Another collapse,—I sought other "notes." "Art—art—Greek art——"
"Hear, hear, ha, ha!" (They were beginning to guy me!)
"Punch——" (another painful pause). "Gentlemen, Punch——"
"Yes, yes, we know all about that!"
"Yes," I said, "but, gentlemen, before that toast is honoured I beg to propose to you a toast. The toast, always the premier toast in every gathering composed of English gentlemen." The joke was then mine. In the most perfunctory and glib manner I gave the Royal Toast. After it was duly honoured I gave the second Loyal Toast, "The House of Lords," "The Houses of Parliament," "The Army, Navy and Reserve Forces,"—each time calling upon some one or two to respond. The reply for "The Navy," I recollect, fell to Sir Spencer Wells, who was originally in the Navy. (The Army had a legitimate representative.) We had Law, Art, Letters, Music, the Medical Profession, Commerce, the Colonies, America (responded to by E. A. Abbey)—in fact we had no fewer than twenty-four toasts; twenty-four or more replies. But this was only the first round! I was determined to keep the speeches going and not to let Burnand say another word. So I passed him over, and ignoring his appeals from the chair, I got through—or very nearly through—another score of speeches, reinforced by Toole and others coming in after the theatres, until the closure was moved and the meeting adjourned.
Burnand and I rode to Mill Hill and back the next morning, and he had to admit I had utterly routed him. The victory was mine!
To keep up the flow of oratory in the second series of speeches I had to call upon my guests to speak to a different toast from the one they replied to earlier. This added to the fun. But the best-regulated humour, such as Burnand's introductory speech, often gives a false impression. For instance, I actually managed to get Charles Keene on to his legs,—I think I am right in saying the only occasion on which he ever spoke. I coupled his name with "Open Spaces" (Sir Robert Hunter, the champion of "open spaces," had responded the first time). It struck me that I was paying Keene a compliment when I referred to his marvellous talent in depicting commons and fields and vast spaces in his unequalled drawings of landscapes.
"Umph! Furniss, I see, chaffs me about leaving so much white in my work—not filled up with little figures like his."
And I do not think he ever understood I intended to compliment him.
Towards the end I received a memorandum in pencil on a soiled piece of paper: