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THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
BY THE SAME AUTHOR. 
 
 DEW AND MILDEW. Semi-detached Stories from 
 Karabad, India. Crown 8vo, 5s. net. 
 
 FATHER GREGORY; or, Lures and Failures. 
 A Tale of Hindostan. Crown 8vo, 5s. net. 
 
 SNAKE AND SWORD. Crown 8vo, 5s. net. 
 
 DRIFTWOOD SPARS. The Stories of a Man, a Boy, 
 a Woman, and Certain other People who strangely 
 met upon the Sea of Life, Crown 8vo, 5s. net. 
 
 LONGMANS, GREEN AND CO. 
 London, New York, Bombay, Calcutta, and Madras. 
 
THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 BY 
 
 PERCIVAL CHRISTOPHER WREN 
 
 AUTHOR OF "DEW AND MILDEW," "FATHER GREGORY," " SNAKE AND SWORD,' 
 
 "DRIFTWOOD SPARS," "THE WAGES OF VIRTUE," 
 
 "STEPSONS OF FRANCE," ETC. 
 
 BEING FURTHER FAITES AND GESTES OF THE JUNIOR CURLTON 
 CLUB OF KARABAD, INDIA, WHEREOF SOME WERE_ 
 HERETOFORE SET FORTH IN THE BOOK 
 YCLEPT DEW AND MILDEW 
 
 LONGMANS, GREEN AND CO. 
 39 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON 
 
 FOURTH AVENUE & 30th STREET, NEW YORK 
 
 BOMBAY, CALCUTTA, AND MADRAS 
 
 I917 
 
TO 
 
 GUYTON BUTLER, Esq. 
 
 ItN MEMORY OF SOME DAYS AND NIGHTS 
 UNDER THE SOUTHERN CROSS, 
 
 AND 
 
 OF MUCH KINDNESS TO THE 
 
 OFFICIALS, 
 
 PAST AND PRESENT, 
 
 OF THE 
 
 JUNIOR CURLTON CLUB. 
 
 5002 49 
 
THE JUNIOR CURLTON CLUB OF KARABAD. 
 
 SPORTING, DRAMATIC, LITERARY, AND SOCIAL. 
 
 President ; 
 Boodle. 
 
 Vice-President : 
 
 FiCCIE. 
 
 Secretary : 
 
 MUMMIE. 
 
 Treasurer : 
 Daddy. 
 
 Members : 
 
 Venus A Bull-dog. 
 
 WiDDY THE Second A Persian Cat. 
 
 Buster A Subaltern. 
 
 Others Various. 
 
 Honorary Members : 
 
 Guyton Butler, Esq, . . Uncle-in-Chief. 
 
 Bobball {alias Private Robert^ soldier and Bad Man. 
 Hall) J 
 
 Mrs. Perfect . . A Nurse and Virtuous Woman. 
 
 Others . . . . Various. 
 
 VI 1 
 
FOREWORD. 
 
 Eavesdroppers are supposed to be a base and 
 despicable race — but I must confess to having 
 "dropped" an enormous number of "eaves" 
 in the Junior Curlton Club of Karabad. 
 
 It was my deceitful practice to occupy the 
 next room to the big club-room at every pos- 
 sible opportunity, to set the communicating-door 
 ajar, and to listen. 
 
 To listen to what is surely one of the sweetest, 
 most innocent, most natural, and most instruc- 
 tive of all languages — the unrestrained un-self- 
 conscious chatter of happy children. 
 
 ". . . Ecee qtiam sejnpiternavox juvefitiitis.'^ 
 
 IX 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 I. The Saxon and the Gael and Things 
 II. Ancient Britons and Modern . 
 III. Tosh and Funny-Dog 
 
 IV. BOBBALL ...... 
 
 V. Concerning William Henry Winter 
 botham ...... 
 
 VI. The Stuart Queen .... 
 
 VII. The Virtuous Tiger .... 
 
 VIII. BoBBALL Again, and a Study in Contrasts 
 
 IX. Grape-shot ..... 
 
 X. Drummers and Rummers . 
 
 XI. The Rafters ..... 
 
 XII. The Vegetarian Mugger of Soni . 
 
 XIII. The Modern Desdemona . 
 
 3 
 13 
 
 31 
 43 
 
 S3 
 
 65 
 
 75 
 
 93 
 III 
 
 123 
 
 139 
 149 
 
 165 
 
 XI 
 
I. 
 
 THE SAXON AND THE GAEL AND 
 
 THINGS. 
 
I. 
 
 THE SAXON AND THE GAEL AND 
 
 THINGS. 
 
 The Chief in silence strode before and reached 
 the torrent's sounding shore. The torrent was 
 provided by the bath-room water-tap, and did 
 very well. Too well, Ayah thought, when she 
 returned from her meal and siesta. The Chief 
 strode in silence and little else, as his tartan 
 plaid was a piece of tartan ribbon and his kilt a 
 brief petticoat — brief even for this little girl of 
 eight. Fitz-James in silence strode behind, and 
 then spoilt everything by breaking the silence 
 and becoming a brass band. Association of 
 ideas, no doubt, for when he marched behind 
 the President he was usually a band, procession, 
 Greek Chorus, or a general choral atmosphere. 
 
 ''Shut up, Fizz-James, you 'normous ass," 
 hissed the Chief, casting a fiery eye over her 
 
 I* 
 
4 THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 bare shoulder. " You've only got to strode, 
 like me, till we get to Koil-and-Poggle Ford, 
 and thou must keep thee with thy sword — ^until 
 I let you do me in." 
 
 Fitz-James ceased to play an imaginary bugle 
 and to beat a figmentary drum. He sighed at 
 his unworthiness. 
 
 Having circumambulated the bath-room and 
 parts adjacent, the Chief halted, well within the 
 radius of the splashes from the torrent, shook his 
 sword menacingly, raised his shield, scowled 
 horribly, and suddenly thrusting his ferocious 
 face into that of the fascinated Fitz-James, cried, 
 
 '' And, Stranger, / am Brodrick Two ! " 
 
 Fitz-James over-acted, being but young. He 
 rendered "surprise and slight consternation," by 
 collapsing upon the ground, fetching a deep 
 groan, and murmuring " Help ! " 
 
 The President remembered that the years of 
 the Vice were not six, and was lenient. 
 
 '' Pull yourself together, Fizz-James, and play 
 the man this day," continued Roderic Dhu. 
 ** Get out of the wet, and buck up, for I have 
 sworn this braid to stain in the best blug that 
 
THE SAXON AND THE GAEL 5 
 
 warms thy vein — (where did I put that beastly 
 braid ?) D'you hear, Fizz-James ? And I shall 
 jolly well cut any vein I like." 
 
 " You be careful, Robberic," said Fitz-James, 
 rising and attempting to draw his sword. 
 
 *'Not at all," was the reply, "and this rock 
 shall fly from its firm base as soon as I. See ? " 
 
 The rock was the inverted bath, resting upon 
 its handles. The Vice, essaying to lean upon 
 it while he wrestled with his recalcitrant sword, 
 found that it was not based with such firmness 
 as to warrant its use as a simile. 
 
 Roderic Dhu looked to earth, and sky, and 
 plain, as things he ne'er might see again. 
 
 "Would you mind helping me out with this 
 thword, Robberic ? " politely asked Fitz-James. 
 '' If I pull, this button will come right ofT, and 
 my drawers will come down." As he was 
 arrayed only in two tight garments this seemed 
 undesirable, particularly in a Stranger. 
 
 ''I ivilly James Fizz," replied Roderic, "but 
 some people wouldn't. Not for the person by 
 whom they were just going to be done in — and 
 with that very sword. . . . There you are. . . . 
 
6 THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 If you are ready, it's got to ill-fare it then with 
 Brodrick Two when on the ground his Taj he 
 threw, whose studs of brass and tough bull-hide 
 had death so often dashed aside. They are bone 
 studs of Daddy's because he hadn't any studs of 
 brass, and didn't seem to want to lend any gold 
 ones. And the bull's hide is card-board — but it's 
 a Taj all-right." 
 
 " I thought the Taj was a hotel," observed 
 Fitz- James. " I wemember we went ..." 
 
 " You're too fond of thinking, James Fizz," 
 interrupted Roderic. " What about Blue 
 Murder — no, Red Murdoch — I mean?" 
 
 Fitz- James's eye gleamed. He had his cue. 
 *' He's staff and stick," he said. 
 
 *' He's what, you ass?" queried Roderic 
 coldly. 
 
 ''He's stark and stiff," the other corrected, 
 
 and, striking the attitude shown him by the 
 
 President at rehearsal, and confirmed by the 
 
 picture, he declaimed : — 
 
 " The wriggle is already dead 
 
 And I wemember what you said — 
 
 Er — and beneath the whiff 
 
 There lies Red Murdoch stark and stiff." 
 
THE SAXON AND THE GAEL 7 
 
 *'0h, really?" sneered Roderic, "and who 
 stark-and-stiffed him, pray ? " 
 
 "/did," replied Fitz- James. "I did him in 
 proper." (Subaltern language, this.) 
 
 "H'm," commented Roderic. " That's awk- 
 ward — because the side wins that gets first 
 blood. ..." 
 
 " Was there any blood ? " he added, as an 
 idea struck him, and he saw a loop-hole of 
 escape from the operation of the baleful 
 prophecy. 
 
 " Lots," was the depressing answer. " 1 
 stained a whole roll of braid in the best of it. 
 All my clo'ves too — an{^ his. Norful mess ! " 
 
 " Well, anyhow, it's beneath the c/i^, he lies, 
 not 'whiff'. I daresay there zs a w^hiff, by now 
 — but that's not what you meant." 
 
 The bitterness of death was not past for 
 Roderic, and he spoke bitterly. 
 
 As he prepared to fight his last fight and meet 
 his end at the hand of the hated Southron, he pro- 
 truded his tongue and made a shocking grimace. 
 "Yah! Fizz- Jimmy, you beastly Sack-Son," 
 quoth he, " Come on ! Beware ! Thy hand must 
 
8 THE YOUNG StAGERS 
 
 keep thy head and all the rest of thee for, as I 
 said before, this is Koil-and-Poggle Ford, and 
 Sack-Son, I am a perfect Gale ! Lay on— and 
 no prodding in the stummick. ..." 
 
 Ill fared it then with Roderic Dhu, as d(h)uly 
 laid down in the poem and shown forth in the 
 picture. 
 
 It was a truly Homeric combat, and when 
 Brodrick Two got a nasty crack across the 
 knuckles, he only put his sword in his other hand 
 the while he sucked them. But his eye flashed 
 fire. 
 
 '*/'ll be Fizz-James next time," he panted, as 
 he received, but recked not of, a wound. Ap- 
 parently Fitz-James concluded that the best thing 
 to do, in view of this threatened change of rdle, 
 was to make hay while the sun shone, for, as, 
 with a heart-rending groan, Roderic sank to 
 earth and closed his eyes, he dealt him a super- 
 fluous and uncalled for coup de grace. Worse, 
 it partook of the nature of a prohibited ''prod in 
 the stummick ". Too immersed in the enthral- 
 ling business of artistic death-throes to protest, 
 Roderic but rolled over on to the illegally as- 
 
THE SAXON AND THE GAEL g 
 
 saulted part, and with his head upon his folded 
 arms, continued to render up his spirit with the 
 calm dignity of a Chieftain of Clan Alpine. 
 
 Here it was that the Vice displayed that lack 
 of complete sense of the fitness of things, perfect 
 histrionic taste, and absolute reliability which 
 occasionally caused sorrow and chagrin to the 
 President. 
 
 Raising his blood-stained weapon aloft in both 
 hands, he flourished it above the prostrate body 
 of the Chieftain, and, then (alas, that this faith- 
 ful though eaves-dropping chronicler must pain- 
 fully set it forth), brought it down with a 
 resounding thwack upon the proud Gael's ex- 
 iguous kilt — even as he murmured, all unsus- 
 pecting such baseness : — 
 
 *'0h, Golly! I am slain at last ! " 
 
 But the while he stiffened and grew cold in 
 rigor mortis, he opened one eye, glared at the 
 swaggering victor, and hissed, with deadly 
 meaning, *' Yes, /'ll be Fizz-James next time! " 
 
II. 
 
 ANCIENT BRITONS AND MODERN. 
 
II. 
 
 ANCIENT BRITONS AND MODERN. 
 
 In India, during the monsoon, and at other 
 times, damp clothes are dried by laying them 
 over a vast inverted basket beneath which 
 smoulders a brazier of charcoal. 
 
 Ayah was airing clean clothes upon such a 
 basket as the children passed through the big 
 empty landing behind the Club premises — (the 
 Nursery, to wit). 
 
 Ayah removed the warm, dry clothes and de- 
 parted to bestow them in their respective cup- 
 boards. 
 
 As the eye of the President fell upon the dully 
 glowing charcoal, visible through the large inter- 
 stices and apertures of the crude basket-work, an 
 idea germinated in her fertile brain. 
 
 ** I say, Fie," quoth she to the faithful Vice, 
 
 "how'd you like to play Judgment Day? Or 
 
 13 
 
14 THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 would you rather have the Invasion of Britain, 
 or the Forty Thieves ? " 
 
 The Invasion he knew, and the Thieves he 
 knew, but what was Judgment Day? 
 
 " Will you be a Miserable Sinner, an Ancient 
 Briton, or a Forty Thief?" continued the Presi- 
 dent. 
 
 " What d'you have to do, if youVe a Mither- 
 able Thinner ? " inquired the Vice. 
 
 ** Oh, be tried on Judgment Day," was the 
 reply. ** If found guilty, you'd go to Hell. 
 That would make a fine Hell for Miserable 
 Sinners," and she pointed to the fire-enclosing 
 basket. 
 
 *' What would you be, if I was a Mitherable 
 Thinner ? " queried the junior official. 
 
 *'God," was the prompt reply. ** I should sit 
 on a Throne and judge you. ... I might have 
 to send you to Hell." 
 
 "What would I do there?" asked the Vice 
 doubtfully. 
 
 '* Burn," replied the President sepulchrally. 
 
 The Vice preferred to bear a hand in the 
 Invasion of Britain, or in resisting the same. 
 
ANCIENT BRITONS AND MODERN 15 
 
 ** I wonder what we could have for woad," 
 pondered the President, on finding that her 
 colleague had rooted objections to sustaining the 
 rdle of a Miserable Sinner on Judgment Day. 
 
 **Woad is what the Ancient Britons went 
 about in," she said. " Buster told me all about 
 the Invasion of Britain when I showed him the 
 picture. He said they went about in the woady 
 buffand didn't care a blow. Not if it rained. . . . 
 No police and no Grundies, he said," 
 
 '* But what is woad } " asked he of the tenacious 
 and inquiring mind. 
 
 " Paint. Blue paint. Something like the 
 blue devils and dragons on Buster's arm. Like 
 tattooing." 
 
 The Vice's spirit soared, and he produced an 
 idea, simple as all great notions are. 
 
 " Paint me blue with the ' pwussian blue ' in 
 your box of water colourths," he said, and capered 
 with glee at the very bare idea. 
 
 His leader congratulated him upon his quiet 
 brilliance, bade him disrobe to the irreducible 
 minimum the while she disinterred her paint-box 
 and procured a cup of water. 
 
i6 THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 The Vice was quickly rendered woady, and so 
 were his tight, brief, nether garments, as the paint 
 trickled. He was then stood in the sun and 
 breeze of the verandah to dry. 
 
 "Try and dry a nice blue," adjured the Pre- 
 sident, "while I tie the lid of the soap-dish on 
 to a stick for a stone-axe. You'll have to be 
 jolly careful how you chop me with it when I'm 
 the Censurian of the Tenth Legion." 
 
 " Might I cut a bit off you ? " 
 
 " You might break the lid of the soap-dish, 
 
 silly." 
 
 Having provided the Woady One with a 
 stone-axe and a bone-headed spear which had 
 once been a bone-handled umbrella, the Presi- 
 dent proceeded to set him up in life with even 
 greater opulence. Visions of nothing less than 
 a scythe-axled chariot were floating in her enter- 
 prising and inventive mind. 
 
 " You know those things in the picture, like 
 milk-carts with grass-scythes on the wheels, 
 don't you?" said she. "They were called 
 chariots, and you stood up in them, and drove 
 them about, cutting people s legs off as you went 
 
ANCIENT BRITONS AND MODERN 17 
 
 by. It must have been lovely. ... I b'lieve I 
 could make one. Only if you fall out you 
 mustn't fall on the scythe — or you'll get into 
 trouble. . . . Your old go-cart and a couple of 
 carving-knives would do." 
 
 They toyed with the idea until the Vice be- 
 came ecstatic, and the President knew the double 
 joy of creation and applause. 
 
 It was easier than had been expected, to 
 secure two knives, poke them through the 
 wheels and fasten them with string to the axle. 
 The protruding blades were most realistic, al- 
 most too much so when the Vice scratched a 
 woady leg on the point of one, and the President 
 cut her finger. However, there cannot be an 
 Invasion of Britain without the effusion of blood. 
 You couldn't expect it. Besides a good layer of 
 thickish cloggy woad soon stops the bleeding. 
 
 The rocking-horse, Amir, having been har- 
 nessed to the chariot and a bear-skin rug thrown 
 over it, no one with the imagination of a flea 
 and the soul of a frog could have failed to per- 
 ceive in it the very last word in scythe-wheeled 
 chariots. Surely the most ancient of the honour- 
 
1 8 THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 able order of Ancient Britons would have de- 
 scribed it as a vastly modish war-curricle, in fact 
 the Ancient British War Office sealed-pattern 
 war-car. 
 
 Indeed it so appealed to its delighted inventor 
 that she hung in doubt as to whether she should 
 side with the Ancient ones and be Boadicea of 
 the Iceni, or undo them in the part of the Cen- 
 turion of the Tenth Legion, until she decided to 
 play both rdles, seriatim. 
 
 *' Look here, Hog-and-Magog, which is your 
 Ancient British name, only I shall call you 
 Hog for short, I am going to be Queen Bawdy 
 Seer of the Eye-seen-eye first, and this is my 
 chariot, and Amir has got to reckon himself 
 three horses at once, as is usual in war-chariots. 
 I 
 
 X • • • 
 
 ** I thought it was my chariot," interrupted the 
 disappointed Vice. 
 
 '* You're always thinking," rebuked his senior 
 colleague. ** You better thtoppit if we are to get 
 on with things. Yotir chariot ! And I suppose 
 you'd like the Queen of the Eye-seen-eye to 
 walk while you tool along in a chariot ! Well 
 
ANCIENT BRITONS AND MODERN 19 
 
 art thou named Hog, O Ancient Briton. And 
 aren't you about dry now ? " 
 
 *' Yes. Are you going to be an Ansiatic 
 Briton? Can I psiint ^021? I'm a norful good 
 artith, Buthter thaid tho ! " said the Vice hope- 
 fully. 
 
 "No, Ancient British ladies didn't paint," 
 was the chilling answer. " Besides I am going to 
 be a Queen — not a woady buffer. My name's 
 Bawdy Seer, and you can call me Baw or Bawdy, 
 for short, if you can't remember it all." 
 
 *' Thanks," returned the Vice, conscious of 
 terrible deficiencies in this direction. He did his 
 best to remember and understand, but realised 
 that his stupidity, ignorance, and inferior histrionic 
 powers often took the gilt off the ginger-bread, 
 when they did not actually take the ginger-bread 
 from under the gilt. 
 
 *' Now, then. Hog," continued the Queen, 
 '' can you stcrge ? If so, crowd round my chariot 
 into a fearful, howling, surging" mob, and I will 
 make a stirring speech. . . . Mind you are 
 stirred a lot," she added sotto voce. 
 
 *' Friends, Britons, Countrybreds, lend me your 
 
 2* 
 
20 THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 ears," were the opening words of the stirring 
 speech. 
 
 The fearful, howling mob had heard them 
 before, but howled with no less enthusiasm. It 
 was a part in which the Vice was at home and 
 which he supported well. He loved being an 
 army, procession, crowd, retainers, jury or 
 alarums-and-excursions-without. In a collective 
 part he was free from self-consciousness and 
 mmtvaise honte. But^ 
 
 ''Stop that filthy row," were the following 
 words as the incensed monarch found her voice 
 all but drowned by the superabundant howling 
 of the mob. *' Be a fearful howling mob without 
 so much noise while I am talking. Some of you 
 mobs have no more sense than rabbits. I'm 
 always telling you about it. Pukka poggles ! 
 Howl every time I stop for breath — not all the 
 time. 
 
 Cowed by the Queen's flashing eye and biting 
 words, the mob fell silent — feeling that life was 
 hard even while awaiting so much as a catch in 
 the breath of the Queen, that it might dutifully 
 let its most mobby howl. 
 
ANCIENT BRITONS AND MODERN 21 
 
 ** Friends, Britons, Countrybreds," continued 
 Boadicea, " lend me your ears and " (with a nod 
 to the Vice) ''your mouths." 
 
 Loud and prolonged howls from the surging 
 mob. 
 
 '* These snifty Romans are about to invade 
 our private country, and we must arise in our 
 might and — er — puck them in the neck." 
 
 Loud and prolonged howls from the surging 
 mob. 
 
 " I have got it in for them because they 
 scourged me too — you know, gave me an awful 
 hiding. I was licked by the Lictor — lammed 
 like anything." 
 
 Loud cheers from the mob. 
 
 "That's nothing to cheer about you 'normous 
 Asses. . . . Anyhow, they are about to invade 
 us somewhere about Bournemouth beach, and it 
 is up to all good Ancient Britons to arise in their 
 might and biff them on the napper. . . . (Cheer, 
 you Fat-heads !)...! shall lead you in 
 battle and drive this chariot myself. You will 
 see many Romans cut in halves and, if you 
 watch carefully, perhaps Julius Caesar himself — 
 
22 THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 though perhaps he has got more sense than to 
 get in my way. My faithful armour-bearer, Hog^ 
 will have a free ride by my side and pot any 
 Roman seen interfering with the horse — I mean 
 the three horses — as they gallop along. He is 
 Company Marksman " 
 
 Wild yelps from the mob. 
 
 — "at very short range." 
 
 Soft murmurs from mob. 
 
 " Thank you, my friends, thank you," con- 
 cluded the Queen. " The collection will be in 
 aid of the families of me and the Hog." 
 
 The next thing was to discover some reason- 
 ably satisfactory Romans. 
 
 '* I don't thuppothe Widdy and Venus would 
 mind taking part," suggested the Vice. 
 
 Widdy was a big white Persian cat, and 
 Venus a bigger white bull-dog. 
 
 *' No," agreed the Vice, ''they wouldn't mind 
 obliging. Rout them out." 
 
 Widdy, as usual, was asleep in her basket on 
 the back verandah and Venus was in his kennel. 
 They expressed no objection to sustaining the 
 roles of Romans. Augmented by a bronze 
 
•^ANCIENT BRITONS AND MODERN 23 
 
 Buddha, a large doll, and a set of big skittles, 
 they made a satisfactory army, and, all being 
 arranged, the Vice climbed carefully into the 
 chariot, and the battle began. 
 
 It was evident from the speed at which Amir 
 rocked that they were dashing along at a terrible 
 pace. 
 
 Knowing that something was expected of 
 them, Widdy and Venus remained in statu quo 
 ante, but while Widdy sat up and took an in- 
 telligent interest, Venus lay down, grinned 
 fatuously, and wumped the floor with his tail in 
 an idiotic manner. 
 
 '* Tkafs Julius Caesar — and he's not trying," 
 cried Boadicea pointing at him. 
 
 The hint was sufficient, and the armour- 
 bearer raised his mighty bow, drew it to his 
 shoulder— and caught Venus fairly in the 
 stomach. With a yelp of disgust the stricken 
 Caesar scrambled to his feet and returned to 
 his kennel. Anybody who wanted him to play 
 Romans some more, could come and fetch him. 
 His demoralisation spread, and Widdy followed 
 him, pursued by a grey-goose shaft. 
 
24 THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 ** I think the wily foe have had enough," said 
 Boadicea, several of the skittles having fallen. 
 The bronze Buddha, unperturbed, was captured 
 and bound to the chariot-wheels of the con- 
 queror — and that was that. . . . 
 
 "Now I'm going to be the Standard-bearer 
 of the Tenth Legion," stated the President, 
 "also the Censurian. And the battle may end 
 differently this time. Go and get that brown 
 iron paper-knife from the drawing-room because 
 its copper, and this is the Bronze Age." 
 
 The Vice obeyed. 
 
 "Make a jolly good Roman short sword," 
 observed the President, examining it in this new 
 light. " You'll have to be nippy with your 
 shield, though— it's got rather an edge." 
 
 " I'll watch it," replied the Vice— using an- 
 other of the unfortunate expressions learnt from 
 Buster and his undesirable subaltern friends. 
 
 "What is your name?" he inquired. "I 
 can't call you ' Thtandard-blarer of the Tenth 
 
 Legium ' the whole time, nor yet * Cen-chew- 
 
 • > >> 
 rium . 
 
ANCIENT BRITONS AND MODERN 25 
 
 ''Call me Reginald or Reggie, then," per- 
 mitted the Vice. " No — Samuel would be 
 nicer, I think, ' Samuel the Standard-bearer ' 
 or 'Samuel the Censurian' sounds all-right." 
 
 " Right O, Thammy," acquiesced the Vice, 
 and prepared to do battle. 
 
 *' No — you get in the chariot," directed the 
 President, "and I come ashore in a boat. 
 Then I hop out and make a speech to my 
 soldiers who hang back a bit. They're not for 
 it, at first, you know, and ..." 
 
 " Can I take a pot at you while you speech ? " 
 interrupted the Vice. 
 
 The President considered this. 
 
 " It w a battle, you know," urged the Vice, 
 "and I didn't ask you to come invading on 
 my sands when I might want to be fishing or 
 paddling or playing with my children or any- 
 thing." 
 
 " Yes — but /'ve got to win, you know. It is 
 History, and we can't alter that. . . . Tell you 
 what — you can hit me in the shield while I am 
 making the speech — or knock my helmet off. 
 Yes — make it all the more real. 
 
 
26 THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 An empty drawer provided the Roman 
 galley, and In the prow thereof proudly stood 
 Samuel the Standard-bearer. In his hand he 
 bore the S.P.Q. R. standard of the Tenth. It 
 looked like a curtain-pole and a pinafore — but 
 no matter. Nor matter that his helmet was 
 frankly the paraffin-oil funnel with an ostrich 
 feather stuck down its up-turned nozzle, his 
 shield of card-board, his sword a paper-knife, 
 his cuirass a tea-tray, and his greaves a pair of 
 Daddy's leggings. The play is the thing — and 
 Imagination is life and salvation. 
 
 Bravely he leapt into the waves, and turned 
 to his daunted followers as an arrow smote his 
 shield. 
 
 ** Buck up, you fellows," quoth he, **a little 
 wetting won't hurt you—nor spoil your bronze 
 clothes. Come on, you're not salt nor yet sugar. 
 A bath will do some of you good. ..." 
 
 Still they hung back. 
 
 *' Behold ! " he continued, " I take the Stand- 
 ard of the Tenth Legion among the enemy ! " 
 
 He did, and another arrow took him well in 
 the centre of the cuirass ere the enemy, leaping 
 
ANCIENT BRITONS AND MODERN 27 
 
 from the chariot, rushed upon him with spear and 
 axe. Dropping the axe, the enemy seized the 
 standard with a cry of — 
 
 " Leggo, Thamuel ! — or die ! " 
 
 Samuel did neither. He rapped the knuckles 
 of the presumptuous hand sharply, and the enemy 
 drew back with a yelp of anguish. 
 
 " Hop it! " cried the Centurion, pressing his 
 advantage and prodding the retreating foe with 
 the butt-end of the standard. '' Bung off! Bar- 
 barium," and the barbarian fled. 
 
 Leaping into the deserted chariot the Cen- 
 turion said "Home" to a supposititious driver 
 and poked out his tongue at the defeated enemy 
 — and that was that. 
 
 \ 
 
III. 
 
 TOSH AND FUNNY-DOG. 
 
III. 
 
 TOSH AND FUNNY-DOG. 
 
 The difference between Tosh and Funny-Dog 
 is the difference between the humour of Alice in 
 Wonderland, Through the Looking-Glass, or The 
 Hunting of the Sna^'k and the humour of a half- 
 penny ** comic " paper. 
 
 Tosh was dear to the souls of the members of 
 the Junior Curlton, while for Funny- Dog they 
 had a quiet contempt. If you talked proper 
 Tosh you could stay for hours, but if you only 
 talked Funny-Dog they did not mind how soon 
 you went. 
 
 Buster was great at Tosh, but of course could 
 not always live at the high level of real proper 
 and genuine Tosh, and sometimes descended 
 perilously near to mere and common Funny- 
 Dog. 
 
 It was felt that he had done so, for instance, 
 
 31 
 
32 THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 when at a Literary session of the Club he pro- 
 duced as his contribution : — 
 
 There was once a funny old tolf 
 Who spent all his tune playing golf, 
 He drove 07i to the linx 
 
 With a naughty young minx, 
 
 1. 
 Saw his better ^ and drove olf. 
 
 It was received in dead silence. 
 
 *' There are points about toff, golf, and off^' he 
 suggested diffidently. *' And about drove on and 
 drove off. You know how you ' drive off' at golf, 
 don't you } " 
 
 ''We do," said Boodle. "We did it with 
 some pin-fire cartridges." 
 
 "And then this — 'better ^,' is quite a new- 
 way of saying he saw his wife — his better-half — 
 over her tea, or, if you like, bending over her tee 
 on the green, you know. ..." 
 
 " If you say it's very funny, Buster, no doubt 
 it is," was the reply. . . . " Prob'ly most 'scruci- 
 ating." 
 
 " Oh, no ! I don't say that^' the unhappy 
 youth replied, " but well — it is Tosh, I think." 
 
TOSH AND FUNNY-DOG 33 
 
 " Well, we won't say it's Funny-Dog, anyhow," 
 conceded Boodle, and the matter dropped. 
 
 Daddy laughed consumedly at Buster's dis- 
 comfiture. (He was held to have the right Tosh 
 touch, and Boodle declared that he never lapsed 
 into Funny-Dog, but she may have been partial 
 and biassed in her judgment, for she loved Daddy 
 *'mos' tremenjous ". Was he not so wise and 
 clever and understanding that he was fit to take 
 part in their games and able to enter into their 
 imaginings and occasions, lawful and unlawful ? 
 So great and able a mind had he that he knew 
 the utter unimportance of Grown-up things — like 
 time, money, dignity, and silence, or being late 
 for dinner-parties, must-go-to-office-now, mind- 
 my-hair-and-clothes, not-quite-so-much-noise, and 
 musn't-play-with-that. He was that sensible you 
 would have thought he was a child, but for his 
 size and his grey hair. In fact he was nearly as 
 valuable, brilliant, and child-like as Mummy her- 
 self) 
 
 When the Club held its Literary meetings. 
 Daddy was expected to provide either Tosh or 
 a Stirring Tale (plenty of good sound robbers, 
 wolves, Red Indians, and things), but Mummy 
 
34 THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 was always looked to for something that made 
 you feel good, and funny all over, and desirous 
 of seeing and doing beautiful things as well as 
 hearing the beautiful thing she was reading or 
 telling or reciting. 
 
 What they loved best was some of Mummy's 
 own poetry. Even if they could not understand 
 a word of it, it was so satisfying to the ear, so 
 musical and beautiful — besides being Mummy's 
 very own. That was perhaps the chief element 
 of the pleasure of listening to the sweet and 
 sonorous sounds, the pleasing and satisfying 
 rhythm. There was also the element of pride 
 in the fact that not all children have a Mummy 
 who can read them her own poetry. . . . 
 
 " Don't try poetry, Buster dear," continued 
 Boodle. '' You can't do it like Mummy. Make 
 up a nice Toshy tale if you are going to talk 
 Tosh. ... I think the best Tosh I know is 
 
 ' Three Wise Men of Gotham 
 Went to sea in a bowl. 
 If the bowl had been stronger 
 My story had been longer. . . .' 
 
 I love that. It tells you they were Asses 
 without saying so, and it tells you they were 
 
TOSH AND FUNNY-DOG 35 
 
 drowned without saying so. ... \ like jokes 
 that don't have all the joke in the words." 
 
 '* You put your finger on the point, President 
 Sahib," remarked Daddy from the Club arm- 
 chair, "and sum up a whole treatise on humour- 
 by-implicatlon. . . . Most learned President ! 
 A Daniel come to judgment." 
 
 " Don't be a Funny-Dog, Daddy," besought 
 the flattered President. 
 
 '* We nearly played * Judgment ' the other 
 morning," put in the Vice, who was less bored 
 by Literary meetings than might have been 
 expected. There were always the Fairy Tales, 
 and Daddy's lurid stories, and the better sorts of 
 Tosh, not to mention the joy of hearing Mummy 
 recite or read, or, best of all, say her own poetry. 
 
 "This is the story," quoth Buster, " of two 
 other Wise Men of Gotham famous as not having 
 gone to sea in a bowl. They were, in their stud- 
 ent days, the Wisest Men In the University of 
 Dantzig, and were very fond of doing so." 
 
 " Doing what? " inquired Boodle. 
 
 " Dantzig," replied Buster. " I have a cold in 
 by dose. They spent most of their time, even in 
 extreme old age. In Dantzig." 
 
 3* 
 
36 THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 *' But they were Wise Men of Gotham,'' said 
 Boodle. 
 
 *' Yes, and always dwelt there. * They simply 
 loved Dantzig in Gotham." 
 
 ''Is Dantzig in Gotham?" asked Mummy. 
 
 *' They were, Dear Lady, most of the day and 
 all the night." 
 
 Mummy smiled. 
 
 " What were they, Buthter ? " inquired the 
 puzzled Vice. 
 
 ** Dantzig," was the reply. " Dantzig all over 
 the place. Dantzig in Gotham, you know. 
 They Dantzed with each other, mostly." 
 
 '* That's better Tosh," put in the President 
 kindly. '* What was the end of them ? " 
 
 *' Well — one lepped so much in Dantzig that 
 he became a leper. A confirmed professing 
 leper, and it was no good arguing with him." 
 
 *' And the other Withe Man ? " put in the Vice. 
 
 '' Oh, he bounded in Dantzig, frightfully," 
 was the answer. ** Became a perfect bounder. 
 People didn't like it. They were expelled from 
 the Senior Curlton Club of Dantzig, who won't 
 keep lepers and bounders. Not anyhow. Then 
 the two Wise Men took up the cause of Pro- 
 
TOSH AND FUNNY-DOG 37 
 
 gress. They progressed by leaps and bounds of 
 course. ..." 
 
 "What became of them in the very end," 
 pursued the Vice, tenacious ever, as Buster 
 stopped. 
 
 *' Oh, they sat under the famous Omelette Tree 
 of Gotham and egged each other on, and poached. 
 They also boiled — with indignation." 
 *' Poached what ? Boiled what ? " 
 
 " Eggs. They scrambled up the " 
 
 *' Funny-Dog! " said the Vice suddenly, and 
 Buster collapsed. (Later the President told the 
 Vice that he had been severe and premature — 
 and in the presence of the President — a little 
 presumptuous. He would have had a perfect 
 right to make any comment had he been in the 
 Chair. Privately the President entirely agreed 
 with the Vice. The story should have stopped 
 short of egg-puns. They are so banal, though 
 ba7ial is not the word the President used. In 
 fact she used no word at all, but merely felt that 
 egg-puns are distinctly of the Funny-Dog tribe 
 and required a lot of elevating into Tosh.) 
 
 *' It was distinct Tosh until you fell among 
 eggs. Buster," said Daddy. 
 
38 THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 ** Yes, " agreed the President. ' ' Tell us it again 
 without boiling eggs with indignation." 
 
 **Tell it like Miss Ha-Ha in the Higher 
 Water," begged the Vice. ''You know Minnie 
 Ha-Ha." 
 
 And Buster, who had a well-known gift that 
 way, burst into saga of familiar metre : — 
 
 " Two Wise Men that were of Gotham, 
 
 You have heard ere this of Gotham ? 
 
 In a bowl went not to sea they. 
 
 Loved they well their Universi- 
 
 Ty of Dantzig and were always 
 
 Doing it in season. Out of 
 
 Season also did they do it. 
 
 If you ask me what they did do, 
 
 All that I can say is ' Dantzig '. 
 
 Dantzig there in famous Gotham, 
 
 Dantzig each one with the other. 
 
 One he lepped so much in Dantzig 
 
 He at last became a leper. 
 
 Bounding so high went his brother 
 
 That men said he was a Bounder. 
 
 Said he was an awful Bounder. 
 
 From the Dantzig Club they thrust them, 
 
 Bunged them f(5rth nhn ine contra 
 
 Di cen te y6u'll understand me, 
 
 But this metre sp6ils thg quanti 
 
 Ties 6f them there Latin wdrdscs. . . ." 
 
 / 
 
TOSH AND FUNNY-DOG 39 
 
 " Funny-Dog!" said Mummy suddenly. 
 
 And with a cry of '' Comfort me, Old Thing ! " 
 Buster laid his head in Boodle's lap and wept. 
 
 *' Try again, darling," said Boodle. . . . 
 " What did they wear ? " 
 
 ** Breeches of Faith and breeches of Promise," 
 was the reply. 
 
 '' What is those ? " asked the Vice. 
 
 " Well, when they ordered breeches and got 
 them on tick, they were breeches of Faith, but 
 when the clothes-cook took their measure and 
 never sent the things, they were breeches of 
 Promise," explained Buster. 
 
 ** Why the cook, and not the tailor ? " inquired 
 the President. 
 
 " Because the tailor only made tales, of course," 
 was the reply, " while the builder made storeys." 
 
 '' What else did they wear ? " pursued the 
 President — being a Woman. 
 
 *'Oh — lots of things — sunny smiles ... an 
 air of mystery . . . rue with a difference . . . 
 worried looks. They lived in hope, and they 
 lived on sufferance. But they were very just. 
 Always just. Just about everything. Just about 
 
40 THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 to work, just about to pay, just about to repent, 
 just about to wash their necks — but they were 
 fond of saying ' Well ! I never did ' — and they 
 never did. . . . Their names ? . . . Let's see. 
 There was 'Ugo — who never went himself, and 
 Alfred — who was really alfblack. Their children 
 were Percy Vere — who never did so ; Og — who 
 hadn't a single H to his name because he didn't 
 want to be a Pig ; Edward — so called because 
 his beer always went that way. ..." 
 
 "What did they eat — apart from eggs?" 
 inquired the President. 
 
 '' Well, they imbibed virtue and assimilated 
 facts. They chewed the cud of bitter reflection 
 and inwardly digested exhortations and were ..." 
 
 ^' Fed upy I should think," interrupted Boodle. 
 '' You're off colour to-day, Buster. Sing us 
 something." 
 
 And lifting up his voice. Buster sang : — 
 
 " Never beat your Mother, boys, tho' she is old and grey, 
 If you do not hke her, show it in some other way. 
 No — never strike your Mother, boys, whatever she may do, 
 For, though she's but a woman — she has feeHngs just like 
 you. . . ." 
 
 And was turned out of the Club forthwith. 
 
IV. 
 
 BOBBALL, 
 
IV. 
 
 BOBBALL. 
 
 As Boodle rode her sturdy little Arab pony 
 down on to the beach that evening, her face lit 
 up with pleasure when she caught sight of the 
 beloved and admired Bobball. 
 
 Chacun ct son gout. The face of Colonel 
 Jones of the Rutlands never lit up with pleasure 
 when he caught sight of Bob 'All, but then he 
 neither loved nor admired Private Robert Hall. 
 He gave him more C. B. than affection. 
 
 Bobball was a garrulous, plausible black- 
 guard — but not the Compleat Blackguard, for he 
 loved children. That he had won the devotion of 
 Boodle and her brother, should stand him in good 
 stead when his last Account is being made up. . . . 
 
