No. I.—ONE MAN IN A COAT.
(By ARRY O.K. ARRY, Author of "Stige Fices," "Cheap Words of a Chippy Chappie," etsetterer.)
[PREFATORY NOTE.—This Novel was carefully wrapped up in some odd leaves of MARK TWAIN'S Innocents Abroad, and was accompanied by a letter in which the author declared that the book was worth £3000, but that "to save any more blooming trouble," he would be willing to take the prize of £1000 by return of post, and say no more about it.—ED.]
CHAPTER I.
It was all the Slavey what got us into the mess. Have you ever noticed what a way a Slavey has of snuffling and saying, "Lor, Sir, oo'd 'a thought it?" on the slightest provocation. She comes into your room just as you are about to fill your finest two-handed meerschaum with Navy-cut, and looks at you with a far-away look in her eyes, and a wisp of hair winding carelessly round the neck of her print dress. You murmur something in an insinuating way about that box of Vestas you bought last night from the blind man who stands outside "The Old King of Prussia" pub round the corner. Then one of her hairpins drops into the fireplace, and you rush to pick it up, and she rushes at the same moment, and your head goes crack against her head, and you see some stars, and a weary kind of sensation comes over you, and just as you feel inclined to send for the cat's-meat man down the next court to come and fetch you away to the Dogs' Home, in bounces your landlady, and with two or three "Well, I nevers!" and "There's an imperent 'ussey, for you!" nearly bursts the patent non-combustible bootlace you lent her last night to hang the brass locket round her neck by.
POTTLE says his landlady's different, but then POTTLE always was a rum 'un, and nobody knows what old rag-and-bone shop he gets his landladies from. I always get mine only at the best places, and advise everybody else to do the same. I mentioned this once to BILL MOSER, who looks after the calico department in the big store in the High Street, but he only sniffed, and said, "Garne, you don't know everythink!" which was rude of him. I might have given him one for himself just then, but I didn't. I always was a lamb; but I made up my mind that next time I go into the ham-and-beef shop kept by old Mother MOSER I'll say something about "'orses from Belgium" that the old lady won't like.
Did you ever go into a ham-and-beef shop? It's just like this. I went into MOSER'S last week. Just when I got in I tripped over some ribs of beef lying in the doorway, and before I had time to say I preferred my beef without any boot-blacking, I fell head-first against an immense sirloin on the parlour table. Mrs. MOSER called all the men who were loafing around, and all the boys and girls, and they carved away at the sirloin for five hours without being able to get my head out. At last an old gentleman, who was having his dinner there, said he couldn't bear whiskers served up as a vegetable with his beef. Then they knew they'd got near my face, so they sent away the Coroner and pulled me out, and when I got home my coat-tail pockets were full of old ham-bones. The boy did that—young varmint! I'll ham-bone him when I catch him next!
CHAPTER II.
Let me see, what was I after? Oh, yes, I remember. I was going to tell you about our Slavey and the pretty pickle she got us into. I'm not sure it wasn't POTTLE'S fault. I said to him, just as he was wiping his mouth on the back of his hand after his fourth pint of shandy-gaff, "POTTLE, my boy," I said, "you're no end of a chap for shouting 'Cash forward!' so that all the girls in the shop hear you and say to one another, 'My, what a lovely voice that young POTTLE'S got!' But you're not much good at helping a pal to order a new coat, nor for the matter of that, in helping him to try it on." But POTTLE only hooked up his nose and looked scornful. Well, when the coat came home the Slavey brought it up, and put it on my best three-legged chair, and then flung out of the room with a toss of her head, as much as to say, "'Ere's extravagance!" First I looked at the coat, and then the coat seemed to look at me. Then I lifted it up and put it down again, and sent out for three-ha'porth of gin. Then I tackled the blooming thing again. One arm went in with a ten-horse power shove. Next I tried the other. After no end of fumbling I found the sleeve. "In you go!" I said to my arm, and in he went, only it happened to be the breast-pocket. I jammed, the pocket creaked, but I jammed hardest, and in went my fist, and out went the pocket.
