there is seldom much doubt. It is not uncommon for one of the players to break down and become almost hysterical, and few can hold out long against one of the champions. Some people allow facial expression and general demeanour to count, but this I do not recommend. It gives some an unfair advantage, and I have known it lead to unpleasantness.
Perhaps a short sample will give a better idea of the game than any description. I take one from a little tournament in which I competed a few days ago. I was highly commended, but it was thought I displayed a little too much intelligence. This is one of the pleasing features of Platitudes; when one loses, things like that are somehow said, as they are never said, for instance, at Bridge. From this specimen the beginner will learn the right style and method. Only by study of the best models and by constant practice can he attain anything like proficiency.
He. What a world we live in, do we not? (This is a very common opening.)
She. Yes, to be sure. Dear, dear!
He. The age is so complex, so full of rush and hurry. Everyone is running after money, are they not?
She. They are not. I mean they are.
He (heaving a sigh). How sad it is!
She (in a tone of gentle correction). It is deplorable. Did you read Mr. Goldstein's speech the other day? I thought it so sweet! He said that the possession of wealth entailed great responsibilities.
He. How like him! (After a pause) And how true! Yes, things are in a bad way.
She. How one deplores these strikes.
He (sternly). They ought to be shot.
She. Too dreadful. I think it is so terrible when quite nice people are positively inconvenienced. It makes one think of the French Revolution.
He. Ah! Yes, the French Revolution. Well, well, the good old days are gone.
She. Yes, they have quite gone.
He (sighing heavily). Dear, dear, dear, dear! May I have some tea-cake?
She. Oh do! but I'm afraid they're cold.
He. I like them cold. I think they are so much cooler then.
She. They are a shade less warm.
[There was a short interval here when the supporters of each party gathered round and gave advice and encouragement: The lady seemed as fresh as a fiddle, but the man was very exhausted and had to have a spirituous stimulant. After a quarter-of-an-hour's interval the game was resumed.]
She. Look at the fashionable ladies and their dogs! The sums they lavish on them!
He. Oh, it 's disgraceful. The Government ought to do something.
She. I call it wicked.
He (much struck with this). You are quite right.
She. But mind you, I'm fond of animals myself.
He. Oh, so am I. I dote on dogs. You know, I call the horse a noble animal—that's what I call the horse.
She (after a pause). I call the camel the ship of the desert.
He. Ah, very witty, very clever. I see you have a sense of humour. "Ship of the desert"—that's good.
She. Yes, I don't know what I should have done without my sense of humour.
He (sharply). No more do I.
She (confidentially). You know, I think dogs should be treated as dogs. They should be kept in their proper places. I like them best in the country, you know. Don't you?
He. Yes. I think the country is the place for all animals. One sees so many there—at least in some places.
She. I am so fond of the country. It is so restful. The old oaks and the buttercups and the village rector and the dear cows. I don't know what we should do without them.
He. That's what I say. Where would England be without the country?
She. Ah, yes. "Far from the madding crowd," as the poet says.
He. Yes. What a great poet Milton is, to be sure.
She. Oh, delightful! And don't you like Miss Wheeler Wilcox?
He. Of course—ripping, yes, of course. Her poems of pleasure—her poems of passion, her—well, in fact, all her poems.
She. Quite.
At this point the man broke down altogether and began to gibber. But he recovered in time to see the prize unanimously voted to the lady. This consisted of a volume of Mr.—but perhaps I had better not mention names; it might be liable to misconstruction. I hope I have said enough to show what a fascinating and delightful game it is. No appliances are required (as with dominoes), except one's own nimble brain; and I think Platitudes will soon sweep the country. Signs are not wanting that Clumps and Dumb Crambo are already becoming back numbers in the best circles.
Tell me not of Western Islands
Or some bonnie loch or ben
Of those hustled haunts, the Highlands;
I'm not going there again.
Cease from cackling so cocksurely
Of some heavenly woodland dell
Where the pipes of Pan blow purely;
I have sampled these as well.
Do not harp upon your hollow
Tales of Somewhere-by-the-Sea
Patronised by Ph. Apollo;
'Tisn't good enough for me.
No, nor urge me, friend, to hasten
To your "cloudless alien climes,"
Hungering for my Fleece like Jason—
I've been fleeced there many times.
No, not one of your romances
Can, I say, provide a lure;
Not one spot on earth's expanses
For my ailment find a cure.
Others may enjoy each jolly day
Somewhere with their hard-earned pelf;
But, for me, I want a holiday
From my super-silly self.
"The military dirigible Koerting made the wound in the leg of Baron de Rothschild. It was found to have flattened itself against the bone."—Egyptian Mail.
"The Koerting; so it is," said the Baron, when shown the X-ray photograph of his calf.
The Nut.
From a story in Munsey's Magazine:
"My father was a clergyman in a college community; and that explains my home in a nutshell."
It doesn't. The father should have been a vegetarian in a Garden City community.
"Captain Roald Amundsen has qualified for his pilot's certificate at the military camp near Christiania. An officer of the Flying Corps first took him for a preliminary flight round the course, showing him what tests were required. Suddenly the elevator broke and the aeroplane fell nose downwards to the ground 40 feet below. Captain Amundsen escaped unhurt."—South Wales Echo.
So he got through the first test all right.
"SMALL SURREY SCORE.
Only Hayes and Hitch Shine at Northampton."
Westminster Gazette.
Surrey should have been at home, where Hayes and Hitch would have found an excellent third in Old Sol, who shone at his best.
"Clacton.—A Lady would be glad to hear of anyone wishing to Join House-Party from August 14th to September 10th. Minute from sea and ten golf links."—Advt. in "Times."
Personally we find that, at our usual rate of divot-removing, five golf-links will last us a month. Ten is an unnecessary extravagance.