 ** Hullo, Bobball, dear," quoth the young 
 lady, riding up to where Bobball, seated pensive, 
 pondered the seldomness of beer, the frequency 
 
 43 
 
44 THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 of Sergeants, the condemnabllity of India, and 
 the ruddiness of things in general. 
 
 The Vice, aided by Ayah and Mowlah, toiled 
 through the loose sand and joined the President, 
 the servants retiring to a discreet distance. 
 
 Bobball arose, stiffened to attention, and 
 saluted. 
 
 " Yore a soight fer sore heyes," quoth he. 
 
 *' Have you got sore eyes, Bobball?" asked 
 the President. ** I ai7i sorry. You ought to go 
 to the chemist, and " 
 
 '' No, Missy. I'll go to the Canteen an' wash 
 away all sech sorrers, byembye. Better'n the 
 chimist," interrupted Bobball. 
 
 " Oh ? I didn't know you could get eye-wash 
 at the Canteen," was the reply. 
 
 *' Lots of heye-wash in the harmy, Missy," 
 laughed Bobball, patting Jock. *' Lemme lift you 
 dahn orfen yore charger, an' you two 'ave a 
 buck wiv' ole Bobball — and then 'e'll go an' get 
 dr — er — get some heye-wash. . . . Nice liddle 
 'oss that," and he lifted the President to the 
 ground, and signed to Mowlah to come and take 
 the pony. 
 
BOBBALL 45 
 
 '' Pukkaro 'im," quoth he, ''an' lead 'im upar 
 an' niche so as 'e don' get timdah. Naow ! — 
 don' baitho 'ere, jao upar an' niche, I tell yer, 
 yer sxWy poggle.'' 
 
 "Don't you love horses, Bobball ? " asked 
 Boodle, as the three seated themselves on the 
 sand, "/do." 
 
 " I loved one 'oss, Missy," replied Bobball. 
 " I worshipped the graound as it trod on. 
 
 " It trod on me toe, once," he added remini- 
 scently. 
 
 "Was it j)^^?/r horthe, Bobball?" asked the 
 Vice. 
 
 "It were not, me lord," was the reply. " Not 
 iggsackly mine. It were a race-'oss, an' it 
 belonged to my Capting. . . . Ah ! 'Ow I loved 
 that 'oss! 'E won me a fi'-pun-note 'e did, and 
 I 'ungered not, nor thirsted I, for a munf. . . . 
 I didn't thirst any'ow. ..." 
 
 " Tell us all about it," commanded the Presi- 
 dent, scenting a story. 
 
 Bobball removed the cutty clay from the 
 midst of the thicket of his vast red moustache, 
 screwed up his tiny grey eyes till they almost 
 
46 THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 disappeared, wrinkled his sharp short nose, and, 
 so far as a recumbent person may, struck an 
 attitude. 
 
 '' Kissin Cups Last Rice,'' he ejaculated, and 
 then in a falsetto, mincing voice continued :• — 
 
 "You'd hask of the great rice, Sir, 
 
 When Kissin' Cup saved our 'Ouse ? 
 
 As I stood in the Grand Stand that day, Sir, 
 
 I felt like a bloomin' 1 — no — mouse ! " 
 
 *' Wath its name * Kiththing Cup ' ? " inquired 
 
 the Vice. 
 
 ** It were not," replied Bobball, "that spasim 
 of po'try were what is called a proluminary 
 canter. No — its nyme were Bill, an' a nice 
 Christian sort of nyme too. Kissin Cup ! 
 'Nough to make an 'oss feel faint. . . . 
 
 '"Ow I loved that oss, Bill! And ow Bill 
 loved me ! Wotsmore, Bill could unnerstand 
 every word wot I said to 'im — an' when 'e was 
 agoin' to run in a rice as the Capting wanted 'im 
 to win, I alius 'ad to go to 'is stall, put my arms 
 around 'is bloomin' neck an' say, ' Bill, I've 
 backed yer 'eavy ! You carries my little all,' 
 
BOBBALL 47 
 
 like that — all pathetic, wiv' a break in me little 
 voice. An' Bill— e'd give a 'iccup of onder- 
 standing and let a neigh which meant, ' Dear 
 Master, back your little Bill, an' 'e'll be there 
 or thereabahts.' An' 'e would too. . . . Then 
 come the grite day when the Capting 'ad to win 
 a pot o' money or send in 'is pipers, and 'e 
 fair put 'is shirt on Bill, 'e did. . . ." 
 
 ** Did he tie it round his neck? " inquired the 
 enthralled Boodle, visualising the strange pro- 
 ceeding. ''Was it a sort of — gage of battle, 
 like ? " 
 
 ** It's a manner o' speakin', Missy," explained 
 Bobball. " If yore Papa or Mamma goes racin', 
 an' backs a 'orse 'eavy-like, they says they put 
 their last shirt on 'im — see ? On'y a manner o' 
 speakin', o' course. . . . Well, the Capting 'e 
 sends fer me and says, * 'All, me faithful ole 
 friend,' 'e says, 'go an' do yore best with Bill. 
 Make 'im onnerstand that I'm broke to the 
 world, stony to the wide, onless 'e wins terday. 
 I'm done,' he says, 'an' if Bill fails me now, I 
 shall make a beastly mess in my bedroom wi' 
 my brains to-night.' Seizin' 'im by the 'and, I 
 
48 THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 wrung it till e owled, an' orf I goes to the 
 stables. 
 
 " * Bill,' I says to 'im, * you carries the Capting's 
 las' shirt termorrer, an' Bill — you carries my 
 little hall as well,' I says." 
 
 *' Your little haul? " inquired Boodle. 
 
 " Yes, Missy, my little absoberlutely hall, an' 
 b'lieve me or b'lieve me not — I stood to win a 
 fi'-pun-note ! " 
 
 "How much is that in rupees.'*" mused the 
 President. 
 
 '' I don' rightly know — but gittin' on fer an 
 'underd, anyhow," was the reply, ''an' that little 
 'oss won it fer me! Saved the Capting's 
 honner — an' pervided, me with the biggest drunk 
 of a long and appy life. ... 
 
 "Ah! Wot a rice that wos ! I kin see it 
 naow. . . . The flag fell. The 'osses lep for- 
 ward. Neck an' neck they ran twice raound 
 the course, an' you could acovered 'em with an 
 'ankerchief Then, suddingly, hout shot two 
 'osses from the ruck, Kissin' Cup — I mean Bill 
 — an' a rakin', hugly roan. Neck an' neck they 
 run fer miles. Nearer an' nearer they droo to 
 
BOBBALL 49 
 
 the winnin' post, neck an' neck, level as an arrer, 
 an' theUy a few yards from 'ome, one of them 
 drew six hinches a'ead o' the other. Which 
 was it ?" 
 
 ** Bill," breathed both the thrilled, enraptured 
 children, as they hung upon the words of this 
 Ancient Mariner. 
 
 ''No! It were not! That rakin', hugly 
 roan 'ad forged a'ead. 'E was good at forgin', 
 I reckon, and there 'e was, winnin' by a short 
 'ead, — by a bare six hinches. There was Bill, 
 six hinches be'ind, strivin' 'is huttermost, doin' 
 'is damdest, an' never a hinch could 'e gain ! 
 'Ruined^ I cries. 'Ruined! An' the 'omes 
 of me fathers alaid in the dust — not ter mention 
 the 'omes o' the Capting's fathers.' In another 
 second they would sweep past the winnin '-post 
 with that rakin', hugly roan six an' three quarter 
 hinches in front. I was jest about ter close me 
 eyes an' breathe a prayer for 'elp — when be'old, 
 wot did I see ? Bill shoved 'is bloomin tongue 
 out seven hinches, and Toon the rice by a quarter 
 hinch ! There's sense for yer ! " 
 
 \ 
 
50 THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 Slowly returning homeward the children 
 pondered the sagacity of animals and the depth 
 of the incumbency upon mankind to treat them 
 kindly, to love them, to understand and cherish 
 them even as Bobball did. 
 
V. 
 
 CONCERNING WILLIAM HENRY WINTER- 
 
 BOTHAM. 
 
 4* 
 
V. 
 
 CONCERNING WILLIAM HENRY WINTER- 
 
 BOTHAM. 
 
 '' You are sad, my Buster," quoth Mummy, as 
 that m^ of war sat somewhat distrait, toying 
 with his tea-spoon. " Second supper disagree 
 with you at the Ball?" 
 
 " I am. Lady," was the reply, " for my young 
 life is blighted, and though, apparently, I sit at 
 tea in your delightful and hospitable drawing- 
 room, in reality I sit among the shattered frag- 
 ments of my wrecked and ruined career. . . . 
 Second supper never disagrees with me." 
 
 *' Who is she? " inquired Mummy forthwith. 
 
 " Mrs. Crickford-Crocker," confessed the youth. 
 
 '' Btister ! She's nearly old enough to be 
 your mother," said Mummy, and laughed. To 
 appreciate the joke one had to know the General's 
 wife, Mrs. Crickford-Crocker, commonly known 
 as Caledonia — because she was stern and wild, 
 
 53 
 
54 THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 When a new-comer inquired who the local Brig- 
 adier was, waggish folk would reply, ** Mrs. 
 Crickford-Crocker ". Her husband commanded 
 the Brigade, and she commanded her husband. 
 In person Mrs. Crickford-Crocker was imposing 
 not to say terrifying (unless really annoyed), 
 being very tall, very broad, and very bony. 
 Her cheek-bones were, like her thoughts, large 
 and lofty, her hair was scant and sandy, her 
 teeth obtrusive, and her eye bleak and piercing, 
 a perfect gimlet. 
 
 The Brigade feared God and Mrs. Crickford- 
 Crocker — save that in some cases it reversed 
 the order of precedence. . . . 
 
 ** Yes," agreed Buster, "and ferocious enough 
 to be my grandfather. ... I lived in ghastly 
 terror of my grandfather when I was a child — of 
 him and his black familiar, Woby Tijer." 
 
 *' Wobitijer? " repeated Mummy, puzzled. 
 
 " Yes, Woby Tijer. He haunted my days 
 and made my nights a terror and a night-mare. 
 . . . My grandfather never struck me, never 
 punished me in any way, never even threatened 
 me — except to fix me with his awful eye (an 
 
WILLIAM HENRY WINTERBOTHAM 55 
 
 eye like that of Mrs. Crickford-Crocker) and 
 say, * Do that again — and JVody Ti/er,' and he'd 
 shake his forefinger at me and I'd wilt in terror, 
 and look round for Woby Tijer. I expected 
 him to spring on my back every time I went 
 upstairs In the dark, and, when I woke from 
 a ghastly dream of him, I used to lie and hold 
 my breath, quaking, while I waited for his cold 
 cold claw to clutch my throat. ..." 
 
 ''Buster! How dramatic! ... But what 
 did the old gentleman mean ? " asked Mummy. 
 
 '' I have since realised that the worthy old 
 General was merely saying, ' Do that again — and 
 woe betide yott\ . . . What? . . . Well, Mrs. 
 Crickford-Crocker has got it in for me, and I feel 
 like I did when Woby Tijer was on my track." 
 
 '' Tell me all about it, my child." 
 
 '* Well, 'twas thus, dear Lady. I knew some- 
 thing would happen to me when you and 
 Burgoyne-FItzwilllam would not come to the 
 beastly Ball. Fancy Dress Balls ought to be held 
 every Saturday night. Well, I rolled up, quite 
 pleased with myself in my black velvet, as Hamlet, 
 and who should I see before my astonished eyes 
 
56 THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 but Mother Crickford-Crocker not in Fancy Dress, 
 as I thought, — and she the very one who says 
 that any man who goes to a Fancy Dress Ball in 
 ordinary dress is a lazy hound, and any woman 
 who does so is an unoriginal slut. Her own 
 sweet words, I assure you. . . . Well, I was 
 so flabbergasted at seeing her there in her usual 
 dowdy, shabby style, only a bit worse than 
 usual, that, like the silly Ass I am, I blurted out : — 
 
 '' ' Hullo, Mrs. Crickford-Crocker, why aren't 
 you in Fancy Dress ? ' 
 
 *' She just gave me one fearful glare, lasting 
 about five minutes, and then snorted : — 
 
 '' * Insolent puppy,' and marched off! And 
 now I may as well chuck the Army, I s'pose." 
 
 '' But what annoyed her so ? " asked Mummy. 
 
 " Why — I asked the same thing of Lady 
 Peggy Hillyer and she shrieked with laughter. 
 When she could speak she mocked my simple 
 * Why arent you in Fancy Dress ^ and then 
 squealed 'The woman has come as " My Grand- 
 mother'' '\ I thought she'd have a fit. , . . 
 How was / to know the old thing was got up 
 as her own grandmother ? I thought the spring- 
 
WILLIAM HENRY WINTERBOTHAM 57 
 
 side boots and cameo brooch and mittens and 
 things were merely a slight accentuation of her 
 usual up-to-date Paquin-cum-Worth style." 
 
 ** My poor Buster — yowhave done it this time," 
 agreed Mummy, when she had finished laughing. 
 ''The stupid woman must have thought it was 
 a carefully studied insult ! " 
 
 " Yes. She did. Shall I go and explain ? " 
 asked the ingenuous subaltern. 
 
 " Do," was the reply. " Go and tell her that 
 it was a very natural mistake. Say she always 
 looks so like her own grandmother that the error 
 was natural and inevitable." 
 
 Buster groaned. 
 
 ** I must go and play with the kids till I feel 
 better," he said at last, and sighed wearily, as he 
 rose to go upstairs to the Club. 
 
 • •• • •••• 
 
 '' Venus is getting fat and lazy," remarked 
 Boodle to Buster as they rested after winning 
 the Derby — Boodle in the role of the King's 
 Jockey and Buster in that of Favourite — the 
 Vice and Amir representing the Also Ran frater- 
 nity. "He simply would}! t take part in that 
 
58 THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 Derby, and he understood perfectly well what he 
 had to do. He doesn't try. He grins when 
 you show him his part, and when the time comes 
 for him to do it, he just grins again and lies 
 down and wumps his tail — and looks awfully 
 pleased with himself." 
 
 " He's gettin' on, y'know, President Sahib," 
 was the reply. "He isn't the lad he was. I 
 don't know when his birthday comes round — but 
 he's gettin' a bit long in the tooth." 
 
 *' How old do dogs live to be?" inquired the 
 King's Jockey, peering from under Daddy's cap, 
 which represented the correct silk confection of 
 the royal colours. 
 
 '' Oh — some more, some less, some about as 
 old as you," replied the Favourite. *' We had a 
 big black retriever, when I was a boy, who lived 
 to be a frightful age. His name was William 
 Henry Winterbotham, known as W. H. Freeze- 
 me-tail for short. He simply wouldnt die — and 
 he wouldn't be put out of his misery either. 
 Simply hated the idea. My grandfather thought 
 he ought to be put out of his misery, but not he, 
 — he preferred to stay in it," 
 
WILLIAM HENRY WINTERBOTHAM 59 
 
 "Tell uth a// about It — like a thtory, pleathe 
 Buthter," panted the Vice, who had just been 
 '* placed " in the Derby (six times round the Club 
 premises on all fours). 
 
 ** Well — William Henry Winterbotham had 
 been a grand sporting dog of my Grandfather's 
 for I don't know Aow many years — and Grand- 
 father loved him better than anything on earth, 
 I think. He'd never been out shooting, or for 
 a ride or walk, or drive, never been outside the 
 house in fact, for about twenty years, without old 
 William Henry Winterbotham. Then suddenly 
 the poor old chap crocked up, went deaf, dumb, 
 blind, and silly, and began to lose his teeth, 
 hair, and temper. Grandfather was upset. He 
 worried over that dog a sight more than he 
 would have done over me, If /'d begun to crock 
 up. He used to get a fresh doctor to him every 
 day — and they all said the same thing — ' We 
 can't cure old age'. Fact was, old W. H. W. 
 ought to have died long ago. 
 
 '* At last Grandfather realised the truth — that 
 nothing could be done for William Henry, and 
 that it would be true kindness to put him out of 
 
6o THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 his misery. Sometimes a doctor would offer to 
 do it. Sort of ' Dogs Painlessly Extracted ' idea, 
 but Grandfather would get purple at the mere 
 thought of it. 
 
 " * Sir ! ' he would say to the doctor who dared 
 to suggest such a thing. ' This hand has fed 
 that faithful hound for twenty years. This hand 
 has fondled him and cherished him ; — and no 
 other hand but this shall — er — help him over his 
 last stile.' That was the sort of way the old 
 boy talked, y'know. . . . Pompous. ..." 
 
 ** What'th 'pompottth ' ? " inquired the Vice. 
 
 '* Z]^^^ is," replied Buster, evading explanations. 
 
 *' As a matter of fact, it was a groom's hand 
 that had done the feeding, but that's a detail." 
 
 " A dog's tail ? " queried the Vice intelligently. 
 
 *' Sit on your head. Vice," requested the Pre- 
 sident. 
 
 *' Anyhow, this is a dog's tale, Mr. Vice," re- 
 plied Buster, and the end of it is this : — 
 
 " At last poor old Grandfather screwed himself 
 to the point of doing the dreadful deed, and he 
 decided that as W. H. Freeze-me-tail had been 
 a sporting-dog all his life, and a fine gun-dog, he 
 ought to die by being shot, and not by being 
 
WILLIAM HENRY WINTERBOTHAM 6i 
 
 poisoned like a beastly sewer-rat. It preyed on 
 poor Grandfather's nerves so that he lost his sleep 
 and his appetite — until, one dark and stormy 
 night, he crept forth to do the awful deed of 
 blood. He took his old army-revolver, loaded 
 it in all six chambers, and, with tearful eyes 
 and shaking hand, crept on tip-toe toward the 
 stables where was the kennel of his faithful old 
 friend. ..." 
 
 *' Why did he crep' on tip-toe ? " inquired the 
 Vice. 
 
 **So that he should not wake William Henry 
 Winterbotham if he were asleep," was the reply. 
 ** He felt, in the first place, that if the noble 
 hound came out, wagging its tail with pleasure, 
 to lick the hand of its beloved master — that hand 
 would fall in palsied impotence before it could do 
 the awful deed. In the second place — if W. H. 
 W. were asleep, how much better that he should 
 never wake again. How much better that he 
 should pass painlessly away as the merciful bullet 
 crashed into his unconscious brain. 
 
 ** Nearer and nearer crept Grandfather, and still 
 no sound broke upon the stilly watches of the 
 night. ..." 
 
62 THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 '' Had it thtopped ? " inquired the Vice. 
 
 '' Had what stopped?" 
 
 " His stilly watch ? " 
 
 '* No, my son- — it's a manner o' speakin', a 
 figure of speech, like. I mean there was no 
 noise. No rattle of poor Freeze-me-tail's chain. 
 He was asleep. 
 
 " Averting his face, closing his eyes, holding 
 his breath, my anguished Grandfather thrust the 
 revolver into the kennel, fired six times, and, 
 then, sobbing, with bursting heart, he fled from 
 that unhallowed spot. ... 
 
 ** But he was a man with a high and stern sense 
 of duty. He would see the thing through 
 properly. He would give poor William H. 
 Winterbotham a proper funeral and attend it 
 himself. So in the morning he arose, dressed 
 himself, and went to take his last look at the 
 dead body of his poor dear old faithful friend in 
 the kennel. As he stooped with a tragic groan 
 to look into it, W. Henry Winterbotham rushed 
 out and bit him. Grandfather had missed him 
 every time. William Henry Winterbotham is 
 alive still. ..." 
 
VI. 
 THE STUART QUEEN. 
 
VI. 
 
 THE STUART OUEEN. 
 
 '* Bags — I Tablo-Weevongs to-day," quoth the 
 Vice, as he and the President went upstairs to 
 the portion of the Club premises devoted to 
 Literary, Sporting, Dramatic, and Social pur- 
 poses. 
 
 *' Right O," acquiesced the President. *' Fish 
 out the History Pictures." 
 
 The Vice preferred Tableaux Vivants to the 
 Legitimate Drama as there was practically noth- 
 ing to remember ; one merely had to pose one- 
 self gracefully in the rdle of the represented 
 personage, and either hold one's peace, or " gag " 
 as the spirit moved one. 
 
