He is a great man in the Pantomime world. As he rose from his roll-top desk with the evident intention of kicking me, I hastened to explain that I was only harmless reporter come to look at some of the new lyrics.
"Ah," said he, "that alters the case. I thought you were another topical songster. Now here's a clever little piece about the Navy."
I stretched out my hand for it.
"No," he said. "So much depends on intelligent expression and emphasis that I'd better read it to you. I think of calling this one 'The Battle of the Brine.'"
And the Dreadnoughts steam along in line;
The big guns boom and the little fellows bang,
And the shells go bumping in the brine!
The flags run up, and the Admiral says, Now, Sirs,
Buck up and send the Huns to Davy Jones!'
Then the Captain cheers, and the men hitch up their trousers,
And they all give Hohenzollern three groans!
"There it is;" and the Great Man fairly purred with satisfaction. "Une petite pièce de tout droit, isn't it?" he said. "I gave you a hint of the tune. It needs a stirring one."
"It does," said I, delighted to be able to agree with him on one point. "And you have other songs equally topical?"
He pointed to a bale in the corner that I had taken for a new carpet.
"I've had a good few to choose from," he said. "I fancy this one is about the best. My leading low-comedian writes all his own lyrics—extraordinarily adequate little man. He opens briskly:—
As I was walking down the street,
Because it couldn't walk down me,
One day last week I chanced to meet
A German en-ee-mee.
He had a notebook in his hand (not a sausage)
And I said, ''Ere's a spy! Wot O!'
So I gripped him by the collar and—
And—then—I—let—him—go!
For he (ha! ha! he! he!)
Was bigger than me, you see,
So I thought it well to run and tell
The speshul constabularee!
"Yes," he gasped, "I thought that 'ud hit you. That's what I call a real live piece of work. Here's another—in the old-fashioned style. Not quite so much snap about it. But my fourth low-comedian thinks he can make it go. It's called 'When Father Threw his Wages at the Cat.'
Our miseries are dreadful to relate;
I've got two little sisters who are both a mass of blisters
From settling disagreements in the grate;
This afternoon my Uncle Charles kicked me down the stairs
And walloped me for crumpling up the mat;
But this, though far from nice, is simply nothing to the crisis
When father threw his wages at the cat!
That mother lent our dicky to the sweep,
When all of us were weeping and the baby gave up sleeping
Because it was impossible to sleep;
But all the rows that ever raged in any British home
Were never half so horrible as that
Which made the coppers rally to the storming of our alley
When father threw his wages at the cat!"
"Is that out of date?" said I. "If so, I like the old style best."
He grunted. "It'll pass," he said; but the other's the business."
"Well, give me pleasure first," said I. "As a true Briton I can always take it sadly."
And Barbara's age you may surely know
If into the toy-box depths you'll peer
And count the Teddy-bears all in a row.
She claims each year, as the birthday-due
That her loyal subjects must cheerfully pay,
A new Teddy-bear for the toy-box Zoo.
And one can play on a rub-a-dub drum,
But till Barbara's birthday last Wednesday week
Not one of the Teddy-bears was dumb.
Was a splendid fellow when well displayed
In one of the smallest of nursery chairs,
And his label declared he was "English made."
But he tumbled soon from this place of pride;
For she squeezed him here and she pounded him there,
And "Daddy, he doesn't growl," she cried.
She turned her back and refused to play;
And to every argument said with a frown,
"He's my worstest bear; he can go away."
For "A bear like this, that can growl, you see;"
But the shopman smiled and he darkly said,
"All growls are made, Sir, in Germany."*
* No boubt this defect in the British industry has by now been made good.
Tonbury v. Haileybridge.
(A Rugby Match reported after the style of the German General Staff. The passages in brackets are the work of a neutral correspondent.)
Our brave Tonburians kicked off against the wind and immediately assumed a strong offensive along the whole line, forcing the enemy to evacuate his positions. When we reached their Twenty-five it became clear, after a furious struggle, that a decision was inevitably about to be postponed on account of the unexpected strength of their defence. (One try to Haileybridge which was converted.)
After some fierce scrummaging in mid-field, in which we had all the best of it, it was found necessary, owing to strategic reasons, for our forces to occupy entirely new positions some thirty yards nearer to our own touch-line. Thereafter there was nothing whatever to report. (Try to Haileybridge.)
When the game was resumed it soon became evident that the situation was developing according to our expectations. (A dropped goal to Haileybridge.)
Fighting continued, but there was no new development to report. (Two tries.)
At half-time the head-master heartily congratulated the Tonbury Fifteen upon the magnificent victories they were gaining against superior forces, and assured them that it would soon be over, and they would all be back in time for tea. He then conferred their caps upon the whole Fifteen and an extra tassel upon the Captain. It is understood that the school-house will be decorated with bunting.
The second half was largely a repetition of the first. We continued to keep up a powerful pressure all along the line, varied only be frequent occupation of new strategic lines, occasional postponements of decision, several stages of development according to anticipation, and some rapid re-grouping of our forces. The whistle found us pressing heavily, just outside the goal-line (the Tonbury one).
(Result: Haileybridge, 43 points; Tonbury, nil.)