Then I sat down, tired and sad, and the lodging-house cat came in and lapped up the milk for my tea, and MOSER'S bull-dog just looked me up, and went off with the left leg of my trousers, and the landlady's little boy peeped round the door and cried, "Oh, Mar, the poor gentleman's red in the face—I'm sure he's on fire!" And the local fire-brigade was called up, and they pumped on me for ten minutes, and then wrote "Inextinguishable" in their note-books, and went home; and all the time I couldn't move, because my arms were stuck tight in a coat two sizes too small for me.
CHAPTER III.
The Slavey managed—
[No, thank you. No more.—ED.]
His Reverence. "DINNER, 7:30. I'LL GIVE YOU A QUARTER OF AN HOUR'S GRACE!"
His Irreverence. "THEN COMMENCE AT 7:30, AND I'LL BE THERE AT 7:45!"
FAVOURITE TOOL OF RAILWAY COMPANIES.—A Screw-Driver!
"C'EST MAGNIFIQUE! MAIS—"
Mr. Bull (Paymaster). "WELL, WHAT DO YOU THINK OF IT?"
Mr. Punch (Umpire-in Chief). "FINE RIDER—FINE HORSE! BUT—AS A CAVALRY SOLDIER—HAS TO LEARN HIS BUSINESS!"
["How then about the British Cavalry of September, 1890? A spectator who has taken part in modern regular war, and has watched the manoeuvres, said one day to me when I accosted him, in an apologetic tone, 'I have hitherto done your Army injustice, I will not do so again; I had no idea how well your officers and your troopers ride,—they are very fine horsemen.' There he stopped; I waited for more, but he had ended; his silence was a crushing criticism, unintentionally too severe, but very true.... I assert, therefore, that at this moment, our Cavalry is inefficient, and not prepared for war."—The Times Military Correspondent.]
Air—"Tally-Ho!" (from the Balliol Song-Book.)
"Of all the recreations with which mortal man is blest"
(Says BALLIOL's Song) "fox-hunting still is pleasantest and best."
A Briton in the saddle is a picture, and our pride,
In scarlet or in uniform at least our lads can ride.
Away, away they go,
With a tally, tally-ho!
With a tally, tally, tally, tally, tally, tally-ho!
But riding, for our Cavalry, is, after all, not all.
To lead the field, to leap a fence, to bravely face a fall,
Are well enough. And first-rate stuff from the hunting-field may come,
But something more is wanted when Bellona beats her drum,
And calls our lads to go,
With a rally, rally-ho! &c.
Good men and rattling horses are not all that England needs;
She wants sound knowledge in the men, and training in the steeds.
Scouting and reconnaissance are not needed for the fox,
Nor "leading in big masses" for the furious final shocks,
When away the troopers go,
With a rally, rally, ho! &c.
But when a squadron charges on the real field of war,
Courage and a good seat alone will not go very far;
Our lads must "know their business," and their officers must "lead,"
Not with cross-country dash alone, but skill and prudent heed,
When away the troopers go,
With a rally, rally, ho! &c.
War's field will test the Cavalry, or clad in blue or red;
In all things they must "thorough" be, as well as thorough-bred.
"Heavy" or "light," they'll have to fight; not such mad, headlong fray,
As marked for fame with pride—and shame—that Balaklava day,
When away our lads did go,
With a rally, rally, ho! &c.
Eh? "Inefficient," Mr. BULL, "and not prepared for war?"
That judgment, if 'tis near the truth, on patriot souls must jar.
And Mr. Punch (Umpire-in-Chief) to JOHN (Paymaster), cries,
"You'll have to test the truth of this before the need arise
For our lads away to go.
With a rally, rally-ho!" &c
And since that Soldier's incomplete for Duty unprepared,
Although he's game to dare the worst that ever Briton dared,
To supplement our trooper's skill in saddle, pluck and dash,
You must have more manoeuvres, JOHN, and—if needs be,—more cash!
Then away away we'll go
With a tally rally-ho!
And never be afraid to face the strongest, fiercest foe.