 In acting, as distinct from the tableau, there 
 
 is such a dreadful lot to remember, what with 
 
 appropriate gestures, prescribed postures, and 
 
 ordained words. 
 
 65 5 
 
66 THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 " Let's do the Excruciation of Mary Queen of 
 Thcotth," suggested the Vice, as they turned 
 over the pages of the portfolio of Historical 
 Pictures — a valued property of the Dramatic 
 Society of the Club. 
 
 *' Nothin' doinV replied the President tersely, 
 in the manner of Buster. / 
 
 " Why not ? " inquired the Vice. *' It's eathy, 
 and it weally only wants two." 
 
 " I know what you are, with an axe," replied 
 the President, without considering the funda- 
 mental truth that only two are really essential to 
 an Execution. " You'd be nearly as good an 
 Executioner as I should be a Queen." 
 
 The Vice felt his muscles. 
 
 " I could have a card-board akth," he modestly 
 suggested. That would certainly go far to 
 counteract his terrible strength and inflexible 
 sense of duty as an Executioner. 
 
 ''Good idea!" quoth the President. ''Let's 
 get the lid of one of Mummy's big card-board 
 boxes. I'll soon make an axe. Or, better still, 
 let's nail a small square of card-board to a stick. 
 There's a big photograph without a frame in the 
 
THE STUART QUEEN 67 
 
 drawing-room — it would make a jolly good axe- 
 head — and it's not too stiff. ..." 
 
 The photograph was unobtrusively borrowed, 
 and put to novel uses. A low stool made an 
 excellent block, and a rug did for the scaffold. 
 Orders, squeaked from a back window, evoked 
 Mowlah, who was ordered to bring a handful of 
 hay. Little did he realise that it was for the 
 seemly absorption of the blood of a Queen as it 
 flowed red upon the gallows of Fotheringay 
 Castle. 
 
 *' It's straw in the picture," observed the Pre- 
 sident, ** but I don't suppose Mary would have 
 kicked up a row if they'd brought hay." 
 
 ''No," agreed the Vice, "and she wouldn't 
 care if there were a meth — afterwards." 
 
 ''Besides, it wasn't her castle and furniture," 
 added the President. " It was Elizabeth's. 
 She'd make all the mess she could." 
 
 The block, axe, and straw-strewn scaffold 
 being ready, the dramatis persona; made their 
 personal preparations. 
 
 The doomed Queen erected an ill-constructed 
 
 "bun" of her hair on the top of her head, for 
 
 5* 
 
6^ THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 the convenience of the Headsman ; pinned a 
 large Union Jack skirt-wise around her waist ; 
 and made those preparations, as to the upper 
 portion of her person, which usually preceded 
 the washing of her neck. Being a Queen, she 
 placed an inverted brass bowl over the precar- 
 ious *'bun" by way of a crown, but experienced 
 considerable difficulty in preventing this well- 
 known adjunct and symbol of Royalty from 
 tilting forward and obscuring the vision of one 
 eye. Being thus ''armed and well prepared," 
 she sank gracefully to the ground, in the attitude 
 depicted, and awaited the Executioner. The 
 Executioner had done himself proud. With 
 burnt cork he had made an excellent simulation 
 of a mask, and had given himself the kind of 
 beard and moustache worn by all the Best 
 Executioners. A condemned soiled-linen bag, 
 inverted, and provided with three holes, gave 
 full play to his arms and head, if not to his 
 legs. On his head he wore, by way of a Black 
 Cap, a small milk-saucepan. It was certainly 
 black. 
 
 The Queen bandaged her eyes — or, to be 
 
THE STUART QUEEN 69 
 
 exact, one eye and a corner. She did not wholly 
 trust the Executioner perhaps. 
 
 " There ought to be mourners about, surely, 
 when a Queen is done in ! " she observed. " Here, 
 Venus, you lazy fat thing, come and mourn. You 
 can do that much for your living, surely." 
 
 Venus came over, smiled foolishly, and licked 
 the Royal nose. 
 
 *' Stop it, you Ass," said the Queen. " You've 
 got to niou7'n, I tell you, not giggle. Lie down, 
 and look as though you have lost Hope or a 
 bone or something — go on. ..." 
 
 Venus waofsred his tail and mounted the block. 
 The Headsman's eye gleamed and he raised his 
 axe. 
 
 " My faithful follower wishes to die for me," 
 exclaimed the delighted Queen. ** He can." 
 
 As the Executioner poised himself for the 
 stroke, Venus saw his mistake and vacated the 
 block. 
 
 " He has thought better of it," said the dis- 
 appointed Queen. 
 
 " He's an Ath^' said the equally disappointed 
 Executioner. 
 
70 THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 ** He's got to mourn, anyhow," announced the 
 doomed Monarch, ** or he'll jolly well get some- 
 thing to make him." 
 
 Venus turned round twice, lay down near the 
 block, and heaved a long deep sigh. 
 
 ** Thafs better, my faithful Rissole," com- 
 mended his mistress. *' I knew you could mourn 
 if you tried." 
 
 *' No — Rithole was murdered," observed the 
 Vice. ** I wemember — because I was Rithole, 
 and Buster was the band of murderers. He 
 couldn't be here at your funeral when he's had 
 one of his own." 
 
 ** Quite right," agreed the Queen, and quoted 
 " 'the faithful Rissole slain '." 
 
 "He can be a Maid of Honour then," she 
 added. ** Venus, be a Maid of Honour — and try 
 and look like one. . . . Get him that big doll's- 
 nightdress or something. He doesn't look a bit 
 like a Maid of Honour as he is. . . . And tie that 
 black hair-ribbon on his tail, for mourning. . . . 
 Now, I'm ready," and the Queen stepped on to 
 the scaffold. Turning to the little throng of 
 halberdiers, officers, retainers, ladies and gentle- 
 
THE STUART QUEEN 71 
 
 men in waiting, the Queen made her dignified 
 farewell with the words : — 
 
 ** My Lords, My Dooks, the Captive cried, 
 
 Were I but once more three, 
 For ten good-nights on yonder hill 
 
 To aid my caws and me, 
 This garment would I scatter wide 
 
 To every freeze that flows. 
 And once more brain a stupid queen, 
 
 And all resourceless foes. 
 
 Yours sincerely, 
 
 Mary Stuart," 
 
 which was as near as she could remember to 
 what she had heard Mummy read. 
 
 She then turned to the Headsman who, one 
 regrets to relate, was spitting on his hands, the 
 better to grip his mighty axe. (He had seen 
 Bobball adopt that method when about to dig 
 him a trench in the sand.) He overdid it alto- 
 gether, however. 
 
 '' Dirty dog ! " remarked the Queen, sotto voce. 
 
 "Well — of corthe — if Your Highety ivants 
 the akth to thlip and give you a fearful wump 
 with the back of it, / don't mind," replied the 
 Headsman. 
 
72 THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 ** You'd better not^' said Mary Stuart trucu- 
 lently, as she knelt and placed her head upon the 
 block, '*or I shall shed tears copiously. , . . 
 They'll be your tears." 
 
 ** Kindly bleed on to that thtraw, your Liege," 
 requested the Executioner. 
 
 '* I shall bleed just where I please," replied 
 the Queen. ''I shall bleed as much as I can 
 too, and I hope it'll squirt all over the place. 
 I hope it'll spoil Queen Elizabeth's carpet and 
 furniture and make a mess on the wall-paper. 
 Perhaps that'll teach her not to be so fast. 
 She's too fond of chopping people's heads off. 
 You can tell her I said so. . . . So there," and 
 the unfortunate Queen laid her head upon the 
 block. 
 
 The Headsman struck, and for the next minute 
 the decapitated Queen appeared to be directing a 
 stream of blood (much as a fireman does a 
 stream of water) in an intelligent though trun- 
 cated effort to make a little go a long way, and 
 also to cover a wide area. 
 
VII. 
 THE VIRTUOUS TIGER. 
 
VII. 
 THE VIRTUOUS TIGER. 
 
 " What does * a stitch in time saves nine ' mean, 
 Buster ? " asked Boodle, as her guide, philosopher, 
 and friend entered the Club in search of tea ere 
 bearing his modest part in a Literary session of 
 the same. " Daddy said it about his saddle." 
 
 *' Well, the mother of eight once sewed — no, 
 that's a different story. It's like this," was the 
 reply. '' There were once nine Virtuous Children, 
 like you and the Vice, y'know, and they were 
 being pursued by an Abominable Policeman. . . ." 
 
 ** Whaffor ? " inquired the Vice. 
 
 *' Well, it is their nature to. It's a Law. 
 Abominable Policemen do it to fulfil the law of 
 their being — and Virtuous Children get pursued 
 to fulfil the law of their not being — not being 
 there when the Abominable Policeman arrives, 
 you know. Do you understand ? " 
 
 75 
 
76 THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 " No," said the Vice. 
 
 '* Nor do I," replied Buster, "but this will 
 make it as plain as yourself, Sir. (No offence, 
 of course.) The nine Virtuous Children, secure 
 in the knowledge of their unimpeachable and 
 unassailable Virtue, fled with such dispatch that 
 the pursuing and Abominable Policeman got the 
 Stitch. D'you see? He got the stitch in Time 
 and it saved the Nine." 
 
 " Good Tosh," commended the President. 
 
 Buster bowed his thanks of the appreciation of 
 his effort. 
 
 *' I know a lot about Virtue," he admitted. 
 ** It's like Beauty, you know, ' Beauty is in the 
 eye of the beholder '." 
 
 *' Donthe vain, Buster," adjured the President. 
 " What do men want with beautiful eyes ? 'Sides, 
 yours are very or'nary." 
 
 Buster wept. "Misunderstood!" he wailed. 
 J//i-understood ! " 
 
 " Who was sAe ? " inquired the Vice. 
 
 Buster positively yelped in his anguish. 
 
 ** You wrong me. Gentlemen," he said, with 
 quiet dignity. " Beauty does not exist until it is 
 
THE VIRTUOUS TIGER 77 
 
 seen. Same with Virtue. Virtue is in the mind 
 of the appreciator. I trust I make myself clear. 
 I once knew a Virtuous Tiger." 
 
 The yawn which was frankly distending the 
 mouth of the Vice was nipped in the bud, if 
 yawns do bud, or, to express the fact better, was 
 stifled untimely. Tigers are tigers. Man-eaters 
 he knew, and tigresses he knew, but what was 
 this ? Did it gambol friskily around the feet of 
 its owner, a small boy ; sleep at night beside 
 his bed, guarding him from harm ; give him 
 rides upon its back, and sustain many and varied 
 roles in play-acting ? 
 
 " What ith a wirtuouth tiger ?" he inquired. 
 
 '* A tiger Redolent of Virtue," was the reply. 
 '* A good tiger. A really nice-minded tiger. 
 A gentlemanly, quiet, steady, reliable tiger. 
 A tiger you could trust with the joint. Quiet 
 to ride or drive. No vice. Ridden by a lady 
 — but no smile on the face of the tiger." 
 
 "A darling pet tiger," supplemented the 
 President. 
 
 ** Tell uth all about it, pleathe Buthter," 
 besought the Vice. 
 
7^ THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 " It is a sad tale," said the Subaltern. "It is 
 like ' Gelert,' ' The Arab's Farewell to his Steed,' 
 ' The Falcon of Ser Federigo,' ' Ginevra,' and that 
 sort of thing. Poignant." 
 
 " Lucy Gray," murmured the President. 
 
 " Precisely. In fact that was the Virtuous 
 Tiger's name among the Simple Villagers. 
 Exactly. 
 
 '' I met a little cottage loaf, 
 Er— ..." 
 
 " No — that's ' We are Seven,' and it wasn't a 
 cottage loafer. Cottage girly' corrected the 
 President. 
 
 ** Quite so. My mistake. But some are, 
 you know. 'Specially in villages like London. 
 Let's see. Lucy Gray. . . . Wasn't it she who 
 dwelt in beauty side by side, or beside the 
 cottage door — while by her sported on the green 
 her giddy grandpa Might-have-been." 
 
 '' No, Buster, it was not. But what about the 
 Virtuous Tiger ? Never mind the other Lucy 
 
 now." 
 
 " Buck up, Buthter, pleathe," adjured the 
 Vice. 
 
THE VIRTUOUS TIGER 79 
 
 " Well, gentlemen, the Virtuous Lucy, a 
 tiger of blameless life, lived and moved and had 
 his being, or his pitch, in some hills near a 
 village called Soni, far far away from here, and 
 was greatly loved and respected by all the Simple 
 Villagers of those parts. It is said that such 
 people are never grateful, but the Simple 
 Villagers of Soni were, for I myself saw them at 
 
 It. 
 
 "But why were they grateful to a tiger?''' 
 asked the President. 
 
 ** Because he was their Father and Mother and 
 Protector of the Poor. He killed a black-buck 
 or some other deer, not to mention the porkish 
 wild pig, every night of his life — and the saving 
 in young crops was more than you'd believe. 
 I forget exactly how many tons oi joivri-ax\^ bajri 
 and similar interestin' things one healthy deer 
 eats in the course of a stilly night — but it would 
 surprise you. 'Normous quantity. The head- 
 man alone reckoned that Lucy was worth a good 
 Sandown tip to him in February ; a winner in 
 the Sandown Military Meeting in March ; and 
 in April alone, as good as a triple event in the 
 
So THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 Newmarket Two Thousand Guineas, the Epsom 
 Spring meeting and the Grand National. Fact ! 
 In May that tiger was worth a win and a place 
 in the Kempton Jubilee Stakes ; and as for June, 
 — why in June he wouldn't have parted with 
 that tiger for a dead cert for the Derby, Oaks, 
 and Ascot. He wouldn't — not he. In July that 
 beast was worth a Good Thing in the Eclipse 
 Stakes and at Goodwood. When September 
 came round, Lucy was worth a well-backed 
 outsider in the St. Leger, while as for October, 
 — in that month the kind animal was as good as 
 top-hole luck at Gatwick, and a genuine straight- 
 from-the-stable for the Caesarewitch and the 
 Cambridgeshire Stakes. Believe me or believe 
 me not. And during the rest of the year, that 
 headman would sooner have lost his wife than 
 Lucy Gray. A lot sooner. . . . Same with all 
 the other villagers. They simply loved the 
 Virtuous Lucy and hoped he might live for ever. 
 He really was worth thousands of rupees a year 
 to the Simple Villagers of Sonl." 
 
 " Didn't he never eat none of them ? " inquired 
 the Vice. " Not even the fat little boys ? " 
 
THE VIRTUOUS TIGER 8i 
 
 " Now, my dear Vice," was the slightly pained 
 reply, *' what decent tiger would eat Simple 
 Villager while he could get venison ? Would you 
 yourself ? . . . No, he never dreamt of interfer- 
 ing with them in any way. It was a beautiful 
 example of lovely Nature's pretty way of keep- 
 ing — what is it ? — the Balance of Trade or the 
 Survival of the Fattest or something — the Simple 
 Villagers tilled the soil, the soil yielded crops, 
 the crops attracted the deer, and the tiger lived 
 on them. Seems as though the deer were * Also 
 Rans,' rather, don't it? Anyhow, that was the 
 happy state of affairs in sweet Soni, loveliest 
 village of the plain, when a Traveller came to 
 the Travellers' Bungalow — and nearly spoilt 
 the show. He was one of those wretched 
 beasts who always want to put things right before 
 they're wrong — what's called a Member of Parlia- 
 ment in scientific language. And even among 
 Members of Parliament, he was the limit, the 
 ultimate outside edge. Believe me, he was a 
 Rooter. . . . And for what fell purpose do you 
 suppose he had come to sweet Soni, auburnest 
 
 village of the Plains ? He had come to murder 
 
 6 
 
82 THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 Lucy, the Virtuous Lucy, friend and patron of 
 the sons of Soni. . . . 
 
 ' The Fathers of the City had met within their Hall 
 The men whom good King George had charged to watch 
 the tower and wall ' — 
 
 In other words, the village panchayet had 
 assembled under the banyan to see about it. 
 
 *' * Nay, brother,' quoth the shikai'i {yN\\ovcs. the 
 Travelling M.P. had brought with him) to the 
 headman of Soni. * Mad, he Is not, but very, 
 very foolish, a babe at the hunting and most 
 wondrous ignorant. There Is Indeed but one 
 thing to equal his great ignorance and that is his 
 great admiration for his own knowledge and 
 wisdom. Surely there can be no shikar In his 
 own country. ... But from me he will learn 
 much, provided his folly anger not the gods. . . .' 
 
 ** ' But he must not slay our virtuous tiger in 
 the process of learning,' Interrupted the headman, 
 and he clucked the cluck of uttermost negation. 
 
 *' 'He will pay well,' said the shikari. 
 
 *' ' Will he pay the equivalent of all the damage 
 that pig, nllghal, sambur, black-buck, chinkara 
 and other beasts will do to the growing crops 
 
THE VIRTUOUS TIGER 83 
 
 night after night and year after year, throughout 
 all the villao^e cultivation ? ' answered the head- 
 man. * Will he pay the value of the goats, 
 sheep, cows, buffaloes, children, and women that 
 will be killed if our virtuous tiger's place be 
 taken by some old toothless scoundrel of a man- 
 eater, who will not hunt for himself but will 
 batten upon our flocks and herds and upon us ? 
 Not he ! . . ; 
 
 '' And again the headman clucked. 
 
 *' But the shikari was not a villager of Soni and 
 cared nothing for its fate. He was out for fame 
 and fortune, and the man who gets hold of a 
 Travelling M.P. and gains not both, does not 
 deserve either. Many rupees and much honour 
 (among Sahibs) would be his if he guided the 
 feet of so foolish and ignorant an employer to 
 the slaying of a fine tiger. His position was a 
 sad one. It appeared that he must either forego 
 his hopes of gold and honour or find that some- 
 thing most finally fatal had been put in his 
 supper by the hospitable villagers of Soni. He 
 could see no way out of the difficulty, but, being 
 an Indian and a wily shikari, he could see one 
 
84 THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 round it. The foolish Wandering Sahib should 
 see the Virtuous Tiger and have a run for his 
 money, or rather the shikari s money, but shoot 
 it, he should not. In fact, a miracle should be 
 worked, for the foolish Sahib should depart from 
 Soni bearing a tiger's skin, the Virtuous Tiger 
 should remain in Soni wearing a tiger's skin, the 
 good shikari would have rupees and honour, and 
 the villagers of Soni much baksheesh and their 
 Loving Lucy. Excellent — but what a lot of 
 trouble caused by a little virtue ! A hard case. 
 Here was a Sahib desperately anxious to slay a 
 tiger. Here was an admirable shikari to whom 
 he had made known his desire — and his prepared- 
 ness to pay handsomely in the event of success. 
 Here was a tiger to be shot, at any time, by any- 
 body who chose to sit upon a rock overlooking 
 the well-worn tiger-path from the cave, and await 
 him at early morn or dewy eve. What a con- 
 junction ! — and to be ruined by Virtue. 
 
 *' * Something must be done,' he remarked to 
 the headman. * You would not have him and 
 his rupees depart forthwith.' 
 
 ** ' Anything you please, brother, ' was the reply, 
 
THE VIRTUOUS TIGER 85 
 
 * provided no harm cometh to our striped Rajah 
 of the nullah.' 
 
 ***I must think. His tiger's skin is worth a 
 hundred rupees to me, over and above pay and 
 commission on bandobast^ said the shikari. 
 
 '' ' Our Lord, the tiger, is worth a hundred 
 rupees to every soul in this village — and we be 
 many,' was the firm reply. 
 
 " * But there is no reason why the Sahib should 
 not see our Protector's tracks for a few days 
 and be detained in our midst until he grow 
 weary,' he added thoughtfully. 
 
 '* ' Nor why he should not see the tiger itself, 
 thereafter — when he begins to weary of seeing 
 only its pugs,' suggested the shikari. 
 
 '''None,' agreed the headman, 'provided he 
 have not his gun with him at the time.' 
 
 " * On my head be it,' answered the shikari. . . . 
 
