This was the end of the bother. And not only that. Next day the captain came and had dinner with us in the second-class saloon, a thing he had never done before; and we, not to be outdone in generosity, gave a benefit show, half the proceeds of which went to the Seaman’s Orphanage, the other half going to the Music-hall Benevolent Fund.
I should add that I had previously explained to the captain during the latter part of our interview in his cabin, exactly how the bother began; and he agreed with me that, although we might have been to blame in regard to the method of our reprisals, the master-at-arms had only himself to thank for the trouble he had brought down on his head, since for him to have used the exceedingly foul expression he did towards us on so very trifling a provocation was absolutely inexcusable.
By the way, while on the subject of disagreeable officials, there used to be a certain ticket-inspector at Waterloo Station who was very particular in regard to clipping each passenger’s ticket, and once or twice he made me lose my train while I was searching for mine in various pockets.
So one day I decided that I would get even with him, and I placed a penny under my ticket, holding it in such a way that the coin was invisible to him.
I shall never forget the surprised look on the man’s face when he found that his nippers refused to clip my ticket. Try it yourself. Anybody can do it. It is not necessary to be a professional conjuror.
On my arrival at Melbourne I found everybody there singing a song the melody of which was exceedingly catchy, and the words of which concerned themselves with various Australian notables, portraits of whom used to be thrown on a big screen at the Opera House while the song was being sung on the stage by the artiste. One verse of this topical ditty ran as follows:
Australia! Australia! She has her champions too.
There’s old Bill Squires, and Georgie Towns,
They’ve shown what they can do.
In ev’ry land, in ev’ry clime,
She’s kept her flag unfurled.
Now, Australia can hold her own
With the wide, wide world.
Squires, I should explain, was the champion heavy-weight of Australia. He had beaten everybody there. Not one could stand up against him. And Australia, and the people of Melbourne more especially, were awfully proud of him in consequence. George Towns was, of course, the champion sculler of the world, and also an Australian.
Well, as luck would have it, the latter was beaten just about this time by Dick Arnst, the New Zealander; and the very same week, I am not certain that it was not the very same day, Squires was knocked out in one round in America by Tommy Burns. (The Australian was knocked senseless by almost the first real punch delivered by Burns in the first round, and did not come to for half an hour or so. Then, seeing all the people going home, he concluded he had won, and his first words were: “Well, what do you think of your bloomin’ champion now?”) This double disappointment greatly upset the Melbourne people. It also completely spoilt the song, which had to be withdrawn, much to the disgust of Harry Rickards, the manager of the Opera House.
Afterwards, just for a lark, I used to go into a hotel bar known as “Under the Earth,” situated in Burke Street, and a favourite resort of the sporting element of Melbourne, and start to hum over the song and words to myself. This always led to a scene. “Go home, you long slab of misery,” they would yell in unison. “Who do you think you’re taking a rise out of?” “Why, what’s the matter?” I would ask, in assumed surprise. “Can’t a man sing what song he likes in this God-forsaken country?” Sometimes some of the boys there who didn’t know me very well began to get really angry, but before things went too far I always made it plain that it was only meant for a harmless bit of “kid” on my part, and a hearty laugh and “drinks round” soon caused peace and harmony to reign once more.