjoyment at your report. Do you mean seriously——
Auditor. Seriously! Not a bit of it. I tell you I'm a comic character. And what better practical joke can one play than suddenly to come down on public officials with an audit disallowing all their little personal luxuries? Afraid I must strike out these items of "Visits to Olympia by Corporation to inspect the lighting arrangements," and "Ditto at Empire and Alhambra Theatres." No doubt the Aldermen will be glad to pay for them themselves. Now I think the business is finished. Lunch? No, thanks. A screaming joke like this is lunch enough for me.
[Crams handkerchief in mouth, and exit.
[207]
CANT v. CANT.
If "want of decency is want of sense," So want of sense may very likely lead To want of decency. The poor pretence Of interested vice sense will not heed. A satyr's satire is but sorry stuff; Anti-Cant's canting is most sickening fudge. Belial, who backs his trade with bounce and bluff, Wins not a case where wisdom is the judge. Protests against the pryings of the prude Are not to help the profitably lewd.