 • ••••*•• 
 
 "The shikari thought for days. So did the 
 headman. So did the bannia (whom the 
 shikari sought and who picked his brains in five 
 minutes). So did the police patel — who was 
 a good man at such little games. So did the 
 
86 THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 good priest, who was a better one. So did the 
 kulkarni. So did the schoolmaster, a learned 
 man on nine rupees a month, and no bad hand 
 himself at little games. So did the civil pateL 
 So did all the adult male villagers and all the 
 children. For it was an interesting and piquant 
 situation — a Virtuous Tiger who must not be 
 molested and a Travelling M.P. who must 
 molest one or depart unmulct, with buttoned 
 pockets. One thing was certain. Lucy must 
 not bleed. Another thing was equally certain, 
 the Traveller must be bled. . . ." 
 
 " When's the tiger hunt going to begin, pleathe, 
 Buthter ? " interrupted the Vice. 
 
 " Well, my son, to make a short story long — 
 the next time the Simple Villagers of Soni went 
 up to Lucy's cave with sackbut, harp and 
 psaltery, praise and oblations and the carcase of 
 a goat that had otherwise outlived its days of 
 usefulness, as was their wont at the new moon — 
 they didn't. The shikari just took the goat up 
 without any tamasha whatever, and presently 
 after took the good M.P. for a quiet evening 
 stroll to the very spot where Lucy, full of con- 
 
THE VIRTUOUS TIGER 87 
 
 tentment and goat, sat washing her face beside 
 her cottage door. For the first time in his life 
 the travelling M.P.'s tongue failed him, and he 
 stood as though turned to stone. Then, when 
 Lucy sat up, yawned, hiccoughed, and put her 
 paw up to her mouth as who should say * Excuse 
 me,' he turned and fled for his life, and then said 
 it was for his gun. . . . 
 
 ** There was dirty work at the cross-roads that 
 night. 
 
 "The Simple Villagers built a machan over- 
 looking the path from Lucy's cave, and, as soon 
 as Lucy was safely off for her night's stroll, the 
 shikari \xio\^ the good M.P. to sit upon it and 
 consort with mosquitoes, while he watched for 
 the horrible Scourge. Nearly all night he sat, 
 and had just gone to sleep when the shikari, who 
 was sitting behind him, heard the sounds he had 
 been waiting for. A minute later, he saw what 
 he had been watching for and gently shook his 
 sleeping employer. 
 
 * * ' Look, ' he whispered and pointed. The good 
 Traveller rubbed his eyes and looked. There, 
 sure enough, beneath a tree a few yards away. 
 
88 THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 he could just make out, In the dim starlight, a 
 huge striped animal ! Raising his Express rifle 
 to his shoulder, he shut both eyes and fired both 
 barrels. There was a terrible roar, or bellow, 
 or bleat, and the sound of an animal falling and 
 struggling on the ground. A moment later, 
 there was a sound of more than one animal 
 struggling on the ground, for the good M.P., in 
 his excitement, had leant too far over the edge of 
 the machan and, perhaps helped a little by the 
 wily shikari, had come down without using the 
 ladder. Likewise the shikari, who with a cry 
 of * Run Sahib ; run,' landed on the gentleman's 
 stomach in a manner which in no way helped. 
 Knowing the unwisdom of dallying around 
 among wounded tigers (and Heaven alone 
 knew how many there were by now), the Tra- 
 veller took the tip as quickly as he could, and 
 did his record travel for the ^^^/^-bungalow, 
 guided by his faithful follower — who followed 
 in front of course. After a stiff brandy and 
 soda, the good gentleman sat him down to wait 
 for dawn, by which time he had written a full 
 account for the Crtimpington Courier of his 
 
THE VIRTUOUS TIGER 89 
 
 slaughter of the far-famed, terrible man-eater of 
 Soni. 
 
 ** Meanwhile the Simple Villagers had got 
 busy, and by the time the M.P. cautiously re- 
 turned to the scene of his prowess, there was 
 nothing to see but gallons of blood upon the 
 trampled grass. But when Lucy came home 
 with a headache after a poor night, she was 
 gratified to find a calf, with two bullet holes in its 
 tummy, neatly laid beside her cottage door. 
 Equally gratified the next day was the good M.P. 
 to find a fine blood-stained tiger-skin pegged 
 out before his cottage door when he returned 
 from a day's tramp with one of the search parties 
 that had scoured the district in pursuit of the 
 wounded monster. 
 
 " Great were the rejoicings and the festivities, 
 and every one was happy. The Traveller, the 
 shikari, the villagers, the bannici s brother who 
 had sold him the tiger-skin, and Lucy, the be- 
 loved Virtuous Tiger of the sweet village of the 
 plains." 
 
 ** Good Tosh," commented the President. 
 ** Let's play Shipwrecked Sailors on a Raft," 
 
VIII. 
 
 BOBBALL AGAIN, AND A STUDY IN 
 
 CONTRASTS. 
 
 V 
 
 \ 
 
VIII. 
 
 BOBBALL AGAIN, AND A STUDY IN 
 
 CONTRASTS. 
 
 Hurrah! There was beloved Bobball, sitting 
 pensive on the sand and gazing upon the mighty 
 ocean, his short clay pipe protruding from the 
 red burning bush of his huge moustache. The 
 children ran towards him. ^^^ 
 
 " Gorblessmysoul ! " he ejaculated, as his satur- 
 nine face lit up with real pleasure, *' I was ajust '^'fll 
 thinkin* abaht you two." 
 
 This was untrue. Bobball had been consider- 
 ing the chaplain's phrase, **a waste of waters," 
 as he regarded the separating sea, and thinking 
 of how much he personally would do to remedy 
 the waste, were it only beer. 
 
 ''That's a nice lill' whip, Missy," he remarked, 
 takinor the rhinoceros-hide switch that Boodle had 
 surreptitiously borrowed (in Daddy's absence) 
 the better to correct Jock's besetting sin of lazi- 
 
 93 
 
94 THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 ness. *' I usedter used one like that fer to en- 
 couridge Bill — that knowin' lill' oss I tole you 
 abaht." 
 
 ** Yes," replied Boodle, *' the one that won the 
 great race by a short tongue. . . . This is Daddy's 
 polo whip. He's out visiting the Districts, so he 
 doesn't want it just now." 
 
 *' Districk-visitin', is he? " said Bobball. 
 
 '* He's visiting the Districts," admitted Boodle. 
 
 '* My muvver went Districk-visitin' onct," 
 mused Bobball. '' She took me wiv' 'er, she 
 did, too. ... It were a lark." 
 
 " Was your mother in India then, Bobball?" 
 inquired the puzzled Boodle. 
 
 '* No, Missy. She were noL She went 
 Districk-visitin' in the East, she did, but it were 
 the East End, an' that ain't no nioftissil neether. 
 That's in Lunnon, that is." 
 
 *' I have been to London, Bobball," was the 
 cold reply, " and there are no ' districts ' in Eng- 
 land. You don't take tents and go out into the 
 ' districts ' there, nor go ' up country ' ; and you 
 don't have ' head-quarter stations ' either. . . . 
 Perhaps you are talking Tosh, though. ..." 
 
A STUDY IN CONTRASTS 95 
 
 It was Bobball's turn to be puzzled. He 
 gathered that doubt was being cast upon his 
 statements. He licked a grimy stubby black- 
 nailed finger and held his hand up solemnly 
 before him. 
 
 " See my finger wet 1 
 See my finger dry ! 
 Gord cut my froat 
 If I tell a lie," 
 
 quoted he. 
 
 *' It's your fumb," remarked the Vice, observant 
 and accurate. Bobball had used the term finger 
 in a liberal and comprehensive sense. 
 
 ** Streuth ! " murmured the astonished Bobball. 
 *' Ain't you pertickler, Mister Sharp-Heyes ? 
 Wot I means fer to say is, that I'm a speakin' 
 the Troof, an' when I do speak the Troof, it 'urts 
 my feelin's, it do, to be doubted. . . . It's caused 
 more'n a lill' onpleasantness between me an' the 
 Colonel, it hev. ..." 
 
 ** If you're telling the truth, Bobball, we be- 
 lieve you, of course y said Boodle. ** We thought 
 perhaps you were talking Tosh, that's all. Now 
 tell us all about it." 
 
96 THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 *' I never talks tosh, Missy," replied the British 
 soldier, in an injured tone. 
 
 '' It isn't every one who can," agreed Boodle. 
 *' Tell us what really happened when your mother 
 took you visiting in the 'districts'." 
 
 ** Wot I said, Missy, was that my ole muvver 
 took me Districk-visitin onct, an' so she did. 
 Tracks an' all. All proper an' reggler. She 
 Districk-visited the bloomin' clergy an' is 'oly 
 missus — ^wti know, sorter civvy's chapling, 'e 
 wos. It were like this 'ere. My farver was a 
 snob. . . . " 
 
 "Cocky? Stuck-up?" inquired the puzzled 
 young lady. 
 
 " Naow, Missy — you know, a mochi, a cobbler. 
 That's wot 'e was when 'e was sober, but as 'e 
 was only sober a Sundays, trade weren't brisk so 
 ter speak. . . . Love us ! ' E were a terror, an* 
 'e lived 'appy fer years on meffylated sperrits, 'e 
 did — -flavioured, when luck was in, by beer, gin, 
 rum an' other sech condimensions. Real sportin' 
 H englishman 'e were, an' 'ad 'is bob each way on 
 hevery race as was run in the year. ..." 
 
 " This is rather a putrid sort of story, Bobball," 
 
A STUDY IN CONTRASTS 97 
 
 yawned the President of the Junior Curlton Club, 
 who had a cultivated taste in such matters. " I 
 wanted to hear about what yoit did visiting the 
 'districts' in England." 
 
 " Well, I was a comin' to that, Missy — but 
 you're so 'asty — like all wimming. . . . Well, 
 ole gaffer, 'e wants me to set-down-to-last wiv' 
 im. 
 
 • • 
 
 *' Didn't he tkinkyoud last ? " inquired Boodle. 
 
 ** It's a manner o' speakin' among snobs, 
 Missy," replied Bobball. *"E wanted to set me 
 dahn to the cobbler's last. Sorter happrentice me 
 to 'imself like — an' 'im pinch wot I earnt. But 
 muvver says, ' No '. She calls 'im just abaht 
 wot 'e wos, an' says I gotter stop in our room 
 wiv 'er a makin' matches. . . . When she got too 
 ill to go out a charin', she set all day an' made 
 matches — to fill our 'ungry bellies. ..." 
 
 ** Matches is bad for bellies," interrupted the 
 Vice. 
 
 ** Mummy says her mother was a regular 
 match-maker," said Boodle. 
 
 Bobball guffawed. 
 
 ** Quite right, me lord an' me lady," said he, 
 
98 THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 ** but she made ma.tch'doxes I should a said, and 
 she gotter bob a day, she did, for the work o' the 
 lot of us — me an' the uvver two kids. . . . An' 
 she wouldn't let farver take me away from it 
 neiver — she knowed wot 'e was — and I was worf 
 a good tuppence 'apenny a day, I was, when I 
 wasn't more'n abaht eight years old. We wos 
 terrors at matches, when it wasn't too cold to 
 feel nothink wiv' yer 'ands. . . . 
 
 *' And then the Revering 'Oly 'Ennery 'Opper's 
 bloomin' well Missus from the tin chapel took 
 to Districk-visitin' us, she did. . . . There we 
 wos, all of us eggsep' the two bibies, workin' 
 away like devils to make seven bob a week for 
 rent, coals, and food — the pore ain't go no right 
 to nothink else — when there comes a knock at 
 our door an' in walks the 'oly female. 
 
 *' * Don' git up, my good woman,' she says 
 gracious-like. 
 
 '** I ain't got time to,' says Muvver, practical- 
 like. * My time's took up wiv' work — to get 
 food an' fuel, when I paid me rent,' she says. 
 
 ** * How many hours a day do you work ? ' says 
 the 'oly lady, a sniffin' the balmy atmosfeer of our 
 
A STUDY IN CONTRASTS 99 
 
 little ome — (five of us always in the room, there 
 wos, countin' the youngest biby, an' our clo'es 
 an' beddin' wasn't wilets nor yet hotter o' roses, 
 an' that bloomin' biby was alius ill, the aggera- 
 watin' brat) — an' lookin' rahnd most disapprovin' 
 like. 
 
 **'Abaht twenty, as a rule,' says Muvver. 
 * 'Ow many does your She-reverence do ? ' 
 
 *'The kind lidy put this question aside. She 
 was out to hask, an' it shall be answered unto 
 you. 
 
 "'What's your husband, my good woman .^' 
 was the nex'. 
 
 " ' A waster. A drunken, idle, wife-beatin', 
 spongin' swine, your She-reverence. Wot's 
 yours ? ' ses Muvver. 
 
 "Again the kind lidy took no notice o' the 
 question. 
 
 " * This room's very untidy,' says she. 
 
 " * I 'ad a hidea it were,' replies Muvver. I'm 
 afraid all the maids 'ave got their day out, 
 to-day. Would your 'oliness like to tidy it up ? ' 
 
 " ' Can you not take a pride in your home ? ' 
 says the good lidy. 
 
 7* 
 
100 THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 *' ' No, I can no^y'' says Muvver. 'Will you 
 come an' 'ave five kids an' a drunken 'usband 'ere, 
 an' live on seven bob a week, an' show me 'ow 
 to take a pride in it ? Talk sense or go an' 
 'inder some one else.' 
 
 " Then the 'oly an' virtuous female talked to 
 Muvver for the good of 'er soul, she did, an' like- 
 wise she lef a track, a proper 'un — * 'Ow will 
 you like 'Ell? ' it were called. . . . Muvver said 
 she'd prob'ly enjoy it fine after wot she'd 'ad 
 in Christian England, she did. 
 
 "Coin' dahn-stairs the kind lidy met Ole 
 Muvver Skin-the-Goat. She weren't so perlite 
 as my ole gal. 
 
 '' ' Good afternoon, my good woman,' says the 
 lidy to the abandoned slum-dweller, in 'er 
 gracious way. Ole Muvver Skin-the-Goat she 
 eyes 'er, cold an' steady, fer a bit. Then — 
 
 "■ ' You be grycious to me, an' I'll 'ave yer back 
 'air dahn in 'arf once,' says she. ''Op it, will 
 yer,' an' she p'ints wiv 'er fumb. She wos a 
 wulgar ole lot. 
 
 " Well, this noble-'earted lady came agin nex' 
 week. 
 
A STUDY IN CONTRASTS loi 
 
 ** * This room and these children are no cleaner 
 than they were a week ago,' says she, as though 
 the least she eggspected v/as that we'd all got 
 noo clo'es an' 'ad the room pipered an' white- 
 woshed. 
 
 *' ' No — there's a week's more dirt on 'em, 
 natrally, yore 'oliness,' says Muvver. ' You 
 yoreself ain't no younger than you wos a week 
 ago — but I got more sense 'n to say so ! ' 
 
 '' * That baby's nose is simply filthy,' says the 
 lidy, ap'intin' to pore young 'Meliar alyin' on a 
 sack o' rags, bein' ill as usual. 
 
 '' 'Then fer Gord's sike d/ozv it for 'er. Mum,' 
 says Muvver, ' an do somethink useful terday, if 
 yer niver did before.' 
 
 " The kind lidy sniffs as though 'er own nose 
 could do with a treat o' that sort. 
 
 '' * Cleanliness comes next to Godliness,' ses she. 
 
 " * Yus— an' 'ungriness come before eiver of 
 'em,' says Muvver. ' If you'd bin man enough 
 to 'ave five kids yerself, an' they wos astarvin' 
 before yer bloomin' eyes, would yer bung 'em up 
 wiv Gordliness or cleanliness fust ? Or would 
 yer work yer fingers to the bone to git 'em food 
 
102 THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 an' a pinch o' fire an' a roof over their 'eads — 
 their Farver bein' a drunken brute, an' 'im ex- 
 pectin' to be fed an' all ? ' she says." 
 
 Bobball paused to knock the ashes gingerly 
 from his clay, upon his horny palm. Contrary 
 to what one might have expected, the children 
 were now deeply interested. Bobball's earnest- 
 ness and dramatic manner held them spell-bound 
 as they endeavoured to visualise a new idea, the 
 tragedy of starving children. 
 
 •' ' They ain't any on 'em 'ad nothing more nor 
 a cup o' weak tea since yestiddy,' says she, *an' 
 they won't neether, till I got these boxes finished 
 an' took to the factr'y. Would yer run along 
 wiv 'em yerself, while I tidies up ? ' she says. 
 But the good lidy 'ad nobler work in 'and, o' 
 course. 
 
 " Then come the day when Farver done the 
 best night's work e' ever done in 'is life. 'E got 
 'ittin' Muvver when 'e was too drunk to look 
 arter 'isself, an' she shoved 'im dahn-stairs proper, 
 an' 'e broke 'is bloomin' neck. Wasn't we all 
 just 'appy neether ! An' to fair put the lid on it, 
 Muvver got a fi '-pun-note out of it, some'ow. 
 
A STUDY IN CONTRASTS 103 
 
 I dunno' 'ow — some Serciety or Beryl Club or 
 somethink. Anyways we 'as a blow-out and a 
 'oliday, and she took us DIstrick-visitin'." 
 
 *' At latht ! " breathed the Vice, who had been 
 waiting for such ddnoneme^it with patience. 
 
 *' Yus. We returned the kind call of the good 
 lidy, as was on'y right an' proper manners. 
 The idea come to Muvver while ole Muvver 
 Skin-the-Goat was asettin' congratlatin' 'er on 
 'er sudden and un'oped-for bereavement. 
 
 *' ' If that stuck-up grycious *ussy of a Missis 
 'Enery 'Opper comes insultin' of you agin, you 
 serve 'er the same,' says she. 
 
 " * No — I wouldn't like to go fer to sling 'er 
 dahn-stairs. It wouldn' seem 'ospitable like,' says 
 Muvver — a sippin' at the first cup o' gin she'd 
 'ad fer years. */ know what I'll do — I'll spend 
 me 'ollerdy avisitin' of 'er ! I'll leave a bloomin' 
 Track too,' she says. 
 
 *' Ole Muvver Skin-the-Goat she stares as if she 
 thought the gin 'ad got to Muvver's 'ead a'ready. 
 Then she fair 'owls wiv' larfin'. 
 
 '' * I'll come too,' says she, when she could 
 speak, * 'swelp me, if I don't! Well be torfs 
 
104 THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 fer a chinge an' go Districk=visitin' — an' see 'ow 
 they like it.' 
 
 ** Also they done it, an' took me an' 'Erry an' 
 'Erb an' Horgustus an' 'Meliar. When we 
 gits to the 'ouse, ol' Muvver Skin-the-Goat gives 
 a fair rat-tat, while I plays a toon on the bell 
 which was cut short by a femmle a openin' of the 
 door. Like a 'igh class barmaid, she wos, wiv 
 white bonnet-strings 'angin' dahn 'er back. 
 
 *< ' We've come to the Private Bar, Muvver,' 
 says I, an' we all shoves inside, an' through a 
 hopen door we sees 'er 'oliness and a kid 'avin' 
 tea orf a little table, an' in we goes. 
 
 '* ' Don't get hup,' says Muvver, grycious like, 
 in the same sorter way 'er 'oliness did when she 
 Districk-wisited hus. There they sets wiv their 
 mouth open. 
 
 " ' 'Ow many howers a day do you heat?' 
 inquires Muvver, a sniffin' the hatmosphere like 
 the good lidy always done in our HI' 'ome, an' 
 lookin' rahn most disapprovin' like. ' This 
 room's 'orrible untidy. Can't yer tike a pride 
 in yer 'ome ? Why don't yer put hall these 
 chairs straight — I 'ates ter see chairs hall of a 
 
,»- 
 
 A STUDY IN CONTRASTS 105 
 
 muddle. Why don't yer 'range 'em along the 
 wall ? ' 
 
 '' ' Wot's the meaning of this?' ses the good 
 lidy at last, finding her voice and risin' to her feet. 
 
