"SUGGESTIONS."
A Warning.
Entering as we are upon the season of games, it might be well to utter an urgent appeal to hostesses not to play "Suggestions." For "Suggestions," though it may begin as a game, is really a wrangle. Under the guise of a light-hearted pastime it offers little but opportunities for misunderstanding, general conversation, allegations of unfairness, and disappointment.
"Suggestions" ought to be played like this: You sit in a semicircle and the first player says something—anything—a single word. Let us suppose it is (as it probably will be in thousands of cases) "Margot." The next player has to say what "Margot" suggests—"reticence," for example—and the next player, shutting his mind completely to the word "Margot," has to say what "reticence" suggests—perhaps Grimaud, in The Three Musketeers—and the fourth player has to disregard "reticence" and announce whatever mental reaction the name of Grimaud produces. It maybe that he has never heard of Grimaud and the similarity of sound suggests only Grimaldi the clown. Then he ought to say, "Grimaldi the clown," which might in its turn suggest "melancholy" or "the circus." All the time no one should speak but the players in their turn, and they should speak instantly and should say nothing but the thing that is honestly suggested by the previous word. At the end of, say, a dozen rounds the process of unwinding the coil begins, each player in rotation taking part in the backward process until "Margot" is again reached.
That is how the game should be played.
This is how it is played:—
First Player. Let me see; what shall I say?
Various other Players (together). Surely there's no difficulty in beginning? Say "anything," etc., etc.
A Player (looking round). Say—say "fireplace."
First Player. But that's so silly.
Master of Ceremonies (who wishes he had never proposed the game). It doesn't matter. All that is needed is a start.
Another player. Say "Margot."
(Roars of laughter.)
All. Oh, yes, say "Margot."
First Player. Very well, then—"Margot."
(More laughter.)
Second Player (trying to be clever). "Reticence."
(Shouts of laughter.)
Other Players. How could "Margot" suggest "reticence"?
M. C. Never mind; the point is that it did. Now then—and please everyone be silent—now, then, Third Player?
Third Player. "Audacity."
M. C. I'm afraid you're not playing quite fairly. You see "reticence" cannot suggest "audacity." The First Player's word not impossibly might. Could it be that you were still thinking of that?
Third Player. I'm sorry. But "reticence" doesn't suggest anything.
Other Players (together). Oh, yes, it does—"silence," "grumpiness," "oysters," "Trappists."
M. C. If a word suggests nothing whatever to you, you should say, "Blank mind."
Third Player. Ah, but I've thought of something now—"reticule."
(Roars of laughter.)
M. C. It's all right. That's how the mind does work. Now, next player.
Fourth Player. Have I got to say something that "reticule" suggests?
M. C. That's the idea—yes.
A Player. Say "vanity-bag."
Another Player. Say "powder-puff."
(Roars of laughter.)
M. C. Please, please—either the game is worth playing or it isn't. If it is worth playing it is worth playing seriously, and then you can get some very funny effects—it's a psychological exhibition; but if other players talk at the same time and try to help it's useless. Now, next player, please. The word is "reticule."
Fourth Player (after a long silence). "Bond Street."
Fifth Player. Ah, "Bond Street"! That's better. That suggests heaps of things. Which shall I choose? "Chocolates"? No. "Furs"? No. "Diamonds"? No. Oh, yes—"Old Masters."
M. C. (with resignation). But you know you mustn't select. The whole point of the game is that you must say what comes automatically into your mind as you hear the word.
Fifth Player. I'm sorry. Shall I go back to "diamonds"?
M. C. No; you had better stick to "Old Masters."
Fifth Player. "Old Masters."
Sixth Player (deaf). What did you say—"mustard-plasters"?
Fifth Player. No; "Old Masters."
Sixth Player. I've heard of new men and old acres, but I've never heard of Old Pastures. What are they?
Fifth Player (shouting). No, no; "Old Masters." Pictures of the Old Masters—Raphael, Titian.
Sixth Player. Ah, yes! "Old Masters." Well, that suggests to me—— Yes (triumphantly), "the National Gallery."
Seventh Player (who has been waiting sternly). "Trafalgar Square."
Eighth Player (instantly). "Nelson."
Ninth Player (even more quickly). "Nelson Keys."
M. C. (beaming). That's better. It's going well now.
Tenth Player. "England expects——"
Ninth Player. No, you can't say that. I could have said that, but you can't.
Tenth Player. Why not?
Ninth Player. Because "Nelson" is all over and done with. The new name is "Nelson Keys." You ought to have thought of something connected with him.
Tenth Player. If you'd said "Keys" I might have done. But you said "Nelson Keys," and the "Nelson" touched a spot. Isn't that right?
M. C. Quite right. It's the only way to play. But may I once more ask that there should be no talking? We shall never be able to unwind if there is. Now, please—"England expects——"
Eleventh Player. "Duty."
Twelfth Player. "Bore."
Thirteenth Player. "The Marne."
(Cries of astonishment.)
Various Players. How can "bore" suggest "the Marne"?
M. C. But it did. You mustn't mind.
Twelfth Player. How did it? Just for fun I'd like to know.
Thirteenth Player. Well, when I was on the Marne I used to see the marks on the ground made by them.
Twelfth Player. By who?
Thirteenth Player. The wild boars.
(Roars of laughter.)
Twelfth Player. But I meant that duty is a bore—b-o-r-e.
M. C. (frantic). It doesn't matter. It's what you think—not what is—in this game. But really we're in such a muddle, wouldn't it be better to begin again? You all know the rules now.
Hostess. Perhaps "Clumps" might be better, don't you think?
M. C. Just as you like. "Clumps," then.
The Deaf Player. What is the word now?
A Player. We're going to play "Clumps" instead.
The Deaf Player. Mumps in bed? I'm sure I don't know what that suggests. That's very difficult. But I like this game. It ought to be great fun when we unwind.
(They separate for "Clumps.")
E. V. L.
Fruiterer. "Royalty 'isself, Madam, couldn't wish for a better pineapple than that."
Newly-rich Matron. "Well, if Royalty can bite 'em I s'pose I can. I'll 'ave it."
Headline to an article on ladies' fashions:—
"Stockings Coming Down."
This should make the hosiers pull up their socks.
"Several reasons, besides the claims of humanity, made the Eugenist favour schemes for abolishing the eugenist."
—Daily Paper.
We are inclined to agree with the Eugenist.
AT A FAT STOCK SHOW.
"They're two smart 'ogs, I admit. But look at the price o' food-stuffs. You know yerself it don't pay anyone to feed these days."