A TALE OF THE TELEPHONE.
(A Story of what may happen some day in George Street, Hanover Square.)
There were a few minutes unoccupied before the time appointed for the ceremony, and so the Pew-opener thought he could not do better than point out the many excellences of the church to the Bridegroom.
"You see, Sir," he said, "our pulpit is occupied by the best possible talent. The Vicar takes the greatest interest in securing every rising preacher, and thus, Sunday after Sunday, we have the most startling orations."
The Bridegroom (slightly bored) said that if he had happened to live in the neighbourhood, he should certainly have taken sittings.
"But living in the neighbourhood is not necessary, Sir," persisted the Pew-opener. "Let into the sounding-board is a telephone, and so our Vicar can supply the sermons preached here, hot and hot, to residents in the London Postal District. Considering the quality of the discourses, he charges a very low rate. The system has been largely adopted. As a matter of fact the whole service, and not only the pulpit, has been laid on to the principal Hotels and Clubs."
But further conversation was here cut short by the arrival of the Bride, who, led by her brother, advanced towards the altar with an air of confidence that charmed all beholders. This self-possession was the outcome of the lady being—as her grey moiré-antique indicated—a widow. Congratulations passed round amongst the friends and relatives, and then the bridal party was arranged in front of the good old Vicar.
"Have you switched us on?" said he to the Clerk.
"Yes, Sir," was the reply. "We are now in communication with all the principal Hotels and Clubs."
"That's right. I am always anxious that my clients shall have their full money's-worth." And then the Vicar read with much emphasis the exhortation to the public to declare any "just cause or impediment" to the marriage. Naturally there was no response, and an opening hymn was sung by the choir, which, containing some half-dozen verses, lasted quite a quarter of an hour. At its conclusion the Vicar, who had allowed his attention to become distracted, instead of going on with the service, again read the exhortation. He once more gave the names of "HARRY SMITH, bachelor," and "AMY JONES, widow."
"If anyone knows any just cause or impediment," he continued.
"Stop; I do!" interrupted a gentleman in a dressing-gown, who had hurriedly entered the Church. "I heard you about a quarter of an hour ago, while I was breakfasting at the Shaftesbury Avenue Hotel, ask the same question, and came here without changing my coat. Very sorry to interrupt the ceremony, but this lady is my wife! Well, AMY, how are you?"
"What, JOEY!" exclaimed the (now) ex-Bride, delightedly. "We are glad to see you! We thought you were dead!"
Then the gentleman in the dressing-gown was heartily greeted on all sides. He seemed to be a very popular personage.
"But where do I come in?" asked Mr. BROWN, the ex-Bridegroom, who had, during this scene, shown signs of embarrassment.
"O JOEY, I quite forgot to introduce you to HARRY," said the ex-Bride. "You must know one another. I was going to marry him when you, darling, turned up just in the nick of time, like a dear good old boy!"
"Delighted to make your acquaintance, Sir," said Mr. JONES, shaking Mr. BROWN warmly by the hand. "And now I must go back to finish my breakfast!"
"Yes, with me," said the ex-Bride. "You must sit, darling, in the seat intended for poor HARRY. I know you won't mind, HARRY (or, perhaps, I ought to call you Mr. BROWN now?), as I have so much to say to dear JOEY. And you can have your breakfast at a side-table—now won't you, just to please me? You always are so kind and considerate!"
And, as the wedding-party left the Church, the Clerk hastily unswitched the electric communication.
"Be quiet, Sir!" he whispered, sternly, to Mr. BROWN, who had been talking to himself. "If our clients heard you, we should be ruined! We guarantee that our telephonic supply shall be perfectly free from bad language!"
PROPHET AND LOSS.—Good Mussulmen, so it is said, object to a play entitled Mahomet being produced in London. The objection was successful in Paris. London Managers (except, perhaps, Sheriff DRURIOLANUS, who revived Le Prophete this season) will be on the side of the objectors, as they would rather have to do with a genuine profit than a fictitious one. Perhaps the non-production of Mahomet may be a loss to Literature and the Drama.