 ''Then ol' Muvver Skin-the-Goat chips in. 
 ' VVot's yore 'usband, my pore woman,' ses she. 
 *' I 'ope 'e's in reg'lar work, an' brings 'is wages 
 'ome a Saturday nights? You know, if you 
 wishes ter keep 'im houter the pubs, you must 
 make 'is 'ome hattractive like for 'im, an' I 
 means ter say yer must spruce yerself up a bit 
 like, fer when 'e comes 'ome. 'Ave a bit o' pease- 
 pudden an' a bloater ready for 'im, an' encourage 
 'im ter wash 'is faice afore 'e eats it. If 'e 
 comes 'ome 'ere an' finds the fire aht, an' you 
 likewise, stands ter reason 'e's agoin' ter foller 
 yer ter the gin-shop and . . .' 
 
 " ' This is a houtraige,' ses the lidy, an' the kid 
 begins ter snivvle. 
 
 *' ' Some there are as calls it Districk-visitin',' 
 ses Muvver, ' but praps yer right. Voii oughter 
 know, any'ow. . . . That child's nose is simply 
 filthy ' — apintin' to the kid as was snivvlin' — 
 * an' wot's it 'owlin' for ? Is it 'ungry or wot ? 
 
io6 THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 Can't yer tike a pride in yer children? Yer 
 know this room an' these children ain't no cleaner 
 than wot they wos a week ago. . . . An' look 
 at that 'ole in 'er stockin'. Shorely you can 
 'ave self-respeck if you are pore. Ain't there 
 sich a thing as a needle an' thread in the 'ol 
 'ouse ? I expecks yer pore 'usbin' 'as to fasten 
 'is cloves to 'isself wiv nails. . . .' 
 
 " 'Ereupon the good lidy fair drops the cup o' 
 tea wot she 'ad bin 'oldin' in 'er 'and. 
 
 " An' when I sees wot she done I ses * Gor- 
 blimey, wot 'ave you done ? ' 
 
 ** ' Look at that,' ses Muvver. ' 'Ow many 
 times 'ave I told you as woful waste makes 
 wilful want? You pore are the most himpro- 
 vident class there is. . . . Nor the floor ain't 
 the plaice fer the tea if yer don't want it. 'Ow 
 many times 'aven't I told you as cleanliness 
 comes nex' ter Gawdliness ? . . .' 
 
 " ' 'Ow ! look at that,' chimes in ol' Muvver 
 Skin-the-Goat, apintin' to a statoo of a naked 
 femmle in the corner. I don' know wevver it 
 were a 'oly saint or a gordless 'eathen 'ussy — 
 but it was nood all the same. 
 
A STUDY IN CONTRASTS 107 
 
 " * Disgustin', I calls it. The trash you pore do 
 waste yer money on ! 'Ere, 'ang a hantimokasser 
 rahnd the thing an' be decent if you are pore.' 
 
 ** ' Go,' screams the lidy, tremblin' an' pintin' 
 ter the door. 
 
 "'Wot! Yer don' like bein' Districk-wis- 
 ited.**' ses Muvver. 'Well, I am serprised. 
 Any'ow you jest read this track, '''Ow will you 
 like 'Ell?'' an' we'll call agin' nex' week an' 'ope 
 ter find some improvement ' — an' hout we all 
 marches lookin' most disapprovin'. ..." 
 
 Bobball mused a moment in silence. 
 
 **'Ighly irreg'lar it were, an' most unproper 
 conduck on the ol' gal's part — but it done the 
 trick orl ripfht. We never grot Districk-wisited 
 no more. . . . Course your Pa's Districk-wisitin' 
 may be different. ..." 
 
 ''Good Tosh, Bobball," murmured the Presi- 
 dent, but the Vice had gone to sleep. 
 
IX. 
 GRAPE-SHOT. 
 
IX. 
 GRAPE-SHOT. 
 
 It was the President's birthday on the morrow, 
 and, naturally, great preparations had to be made 
 for the suitable celebration of so notable an 
 occasion. 
 
 Not only was the Club to be particularly 
 Sporting, Dramatic, and Literary, but it was also 
 to be markedly Social and hold high wassail with 
 cakes and ale — at any rate with cakes ; or to be 
 meticulously exact, with a Cake, a Birthday Cake 
 of noble proportions and suitable inscription. 
 
 A special feature of the day's festivities was 
 a series of "moving" tableattx-vivants to be 
 staged for the delectation of the members, 
 honorary members, and guests bidden to the feast 
 whereof the said Cake was xki^ piece de resistance. 
 
 Subjects selected as being suitable to the 
 
 occasion, to the limited stock of stage "pro- 
 
 III 
 
112 THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 parties," and to the number of actors, were in 
 course of earnest and strenuous rehearsal. 
 
 ** It's no good," said the President. *' Both 
 Daddy and Buster absolutely refuse to play 
 Goliath. I am afraid we shall have to leave it 
 out. I should look such an ass as David if you 
 were Goliath ; everybody would laugh at David 
 being bigger than Goliath. ... It does spoil 
 the idea a bit, doesn't it?" 
 
 ** What did Daddy and Buthter say?" asked 
 the Vice. 
 
 •' When I told Daddy he had been chosen by 
 the Committee — that's you and me — for a part 
 in David and Goliath, he said, ' I'm a proud 
 and happy man this day. I am a bit of a David 
 when I get hold of a catapult. It must be a 
 catapult, though. I am a rotten slinger, partly 
 perhaps because I have never slung. Or if you 
 haven't a catapult, I daresay I am still fairly use- 
 ful at roll, bowl, or pitch. . . . That's it. . . . 
 Give me a good ripe mango or a custard-apple, 
 say, and I'll get a bull's eye or an inner every 
 time.' But when I told him that he was to be 
 
GRAPE-SHOT 113 
 
 Goliath, he said he felt modest and not equal to 
 the part. He said he'd make a rotten Goliath 
 and the whole subject was a most improper 
 one for tablo-vivong anyway." 
 
 " Doesn't he want us to act it, then ? " asked 
 the Vice. 
 
 " Not with him as Goliath," was the reply. 
 
 ''Then I asked Buster," she continued, ''and 
 he said, ' All I have to do is to stand up and 
 stop a rounded pebble from the brook and from 
 your sling, with my marble brow'." 
 
 " We were going to use a marble," murmured 
 the Vice. 
 
 " And Buster said, ' No,' it v/asn't cricket, and 
 if it was, he wasn't going to bat, nor wicket-keep, 
 nor long-stop." 
 
 " I thuppothe he wanted to play David too," 
 mused the Vice cynically. 
 
 " Yes," was the reply. " And he offered to 
 ask Colonel Jones to come and play Goliath. 
 Said he would add fresh laurels to David's 
 fame, whatever that means." 
 
 " What about uth ? " commented the Vice. 
 
 "You were to be the Philistine army and I 
 
 8 
 
114 THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 was to be David's family," answered the Pre- 
 sident. 
 
 " When I told him he could be Goliath or 
 nothing, he said, Many thanks, he'd have a shot 
 at Nothing as he felt he could do it rather well." 
 
 " Funny-Dog," said the Vice. 
 
 "Just what I told him," remarked the Pre- 
 sident, '' and he wanted to pretend that he thought 
 it was good Tosh." 
 
 " I suppose people would \dMgh if David were 
 bigger than Goliath," she continued. 
 
 " I should," said the Vice. 
 
 ** You would!' grunted the senior official, per- 
 turbed in mind by the inexorable drift of circum- 
 stance. She did not want to be Goliath. 
 
 '' I thaid I would," countered the other. 
 
 " Look here ! / know," shouted the President, 
 clapping her hands. " I've had such a good 
 think. You shall have a pair of stilts and be 
 Goliath ! Splendid ! " 
 
 The soul of the Vice sank within him. He 
 did not object so much to playing a losing rdky 
 nor a dangerous one, but Goliath was a rooter, 
 a swank-pot, a Bad Man and without one re- 
 
GRAPE-SHOT 1 1 5 
 
 deeming trait of the Good Egg. Nevertheless 
 he faced the difficulty like a man, and howled 
 with derisive laughter. 
 
 '*Oh yeth," he jeered. "Two handths for 
 the stilts, and carry my spear in my mouth, I 
 thuppothe. ... A spear as big as a beaver's 
 wame — or is it a weaver's beam. . . ." 
 
 " I suppose I shall kave to be Goliath then," 
 growled the President, and added, after a moment's 
 bitter reflection — " Don't see why / shouldn't 
 have a sling too ". 
 
 ** Oh, you'll have a jolly great spear," comforted 
 the Vice. 
 
 " Fat lot of good that'll be if I've got to be 
 shot sittin'," was the reply, but even as she 
 spoke, the fertile mind of the President conceived 
 two bright ideas. The projectile should be of 
 the most innocuous description, and she would 
 duck unblushingly when it was projected. 
 
 " Come on," she said. " Dress up, and we'll 
 rehearse." 
 
 Goliath appeared upon the scene garbed 
 much as had been the Standard-Bearer of the 
 Tenth Legion, save that by way of a spear great 
 
 8* 
 
ii6 THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 as a weaver s beam, he bore with obvious effort 
 a ten-foot mahogany curtain-pole, one end of 
 which terminated in a most realistic spearhead. 
 The one drawback to possession of this truly 
 imposing weapon was the fact that it quite pre- 
 cluded the use of a shield. 
 
 David, as became a modest shepherd boy, 
 appeared simply and suitably arrayed in a fur 
 stole clasped about his middle and armed with 
 a modern-looking catapult. Dangling from his 
 neck was what looked uncommonly like a sponge- 
 bag. 
 
 " Ready? " he asked. 
 
 " What have you got in there? " replied the 
 President, eyeing her colleague's make-up with 
 approval, and pointing to the bag. 
 
 *' Pebbles from the brook," was the ominously 
 simple answer. 
 
 " I thought so. ril choose the pebbles from 
 the brook," and laboriously depositing the mighty 
 spear upon the ground, the President quitted the 
 Club premises, rootled in Daddy's office room, 
 and quickly returned with a small soft woollen 
 ball whose proper use was that of a dummy golf- 
 
GRAPE-SHOT 117 
 
 ball by one practising the art of driving. So 
 light and fluffy was it that the most tremendous 
 drive would only send it a few feet. 
 
 " There's nothing in the story about Goliar 
 choosing the pebbles," remarked the Vice, as he 
 dropped the ball into his ammunition bag. 
 He too had had a bright idea on the subject of 
 ammunition — and anyhow the President had 
 said that Goliath was going to duck. . . . 
 
 The antagonists faced each other. 
 
 " Bung off, Lanky," remarked David. *' Hop 
 it. Your face will scare my sheep." 
 
 **And who might you be, my lad .-^ " inquired 
 Goliath, adding in sepulchral tones, 
 
 "Fee, Fi, Fo, Fum, 
 I smell the blood of 
 An Is-rael-um." 
 
 " My name and address is David, the son of 
 Jesse," was the simple reply. 
 
 " Jessie ? " queried Goliath derisively. ** What 
 a silly name. I had a doll named Jessie, she 
 was an ass. Is your father a woman ? " 
 
 *' My Daddy could do yours any day, ol' 
 Goliar ; and you're a Phyllis Tine yourself," 
 
ii8 THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 countered David, and punned in somewhat bad 
 
 taste. 
 
 *' Go, Liar ! Go, Liar ! " he chanted, pointing. 
 
 " Nasty little vSheeny," answered the giant, and 
 dropping his spear he crushed his helmet down 
 over his ears until these latter stood out at right 
 angles to his head, raised his hands palm upper- 
 most, and waggled them beside his shoulders, 
 rolled up his eyes, ejaculated "My! vot a 
 pizness," and with an exaggerated lisp burst into 
 derisive song : — 
 
 '*0h, Solomon Levi, 
 
 Levi, Tra la la la, 
 
 Poor Sheeny Levi, 
 
 Tra la la la la la la la la la la ; 
 
 My name is Solomon Levi, 
 
 At my Store in Chatham Street, 
 
 That's where you buy your coats and vests 
 
 And everything that's neat. 
 
 Second-handed ulsterettes 
 
 And everything that's ..." 
 
 Smack ! ! and Goliath's song died upon his 
 lips with the suddenness of a cut-off gramophone. 
 
 In the utter shock of the suddenness of the 
 surprise, he sat down suddenly and heavily, and 
 
GRAPE-SHOT 119 
 
 with a bound David was upon him and hewing 
 off his head while the Israelitish army in the 
 person of Venus cheered and wagged its tail, 
 what time the Philistine array made known its 
 presence beneath the form of Goliath. 
 
 ''Golly! What happened?" asked Goliath, 
 scrambling up that Widdy might breathe again. 
 *' That wasn't the woolly golf-ball." 
 
 ** No, it was a fat grape," admitted David 
 modestly. 
 
 ** I thought so," said Goliath licking widely. 
 He pondered awhile, and, in the non-committal 
 voice of one who reserves judgment, added : 
 ** We will now do Alfred and the Cakes ". 
 
X. 
 
 DRUMMERS AND RUMMERS. 
 
•Hi 
 
X. 
 
 DRUMMERS AND RUMMERS. 
 
 ** Do you like Bobball best, or Nurse Perfect ? " 
 inquired the Vice. 
 
 '* Do you like treacle-pudding" or sea-bathing 
 best ? " was the somewhat scathing reply of the 
 President. '* If you are hungry and hollow you'd 
 rather have treacle-pudding, but if you are very 
 hot and sticky and stuffy you'd rather go in the 
 sea. 
 
 **No, I wouldn't," answered the Vice. ** I'd 
 rather have an ice-cream as big as my head in a 
 pail of lemonade." 
 
 The President snorted, but the tenacious mind 
 of the small boy pursued the subject of the com- 
 parative merits of Bobball and Mrs. Perfect. 
 Inarticulately he decided that he admired the 
 moral excellences of Mrs. Perfect more than he 
 
 could do those of Bobball, while he loved the 
 
 123 
 
124 THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 human imperfections of Bobball more than he 
 could love those of Mrs. Perfect. In fact it 
 rather seemed that Bobball was one large human 
 imperfection — and lovable, while Mrs. Perfect 
 was one small moral excellence — and admir- 
 able. 
 
 ** I wonder if she's called Mrs. Perfect because 
 she is perfect, or whether she's perfect because 
 she's called Mrs. Perfect." 
 
 *' Ask her," grunted the President. 
 
 But when they reached the spot on the sands 
 where Mrs. Perfect was presiding over the picnic 
 nominally given by Phyllis and Ethel, her young 
 charges, she was quickly seen to be in one of 
 her frequent moods which were quite unfavour- 
 able to the pursuit of investigations of a private 
 and personal character. But faultily faultless, 
 icily regular, and splendidly null, as she seemed 
 to the children before the advent of Bobball, 
 what words shall convey the correctness, pro- 
 priety, and frozen rectitude of Mrs. Perfect's per- 
 fection when that man of war and wrath hove in 
 sight. 
 
 ^' Hallo Bobball, darling!" hailed Boodle. 
 
DRUMMERS AND RUMMERS 125 
 
 *' Come and have some tea and then let's all 
 play pirates-on-a-desert-island, down by the 
 wreck" — and, striking a piratical attitude, she 
 sang in sepulchral voice that well-known old 
 favourite of all the Best Pirates, 
 
 " Fifteen men on a dead man's chest, 
 Yo ho, ho ! and a bottle of rum." 
 
 *'Good a'ternoon, Mrs. Puffick, ma'am. I 
 'opes I sees you well," greeted Bobball, in pro- 
 pitiatory manner, as he gave his horny hands 
 to the simultaneous embrace of a dozen small 
 ones. 
 
 "Afternoon," snapped Mrs. Perfect. 
 
 " Ho yus, I could do with a bottle o' rum. 
 Missy," continued the soldier, accepting the 
 united invitation of the children that he would 
 sit him down and be part of the picnic. 
 
 " Let's pretend the tea is rum," replied the 
 little girl, " and you can be a dead man and we'll 
 all sit on your chest." 
 
 *' That ud be what you might call a rum go. 
 Missy," returned Bobball, with an unexpected 
 flight of wit. 
 
126 THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 " Rum is a deadly poison," stated Mrs. Perfect. 
 
 *' Wisht you'd p'ison me wiv' it, Mum, when 
 you've 'ad enough o' my company," replied 
 Bobball. 
 
 Ignoring the remark, Mrs. Perfect addressed 
 the children at large. 
 
 *' I don't think I ever told you the beautiful 
 story of the little blue-eyed drummer-boy and 
 the bottle of rum, did I ? " she asked. \ 
 
 ** No," squealed the children in chorus. ''Do 
 tell us." 
 
 A story was a story even though it were a 
 Perfect one. 
 
 ** Yes," added the President, "and then Bobball 
 must tell us one too." 
 
 Loud cheers. 
 
 "Once upon a time," began Mrs. Perfect, 
 eyeing Bobball with extreme disfavour, "there 
 was a regiment of good, self-respecting, total- 
 abstaining men who never drank, nor smoked, 
 nor used langwidge, nor caused their Colonel a 
 moment's anxiety." 
 
 A strange sound, as of one who strangled, 
 proceeded from the throat of Bobball, but as the 
 
DRUMMERS AND RUMMERS 127 
 
 children turned their innocent, all-seeing gaze 
 upon him, he coughed and looked into his helmet 
 as one who suffereth in church. 
 
 " Now in this regiment," continued Mrs. 
 Perfect, "there was a little blue-eyed, golden- 
 haired drummer-boy, the sole support of his 
 widowed mother " 
 
 " Eightpence a day," murmured Bobball. 
 
 " — who had brought him up a total ab- 
 stainer, not to use malt and spiritual liquors or 
 tobacco in any form. Well, one day, as the 
 Colonel came out of the officers' mess who should 
 he see but this little drummer-boy, whose name 
 was Horace, playing his bugle at the bottom of 
 the steps " 
 
 '*They alius plays their little bugles there," 
 murmured Bobball. 
 
 " — to give his kind officers pleasure, in his 
 spare time. The Colonel smiled kindly and 
 brightly at him and said, * Step inside and have 
 some refreshment, my little man'. ..." 
 
 "They alius do — jest like that," whispered 
 Bobball, whose face appeared to grow more and 
 more suffused. 
 
128 THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 ** — and led the way to where the officers sat 
 at their wine " 
 
 "Wot! Wasn't they total abstainers too?" 
 inquired Bobball, in pained surprise. 
 
 *' They were gentlemen," was the cold and 
 crushing answer. 
 
 '''And what will you take, Horace?' asked 
 the Colonel. 
 
 " * Lemonade, Sir, if you please, and thank you 
 kindly,' replied Horace, who had very nice 
 manners, as all teetotally-abstaining children 
 have. But the Colonel was a gentleman who 
 liked his little joke as the gentry often do. 
 
 " ' No, Horace,' said he. ' You shall join me 
 in a glass of rum.' 
 
 " ' Oh, Sir, pray excuse me,' said poor Horace 
 in dismay. ' I have been a total abstainer from 
 birth, belonging to two Band-of- Hopes and a 
 Mutual Improvement Society. My father was 
 a Good Templar, Forester, Ancient Order of 
 Buffaloes, and was buried with banners and a 
 band.' 
 
 "'Drink!' said the Colonel, pouring out a 
 tumbler of rum. 
 
DRUMMERS AND RUMMERS 129 
 
 '' ' Oh, Sir, I promised my widowed mother that 
 never would I touch the accursed poison — no, 
 not to save my life, if it was ever so. ' 
 
 " * Hear, hear, my little man,' cried the officers 
 who had gathered round, and prepared to take 
 his part against the Colonel, whose conduct sur- 
 prised them. But with a wink which reassured 
 them, the Colonel put on a terrible frown and 
 again pointed to the rum. 
 
 "'Drink!' said he once more, in a dreadful 
 voice. 
 
 ** Poor Horace fell upon his knees and raised 
 his clasped hands to Heaven. How awful was 
 his position ! Either he must be guilty of an 
 offence against military discipline, or he must 
 break his word to his mother and go against his 
 lifelong convictions. 
 
 '* * Oh, Sir, I cannot,' he cried. 
 
 " ' Drink ! ' roared the Colonel. * Drink or die ! ' 
 and he pulled a loaded pistol from his belt " 
 
 *' They alius carries loaded pistols in their 
 belts," corroborated Bobball, in a whisper, add- 
 ing, as an afterthought, *' and p'isoned daggers in 
 
 their braces." 
 
 9 
 
130 THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 ** — and pointed it at Horace's head. 
 
 '* * You drink that rum, or I blow out your 
 brains,' growled the Colonel, taking out his 
 watch. * I give you two minutes.' 
 
 ** ' May I spend it in prayer, Sir? ' asked the 
 boy, 'for I shall never drink that rum.' 
 
 " The Colonel swallowed hard and nodded, 
 and the officers turned away. 
 
 " Horace said his prayers, and as he finished 
 up, * Please bless Colonel Jones, and make him a 
 teetotaller,' the Colonel could bear it no longer. 
 Throwing his arms round Horace, he burst into 
 tears and hurried from the room. 
 
 "It was a cruel joke and in a way it brought 
 its punishment, though Horace forgave him. 
 That night the Colonel became a teetotaller and 
 all the officers signed the pledge " 
 
 ** Blimey!" whispered Bobball under his 
 breath. 
 
 ** — Shortly after, the Colonel caught a chill 
 and was taken very ill indeed. The doctor was 
 sent for. 
 
 ** ' What you want is a glass of good hot rum,' 
 said he. 
 
DRUMMERS AND RUMMERS 131 
 
 ** VNo, doctor, I'd sooner die,' replied the 
 Colonel. 
 
 *' The doctor laughed, and had the hot rum 
 prepared. 
 
 ** ' Drink ! ' said he. 
 
 *' ' I cannot,' replied the Colonel, ' I promised 
 Horace.' 
 
 " ' Drink or die,' repeated the doctor, holding 
 out the rum. 
 
 " The Colonel feebly shook his head — and 
 died " 
 
 '' Nat'rally ! " commented Bobball. '' Serve 
 im right. 
 
 ''Thank you very much, Mrs. Perfect," said 
 the President, and turned with relief and hope to 
 Bobball. 
 
 '' Now you tell us one, darling Bobball," she 
 besought. 
 
 ** Well, Missy," replied Bobball, producing a 
 tin tobacco box and a cutty clay. '' I ain't wot 
 you might call a thorough-paced uncorrigible 
 story-teller — like Mrs. Puffick, but has it so 
 'appens, I also knows a little story about a 
 drummer-boy likewise. But 'is name weren't 
 
 9* 
 
132 THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 'Orrice, an' 'e 'adn't got no blue eyes nor golden 
 'airs. 'Is name was called Cully 'Ookit, an* 'e 
 had black eyes — most days o' the week any'ow — 
 an' black 'air where 'e weren't bald, an' 'e wasn't 
 the support o' no widowed muvver neither. 
 No, — 'e'd gorn an' deserted 'er, 'e 'ad, just acause 
 she'd burnt 'is face wiv a fryin'-pan an' bashed 
 'im a bit wiv a poker, through gettin' delirious 
 trimmings, 'er bein' partial to a drop o' gin " 
 
 '' Disgusting," murmured Mrs. Perfect. 
 
 *'. . . an' a bit o' exercise a-Saturday nights. 
 No, 'e weren't no golden-eyed 'Orrice, but the 
 funny thing abaht it is, that when 'e run away 
 an' went fer a sojer, 'e must a 'listed in the Fifes 
 an' Drums o' the werry same Regiment as 'Orrice 
 once adorned, as Mrs. Puffick so truly told 
 
 yer — — 
 
 Mrs. Perfect sniffed. 
 
 *' There couldn't a bin two sich Regiments, 
 so it m2is^ a bin the same one — all good, self- 
 ''respectin', total-abstainin' men, as never drank 
 nor smoked nor used langwidge nor caused 
 their Colonel a moment's anxiety. Six 'undred 
 an' fifty of 'em, there was, an' six 'undred an' 
 
DRUMMERS AND RUMMERS 133 
 
 forty-nine was R.A.T.A., the one an' honly 
 hexception bein' that wicked Cully 'Ookit. Did 
 'e sit hon the steps o' the H officers' Mess a 
 play in' of 'is little bugle in 'is spare time to give 
 'is kind Orficers pleasure, as 'Orrice 'ad useter do ? 
 Not 'alf 'e didn't. Ho no ! I dorit fink. No, 
 all 'is spare time was a took up in the Canteen 
 where 'e loved ter set an' 'ear the pop o' the 
 ginger-beer an' lemonade bottles a bein' opened 
 for the good, self-respectin', total habstainin' 
 men as was in the 'abit of rottin' their g — . . ." 
 
 Mrs. Perfect coughed loudly. 
 
 '' — good hinteriors wiv sich gashious swipes. 
 An' one day that abandoned young bloke. Cully 
 'Ookit, wot did 'e do but walk inter the Canteen, 
 plank down 'alf a rupee, say as 'ow 'e were froze 
 to 'is marrer along o' fallin' in the water when 
 fishin', an' called fer a go o' rum, 'ot, wiv. Strike 
 me purple ! You should ha' seen the commotion 
 there was in that Regiment o' good, self-respectin', 
 total habstainin' men ! Talk abaht never 
 givin' their Colonel a moment's anxiety ! Five 
 'undred of 'em run straight off to 'is bun- 
 galow to tell 'im wot 'ad 'appened, one 'undred 
 
134 THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 ran fer the chaplln', forty sloped fer the doctor, 
 an' the remainin' nine mounted guard over 
 Cully 'Ookit an' the eight pennoth o' 'ot rum as 
 the astounded barman 'ad give 'im before he 
 knowed wot 'e was a doin' of 
 
 "In spite o' the fact that the Regiment 'ad got 
 its route an' was entrainin' fer the Plains in the 
 mornin', the Colonel drops heverything an' hups 
 an' leaves 'is work an' rushes dahn ter the 
 Canteen, follered by all the hofficers. Wot a sight 
 meets 'is 'orrified heye. There, at the bar, stood 
 Cully 'Ookit, an' in 'is 'and a steamin' glass o' 
 the best ! 
 
 " * Put it dahn or die,' roars the Colonel. 
 
 '* ' Ho Sir, I cannot,' whimpers the little drum- 
 mer-boy, aturnin' one black heye hup to 'Eavin' 
 while akeepin' the uvver on the Colonel. 
 
 *' ' Put it dahn or die,' again roars the Colonel, 
 pluckin' a loaded revolver from 'is belt an' 
 lookin' to the primin' thereof, while hall the 
 hofficers turns their 'eads away. 
 
 " * Ho Sir ! pray excuse me,' said pore 'Ookit 
 in dismay. *// 's too bloomin 'ot' 
 
 *' * Fer the last time,' roars the Colonel, pre- 
 
DRUMMERS AND RUMMERS 135 
 
 sentin' the pistol at pore 'Ookit's ead — 'put it 
 dahn hor die. . . .' 
 
 ''And in three gulps pore 'Ookit puts it dahn, 
 aburnin' 'is little blue-eyed throat most 'orrible 
 in so doin'. 
 
 " * Faithful to the last,' he cried. ' I 'ave obeyed 
 your cruel orders though it scald my stummick 
 so to do' — and 'e fell at 'is Colonel's feet dead 
 . . . drunk.'* 
 
 Mrs. Perfect snorted. 
 
 " Drunk he were, drunk all night 'e remained, 
 an' so drunk 'e was in the mornin' that 'e 
 couldn't git up — an' the regiment entrained while 
 'e lay wrop in swinish slumber. So wrop he 
 were that when 'e reached the station the train 
 'ad gorn, bearin' those six 'undred and forty-nine 
 good, self-respectin', total habstainin' men to 
 their 'orrible doom. For a havalanche crashed 
 dahn upon that train, leavin' only Cully 'Ookit 
 of all that battalion to tell the awful tale. ..." 
 
 Bobball sighed, and pressed down the tobacco 
 in his pipe. "The tale's called 'Saved by a 
 Glass d Rum,' " added Bobball, as he struck a 
 match and avoided the eye of Mrs. Perfect. 
 
XI. 
 THE RAFTERS. 
 
XI. 
 
 THE RAFTERS. 
 
 " I WONDER how you Cast Lots, Bo'sun ? " re- 
 marked the President, turning to the Vice who 
 was scanning the weary horizon for a sail. (They 
 were shipwrecked mariners on a raft in mid- 
 ocean, and their provisions were reduced to three 
 chocolates in silver paper, a lunch biscuit and a 
 slice of apple rapidly losing its healthy pallor in 
 favour of an unwholesome brownness.) 
 
 " I thuppothe you cast lots of things over- 
 board," was the sensible reply. *' But there's 
 nothing to cast," he added, in the weak, faint, hope- 
 less voice proper to one who has suffered the 
 last extremes of hunger and thirst for thirty days 
 (including thirty nights). 
 
 *' Don't be a Fat-head, Bo'sun," said the 
 
 Captain, with some asperity. " When you Cast 
 
 Lots, you don't cast lots of something, you just 
 
 Cast Lots." 
 
 139 
 
140 THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 " Lots of nothing ? " inquired the Bo'sun pa- 
 tiently. ''Why?" 
 
 *' Why, to see who eats the other," was the 
 reply. 
 
 *' We have only one more meal for you and 
 me and none for the crew, so we must Cast Lots, 
 and the one who wins is eaten by the rest — un- 
 less of course anybody is decent enough to 
 offer himself." 
 
 *'A lot of himself?" asked the Bo'sun, and 
 added, '* Perhaps the Crew would," as he turned 
 and patted the Crew's head. 
 
 Venus was the Crew, and was understood to 
 decline to play the 7'dle of Universal Provider in 
 addition. Certainly he shook his head violently 
 when invited to have his throat cut. 
 
 ''Anyhow," said the Captain, "we can Cast 
 the Lot on him, so he might just as well have 
 been a sport and died to save us, with a smile." 
 
 "How could he save us with a smile?" in- 
 quired the Bo'sun. 
 
 " You've been drinking salt water, my lad," 
 was the unkind reply. " I told you you'd go 
 mad if you did that." 
 
THE RAFTERS 141 
 
 The Crew got up, yawned, shook himself 
 again and took a stroll around the raft—which 
 looked uncommonly like an inverted four-legged 
 table. 
 
 " Oh, look at that wretched Crew, he's gone 
 and sat on the food. He did that on purpose 
 so that we should give it him," yelped the 
 anguished Bo'sun, pointing to where Venus was 
 apparently playing at being a hen with chicks. 
 
 ** That settles it," said the Captain wrathfully. 
 
 *' The Crew shall be fattened up on the lunch 
 biscuit and the slice of apple, and then the Lot 
 shall be Cast upon him. We can still eat the 
 chocolates as they're wrapped in silver paper." 
 
 The Crew, either ignorant of its fate, or truly 
 philosophic, disposed of the offered biscuit in two 
 gulps, but apparently reserved the slice of apple 
 for even more parlous times. And as with 
 fatuous smile and self-satisfied tail waggings the 
 Crew perambulated the raft, the Captain labori- 
 ously scrawled with fateful pencil upon an old 
 luggage label the ominous words LOT L 
 Having done this to his satisfaction, the Captain 
 directed the Bo'sun to seize and secure the Crew 
 
142 THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 preparatory to the ceremony of casting. Nothing 
 loth, the Bo'sun precipitated himself upon the 
 Crew, who in the joy of his heart that such charm- 
 ing activities should break the monotony of the 
 terribly weary life upon the raft, dived between 
 the Bo'sun's legs, upset him and proceeded to 
 roll upon him, with snuffling snorts. And as 
 Crew and Bo'sun grappled in a terrible struggle, 
 the Captain standing aloof, mystic, sibylline, 
 murmured the words, ** Behold, I Cast Lots," and 
 flung the fateful document at the Crew. But 
 the Crew was in the very act of leaping back for 
 a fresh rush-and-worry at his prostrate assailant, 
 and the Lot fell on the Bo'sun. 
 
 Petrified with horror, the three froze to a 
 dreadful silence, even the Crew apparently 
 impressed with a sense of the magnitude un- 
 measured, of some great disaster. The Captain 
 was the first to speak. 
 
 ''Golly!" he cried. "I'm awfully sorry, 
 Bo'sun, but you're It. You're luck's clean out 
 to-day. What rotten Kismet you do have. 
 The Lot fell on you all right, smack in the 
 middle of your chest." 
 
 The Bo'sun fetched a deep groan. 
 
THE RAFTERS 143 
 
 ** Never mind," quoth he. " If you're going 
 to eat me I may as well eat the chocolates." 
 
 '' Not at all," replied the Captain, appalled at 
 such faulty logic. "Is it likely I should want to 
 eat you while I've got chocolate ?" 
 
 " But if I eat the chocolates and you eat me, 
 you'll get 'em all the same," argued the Bo'sun. 
 
 *' Don't be a Funny Dog," growled his incensed 
 senior. *' And anyhow, I shall want the choco- 
 lates to take the taste of you out of my mouth." 
 
 ''And the slice of apple ? "'asked the doomed 
 man. 
 
 '' The Crew '11 want that," was the reply. 
 *' Besides, he sat on it." 
 
 '' Is the Crew going to have some of me too ? " 
 asked the Bo'sun, with morbid interest. 
 
 '' Of course," was the reply. 
 
 '' Then I don't see why he should have the 
 apple," continued the Bo'sun. " Crews don't 
 mind nasty tastes ; they don't care what they eat. 
 Besides, he only sat on one side of it and I can 
 eat down to that." 
 
 *' Then take your last meal on earth, unhappy 
 man," said the Captain, in voice appropriate. 
 
 '* On water," corrected the Bo'sun, with irritat- 
 
144 THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 ing precision, as he reached for the apple. "I'm 
 not an unhappy man," he added, munching 
 appreciatively. 
 
 '* You soon will be," promised the Captain, as 
 he ceased peeling a chocolate, to tap significantly 
 the heavy sheath knife (or paper knife) at his 
 belt. 
 
 No further word broke the brooding silence of 
 the raft until the Captain had finished peeling 
 the chocolates, laid them out before him, a 
 post-prandial bonne bouche, produced his pipe, 
 struck a match, affected to light it and cast an 
 experienced eye at the weather. 
 
 *' Prepare to die, Bo'sun," said he suddenly. 
 
 *' Haven't finished my apple," replied the 
 Bos'un. ** If you wait a little while I shall 
 taste all the sweeter. Eat a couple of chocolates 
 now and keep one to take my taste away after- 
 wards." 
 
 The Captain considered the request, and 
 seemed to be viewing it and the chocolates with 
 favourable eye. 
 
 "Which joints of me will you eat, and which 
 will you give the Crew?" asked the Bo'sun, 
 meditatively eyeing his fat legs and arms. 
 
THE RAFTERS 145 
 
 '' Oh, cutlets, steaks, leg of Bo'sun, shoulder 
 of Bo'sun, and that sort of thing for me, you 
 know," replied the Captain. ** The crew can 
 have scrag end, head, liver and bacon, devilled 
 kidney. . . . There'll be plenty." 
 
 *' Wonder if I shall be tough," mused the 
 Bo'sun. ''Anyhow, I'll be as tough as I jolly 
 well can," he added. 
 
 " Thafs a nice spirit to die in," commented 
 the Captain coldly, selecting his second chocolate. 
 *' A real sportsman would trail over the side in 
 the water and soften himself." 
 
 '* Yes, and get eaten by a shark," sneered the 
 Bo'sun. 
 
 An idea struck him even as he spoke, and the 
 somewhat peevish and petulant look (with which 
 he had watched the Captain's sharpening of his 
 sheath-knife and his setting forth of plate, knife 
 and fork) changed to one of bright hope. 
 
 '' I will do it," he cried, and rolling off the raft 
 clung to the side thereof, while the Captain set 
 about the preparation of a fire. 
 
 A blood-curdling shriek and bubbling cry as of 
 some strong swimmer in his agony brought him 
 
 10 
 
146 THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 to the side of the raft as the Bo'sun, like Yser, 
 rolling rapidly, toward the door, howled : '* A 
 whale ! A whale ! I am being eaten alive ; the 
 beastly thing has bitten me in halves." 
 
 '' How rotten," said the Captain, eyeing the 
 rotating Bo'sun dubiously. '' I suppose I musl 
 eat the Crew now," and turned in time to see the 
 last chocolate disappear, enfolded in the long, 
 pink tongue of that treacherous and greedy in- 
 subordinate. With a yell of rage the Captain 
 drew his sheath-knife and sprang at the Crew 
 with so flashing an eye and menacing a mien 
 that the Crew leapt overboard and swam in the 
 direction of the body of the Bo'sun, namely, to- 
 wards the door which — even as the Captain smote 
 his forehead with a cry of '* Ruined ! Starvation 
 stares me in the stomach " — opened to admit 
 Buster beneath whose arm there shone refulgent 
 a mighty box of butter-scotch. 
 
 " Saved ! " cried the Captain, raising his hands 
 and upturned beatific face to Heaven. 
 
 '' Golly ' So am I," echoed the Bo'sun, rising 
 like Venus from the waves, or a second Jonah 
 from the temporary accommodation afforded by 
 the whale. 
 
XII. 
 THE VEGETARIAN MUGGER OF SONI. 
 
 10 
 
XII. 
 
 THE VEGETARIAN MUGGER OF SONL 
 
 " Did you ever know any other Virtuous Wild 
 Beasts, besides the Virtuous Tiger of Soni, 
 Buster ? " asked the President one day, as they 
 waited for Daddy and Mummy to arrive and 
 make a quorum. 
 
 " Lots," was the reply. " The Colour-Sergeant 
 of " 
 
 "No," interrupted the President, "not Tosh 
 now. I want to hear all about the Virtuous 
 Tiger of Soni again — unless you know any 
 others. I love Virtuous Beasts." 
 
 " Well- — there was the Vegetarian Mugger 
 who, in a way, avenged the intended murder of 
 poor Lucy Gray," was the reply. 
 
 ** A vegetarian crocodile ! Why, Buster, I 
 
 thought they were the worstest beasts in the 
 
 world, • and always ate you up, and then shed 
 
 149 
 
150 THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 crocodile tears about it. Are you trying to talk 
 Tosh?" 
 
 " No, this is really truly. By a ford of the 
 Soni River dwelt an ^^normous crocodile. I 
 saw it several times myself. And if not a really 
 strict fruitarian and vegetarian, it, at any rate, 
 never took anything stronger than fish. Meat 
 it could not abide." 
 
 " If this turns out to be Tosh, I shall be angry 
 with you. Buster," said the President, who was 
 still sceptical. " I want a tale." 
 
 ** No — this is Honest Injun. Honestest Injun 
 as ever was. There are fish-eating crocodiles, 
 you know. Live on fish altogether. Have 
 conscientious objections to taking the life of a 
 dumb animal. , . ." 
 
 *' Fishes is dumb animals," interjected the Vice. 
 ** We kept some once. I heard them be dumb." 
 
 '* Quite so, Mr. Vice," assented Buster. '' But 
 are they exactly animals, so to speak ? " 
 
 '' They're not vegetables nor minerables," 
 opined the President. 
 
 '' Look here — you little dev — I mean darlings, 
 — are too much for me," said Buster. "This 
 
THE VEGETARIAN MUGGER OF SONI 151 
 
 mugger ate fish, the whole fish, and nothing but 
 fish, anyhow. He was a strict vegetarian, in 
 the sense that he never ate butcher's meat — so 
 I maintain that he was a Vegetarian Crocodile 
 and, to that extent, a conscientious, and there- 
 fore a Virtuous Crocodile. Also he was instru- 
 mental in avenging poor Lucy Gray." 
 
 ** Did he think the Traveller looked fishy and 
 eat him ? " asked Boodle. 
 
 "No — he did much better than just ^^^ him. 
 He made him look an ass ! " was the reply. 
 
 The children settled down firmly to hear the 
 thrilling true tale of How the Vegetarian Mugger 
 of Soni made the Travelling M. P. look an Ass. 
 
 *' Well, it was like this, dear old Things," 
 began Buster. " The headman of Soni, to whom 
 Lucy Gray was worth such a lot, simply loathed 
 the Travelling M.P. He hated him for trying 
 to shoot Virtuous Lucy like you'd hate anybody 
 who came along and shot Venus, and then 
 wagged his tale as though he'd done something 
 you oughter be very pleased about. But of 
 course he dared not show the Traveller that he 
 hated him, and that made him hate him all the 
 
152 THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 more. Then, one day, almost before Lucy's 
 understudy was cold in his grave and the laughter- 
 tears of the Simple Villagers dry upon their 
 cheeks, this Member — or Limb — of Parliament 
 suddenly sent for the headman and told him, 
 through his butler, that he was going to confer 
 another blessing upon the village. The poor 
 headman fetched an awful groan at hearing this 
 good news, and said he felt that they ought to 
 name the village after their benefactor. 
 
 " ' To-day I saw one of those Dread Scourges 
 of your rivers, a terrible reptile that has battened 
 and fattened upon you and your wives, your sons 
 and your daughters, upon your flocks and herds, 
 your men-servants and your maid-servants, your 
 oxes and your asses, for ages. Make arrange- 
 ments, tie up a calf or a goat by the water-side, 
 and I will also slay this monster,' said he. Then 
 he told his * Travelling-butler ' to translate exactly 
 what he had said. 
 
 " * The Sahib wants to shoot a mugger. Make 
 bundobusty said the butler. 
 
 *' * But there is only one mugger in these parts,' 
 said the poor headman. * There is only Grand- 
 
THE VEGETARIAN MUGGER OF SOiNI 153 
 
 father, who lives by the ford — and he has been 
 there for a thousand years at least. He Is very 
 holy. Why murder him ? ' 
 
 " * Make bundobtist^ said the butler. 'Tie up 
 a goat' 
 
 ** ' But our Grandfather would never touch 
 flesh!' said the headman. 'He is a Brahmin 
 among crocodiles and very holy.' 
 
 "'What does the worthy fellow say?' asked 
 the Travelling M.P. 
 
 " ' He is calling blessings upon the head of your 
 Honour, the Protector of the Poor, and says the 
 goat will be ten rupees.' 
 
 "'Very well,' said the P.O. P., 'I will shoot 
 the savage saurian before breakfast to-morrow.' 
 
 " ' What does the Presence say ? ' asked the 
 headman. 
 
 " ' He says he will give you one rupee for the 
 goat, and the mugger must be there early in the 
 morning,' said the butler, whose name was 
 Truthful James, he having consorted long with 
 travelling Limbs of Parliament. ..." 
 
 " Don't talk like a Grown-up, Buster," be- 
 sought the President, " or you'll spoil the story." 
 
154 THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 " Sorry, Madam. Well — the poor but honest 
 headman, being only a Simple Villager, smiled 
 at the back of his simple mind. 
 
 *' ' It shall be as the Huzoor orders,' said he. 
 
 *' And he went forth. Then he went fifth — to 
 the shikari of the village. Then they went 
 nap — on the Vegetarian Mugger of Soni. 
 
 They made a lovely machan place for the 
 Travelling M.P. to sit on — where there was 
 no shade but plenty of nice glare, and then, on a 
 sand-bank, right in the very spot where their 
 vegetarian Grandpa was wont to come daily and 
 bask in the sun, they drove a strong stake. And 
 all the people smiled and said * Amen '. . . ." 
 
 ** A strong steak of goat?" inquired the Pre- 
 sident. 
 
 Buster laughed. 
 
 '* No, a strong le of wood. The kind you 
 use for burning holy martyrs and things. Then 
 they got a stout cord, and, from a thin iron rod, 
 the village blacksmith made a very big strong 
 hook. Well, next morning, down to the ford 
 marched the Travelling M.P. with his rifle, to 
 rid the village of this Frightful Scourge also. 
 
THE VEGETARIAN MUGGER OF SONI 155 
 
 Then the headman and the shikari showed him 
 how good they'd been, and produced the rope 
 and the big hook and explained, by signs and 
 wonders, that they would tie the rope to the stake 
 and fasten the hook to a pariah-dog. Then 
 when the Frightful Scourge rushed out of the 
 water, roaring, with flashing eyes, lashing its 
 tail and flapping its ears, it would see the pi- 
 dog, snap him up in its terrible jaws, and swallow 
 both him and the hook. 
 
 " Then while the fearful reptile was unavoid- 
 ably detained by the stake, rope, and hook, the 
 intrepid sportsman could take pot-shots at it until 
 he did hit it. 
 
 '' The Travelling M.P. smiled upon them. He 
 beamed hard to show his good-will, approval, and 
 intelligence. 
 
 "Then the shikari, accompanied by Faithful 
 Fido, the village pi-dog, went and tied the rope 
 to the stake. Then he suddenly grabbed Faith- 
 ful Fido and drove the hook through the scruff 
 of his neck, and F.F. made himself perfectly 
 miserable about it. He also made the welkin 
 ring. ..." 
 
156 THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 *' VVat'th a welkin ? " inquired the Vice. 
 
 "I'll bring one and make it ring for you, one 
 of these days," was the reply. . . . 
 
 *' ' The poor doggie does not seem to like being 
 tied up,' said the Travelling M.P. (Perhaps he 
 thought they had tied a pretty ribbon round 
 Faithful Fido's neck and slipped the hook under 
 it — or bought him a nice collar for the purpose.) 
 Fidos howls were appalling. The more he 
 tugged the more it hurt him. 
 
 ** ' Naughty doggie! ' said the Travelling M.P. 
 ' He wants to run about and play.' However, 
 the good gentleman realised that, even as the 
 bleating of the kid excites the tiger, the yowling 
 of the pi-dog must attract the crocodile. He 
 hoped he would be able to shoot it before it got 
 near enough to really frighten poor Fido. He 
 was that sort of kind gentleman, you know. . . . 
 Well, Fido howled and yowled and chy-iked 
 and made a fearful row. So much so that he 
 frightened Grandpa nearly out of his twenty-foot 
 crocodile-skin, and caused him to bury himself 
 in the mud at the bottom of his deep hole for a 
 fortnight. He was a very sensitive and retiring 
 
THE VEGETARIAN MUGGER OF SONI 157 
 
 old party, like all fish-eating muggers, and he 
 could not bear noise and commotion. He didn't 
 really like it even when his old pals, the villagers, 
 used to come and wash their clothes at the ford 
 and beat them on the stones. . . . 
 
 '* You should have heard Fido. / heard him 
 miles away. I was staying with the Collector 
 and he was touring in that part of the district. 
 
 *' * Sounds as though some one has trod on a 
 pi-dog's toe,' said I to him, as we rode toward 
 Soni. 
 
 " * Sounds as though they're still standing on 
 it,' said he, as the pleasing sounds continued. 
 Then we saw the sight. 
 
 *' There was the Travelling M. P. on the machan 
 with a look of great determination, a rifle, and a 
 lot of flies, staring hard along his sights at Fido. 
 Under the machan sat the headman, thinking of 
 good Lucy Gray, but looking happier than you 
 might have expected. . . . 
 
 ** ' What's up ? ' said the Collector, as we rode 
 to the spot. 
 
 '" I am heah devoting my time to ridding this 
 village of a Scourge,' was the reply. ' This ford 
 
158 THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 is — ah — infested by a huge crocodile. I saw it 
 myself. I understand it has been here for yeahs 
 and yeahs. I consider it disg7'acefiil. Think of 
 the toll of human life. . . .' 
 
 " Then the headman hopped out salaaming, and 
 unburdened his simple mind, and the Collector 
 grinned. 
 
 " ' It wouldn't take long to " think of the toll 
 of human life " taken by a garial, a fish-eating, 
 bottle-nosed crocodile, would it ? ' he murmured 
 to me, with a snigger. 
 
 ** * You are a public benefactor. Sir,' said he 
 to the Political Pimple. 
 
 "'Yes — but I maintain that it is disgraceful 
 that the public duty should be left to — ah — 
 chance benevolence and the sense of responsi- 
 bility of the casual wayfarer. What are the offi- 
 cials about ? What is the Collector about .^^ . . . 
 If I find that in the stomach of this dreadful 
 reptile there are anklets and bracelets and arm- 
 lets and ' 
 
 " ' Cutlets,' said the Collector. 
 
 '* ' I shall make the matter public. The Press 
 of the Empire shall ring with it ' 
 
THE VEGETARIAN MUGGER OF SONI 159 
 
 " ' 'Ear ! 'Ear ! ' said I, moved almost to tears by 
 his eloquence, and then the Collector stopped him. 
 
 " ' Do my eyes deceive me,' said he, ' or is that 
 poor wretched dog impaled upon a hook ? What 
 ghastly barbarity ! What fiendish, awful, un- 
 paralleled brutality ! . . . I am sorry to take such 
 action against a Public Benefactor — but I am 
 afraid that Section 748693211-, 7^r^ of the Indian 
 Penal Code leaves me no option. I must order 
 your arrest and ' 
 
 "* What?' yelped the Travelling M.P., in a 
 voice that much resembled the voice of suffering 
 Fido. 
 
 *' ' That dog is impaled, living, upon a barbed 
 hook,' repeated the Collector. * ^^r<:^arity, as I 
 said before. The Society for the Prevention of 
 Cruelty to Animals would rightly prosecute me 
 if I did not prosecute you. The Press of the 
 Empire is going to ring some more. Talk of 
 the Unspeakable Turk and Armenian atrocities, 
 — that dog has as much feeling as an Armenian 
 ifyou haven't as much mercifulness as a Turk. . . .' 
 
 ** The kind gentleman was purple and gasping. 
 He fairly threw himself off the machan and 
 
i6o THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 galloped to where Faithful Fido sat and sang 
 his siren song. 
 
 *' Sure enough, the hook was through a bit of 
 the scruff of poor Fido's neck. 
 
 '' ' If I were that dog, I'd bite you,' said the 
 Collectoi, * even if it made me sick to do it.' 
 
 *' I don't really suppose that Fido understood 
 English. Not properly. But you'd have thought 
 he did, if you'd seen Fido take the Collector's 
 tip ! Directly the Traveller put out his hand to 
 pat the faithful hound, it began to feed. ..." 
 
 '' It bit him ? " asked the Vice. ** 6^^^^ dog ! " 
 
 ''It did so. The kind M.P. wasn't fishing, 
 but he had a bite. 'Twas no mere nibble either. 
 
 " ' Well — are you going to remove that hook, 
 Sir,' asked the Collector, 'or must I whistle for 
 my mounted-police orderlies and have you 
 arrested at once ?" 
 
 " The poor Limb almost wept. You see he 
 went through life being a Kind Gentleman to 
 everybody (except over- worked officials, soldiers, 
 and all people of the useful classes), and here he 
 was caught in an act of horrible brutality, and 
 going to be prosecuted. 
 
THE VEGETARIAN MUGGER OF SONI i6i 
 
 "*The shikafi did it/ he bleated, as he 
 dodged Fido's rushes. 
 
 ** ' Yes. I fully expected you'd put the blame 
 on the poor ignorant native and try and get him 
 into trouble, to save your own skin — but it won't 
 do, Sir. Let me have your name and address 
 at once. . . .' You should have heard him ! 
 Well — at last the Collector softened a little, and 
 then, much against his will, agreed to let the 
 Traveller o^— provided he shot the Dreadful 
 Scourge. And he was to tie up a calf one day, 
 a goat the next, and a dog the next — and so on 
 to give them off-days and rests. (Fish-eating 
 muggers are equally alarmed by lo wings, bleat- 
 ings, and barkings, you know.)" 
 
 ''And he never shot the Virtuous Mugger?" 
 asked Boodle. 
 
 *' He hasn't yet^' replied Buster. '' He's still 
 trying." 
 
 " When did he make the bargain with the 
 Collector ? " asked the delighted President. 
 
 "About seven years ago," was the truthful 
 or untruthful reply. 
 
 II 
 
XIII. 
 THE MODERN DESDEMONAT 
 
 11 * 
 
XIII. 
 THE MODERN DESDEMONA. 
 
 "If you please, Daddy," said Boodle, with that 
 punctilious politeness which might perhaps cover 
 an error of judgment or forestall the judgment 
 of error, we borrowed your silk hat this after- 
 noon, and it got a little egg on it ... " and 
 the President wriggled, one bare foot caressing 
 the other. 
 
 Daddy rumbled like an earthquake-threaten- 
 ing volcano. " Silk hat ! . . . Egg ! . . . Dis- 
 gustin' conjunction ! " Was he going to try the 
 Discipline of Consequences and make the Presi- 
 dent wear the hat she had borrowed — wear it out 
 for the evening walk ? She rather hoped so. 
 
 But Daddy's faith in the efficacy of the Dis- 
 cipline of Consequences had received a rude 
 shock, as has been told elsewhere.^ 
 
 1 "Dew and Mildew." Longmans, Green & Co. 
 
 165 
 
1 66 THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 " And you took my silk hat In defiance of all 
 probabilities of getting permission ! You took it 
 in anticipation of sanction ! You " 
 
 "No, Daddy — in The Surrender'' of Kruger 
 and in William Tell. Fie didn't like the 
 apple on his head, but he didn't mind it on 
 the hat. He said it gave him a thporting 
 chance." 
 
 " I say you took it in anticipation of sanction," 
 rumbled Daddy horrifically, ''and that is a very 
 terrible thing ! " 
 
 '' What is antiseparation of stankshun ? " asked 
 the President, climbing on to Daddy's knee. 
 ''Can we play it? We 7'eally took it in The 
 Surrender of Kruger, Daddy, and not in the 
 other thing. You couldnt have Kruger without 
 a top-hat, now, could yow ? But what is antisepa- 
 ration of swanktion ? " 
 
 Buster entered. 
 
 " Hullo, dear old Things," said he. " What's 
 the game ? " 
 
 "You'd better ask Buster to explain 'in 
 anticipation of sanction,' I think," quoth Daddy, 
 departing to see whether the hat in question 
 
THE MODERN DESDEMONA 167 
 
 would stand one more " function " or had better 
 be presented to the Club as a stage-property, 
 '*he does a good many things in anticipation of 
 sanction, I believe. And some in anticipation 
 of prohibition," he added, smiling at the blushing 
 Buster as he closed the door. (Buster was 
 alleged to have kissed a Miss Dolores Perdita 
 Eulalie Francesca D'Costa, at a Sergeants' 
 Dance, and to have had his damask cheek 
 smacked in return.) 
 
 '* Well, what is it. Buster ? Can we play It ? " 
 inquired the President, always in search of a 
 new drama for production. 
 
 "It's hard to ^xplayn, President-Sahib," re- 
 plied Buster, in the distinctly Funny-Dog vein, 
 ** though the meaning is easily made clear. 
 Strangely enough, I heard of a good example of 
 * in anticipation of sanction ' when I was dining 
 with the Rutlandshires last night. You could 
 act it — but, no, I shouldn't. It borders on the 
 Not Very Nice, I think. No, better not. . . . 
 Anyhow, don't say /'m the Author, if you act it 
 before an audience. ..." 
 
 *' Tell us it as though It were a good play to 
 
i68 THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 act," demanded the President, adding, **and I'll 
 see if I like it." 
 
 ''Very well," proceeded Buster. ''Scene — 
 the regimental parade-ground of the Rutland- 
 shires. Time — Seven a.m., the day before 
 yesterday. 
 
 ''Dramatis Personce — Private William Jones, 
 Corporal Crook, Sergeant Small, Colour-Ser- 
 geant Crocker, The Sergeant- Major, and 
 Second Lieutenant Snooks, Captain Crow, 
 Lieutenant-and-Adjutant Long, Colonel Black, 
 with all the rest of the Rutlands In the 
 background as — yoti know — spectators, chorus, 
 noise without, mob, retainers, family lawyers, 
 and village idiots — regiment on parade in 
 laci. . . • 
 
 "Private William Jones to Corporal Crook — 
 * I feels very bad inside, I do, Corpril. ... I'm 
 agoin' to be ill, I am. . . .* 
 
 " Corporal Crook to Sergeant Small — ' Jones 
 feels very bad, 'e do. Wants to be ill, 'e does.' 
 
 " Sergeant Small to Colour-Sergeant Crocker — 
 ' Jones says can 'e be ill.' 
 
 " Colour-Sergeant Crocker to Second Lieutenant 
 
THE MODERN DESDEMONA 169 
 
 Snooks- — ' Pleasir, Privit Jones wishes ter put in 
 a happlication to be took ill.' 
 
 '' Second Lieutenant Snooks to Captain Crow — 
 ' Fellah named Jones wants to go sick, Sir.' 
 
 ** Captain Crow to Lieutenant -and- Adjutant 
 Long TO ho rides by on his way to the Colonel — 
 
 * I say — tell the Colonel there's a bloke in A 
 Company, Privit J ones, wants to fall out. Feels ill. ' 
 
 '' Lieutenant - and- Adjutant Long to Colonel 
 Black — ' Private Jones, A Company, wants to 
 be sick. Sir. May he ? ' 
 
 " Colonel — * No, not now. Certainly not' 
 
 '* Sergeaiit- Major, approaching and saluting — 
 
 * Please, Sir, he hev — in hanticipation of senc- 
 tion. . . . 
 
 ** I see," said Boodle. ** I'll try Fie as Private 
 Jones. . . . Might give him cream for tea. It 
 always . . ." 
 
 " No ! " shouted Buster. " I'll not be a party 
 to such realism. Talk of the bloke who blacked 
 himself all over to play Othello ! No — if you 
 want to play it, you be Private Jones and eat the 
 cream." 
 
I/O THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 *'Yes," agreed the President. *' I love 
 
 cream." 
 
 '' What's ' Oh-tell-oh ! ' " she added. Could we 
 play that too ? " 
 
 ** Certainly," replied Buster. " Shakespearian 
 revivals are the fashion, just now. I'll show you 
 the pictures and tell you the story — so far as 
 it is fit for the drawing-room. Then you can 
 boom the Bard. The Vice would make a fine 
 Moor — dressed in Nubian blacking and Ethiopian 
 burnt-cork." 
 
 And it came to pass that on the following day, 
 Othello was staged in Karabad, though the 
 Sporting and Dramatic Press made no mention 
 of the fact. 
 
 ''Anti-Separation of Swanksion," mused the 
 President aloud. 
 
 " On Printhipull," soliloquised the Vice, not to 
 be out-done. For he too had a new expression 
 — and revelled in it, as was his wont. 
 
 • ••••••« 
 
 It is strange how a new phrase, a new fact, 
 a new word, will haunt one. You may, for 
 
THE MODERN DESDEMONA 171 
 
 example, live for half a century In blameless 
 ignorance that there is such a disease as Cerebro- 
 spinal Sclerosis, discover the fact one day, and 
 in the ensuing week you will meet seven different 
 people who have got it. For the first time in 
 your life you encounter the name Pffunfenphluger, 
 and then you encounter it twice more in the next 
 three days. A man informs you at dinner that 
 when he was young, the boys of the village used 
 to play a game called ''knurr and spell". 
 You remark that it is a queer and quaint name. 
 Next morning your paper has an article on 
 ** Defunct games," and instances that of " knurr 
 and spell ". . . . 
 
 The Vice stood before the judgment seat and 
 thoughtfully stroked his own. He was " for it" 
 again for making the hens play " Settlers and 
 Indians". In the capacity of Indian he had 
 settled one of the Settlers for good. That 
 particular bird would never settle again in this 
 world. . . . 
 
 '' I shall have to thrash you every Wednesday 
 and Saturday night on principle. Sir — on prin- 
 ciple, do you understand," Daddy had finally 
 
172 THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 rumbled as he brandished a hunting-crop with a 
 twelve foot thong. The Vice did not fully under- 
 stand — but he thought he did. 
 
 So that was the correct term was it — the term 
 applied by adults when alluding to that portion 
 of the human frame ? 
 
 **0n principled He must remember that. 
 It must be a perfectly blameless word, a word of 
 unimpeachable propriety, or Daddy would not 
 use it. Principle. 
 
 Encountering Venus he remarked : — 
 
 *' Wenuth. I am going to give you a thmack 
 on principle — on principle, do you underthtand," 
 and bestowed a resounding slap upon what he 
 believed to be the spot indicated. " You may 
 call it that," he added, as he passed on. 
 
 The inevitable coincidences followed. 
 
 When the children went into the drawing- 
 room, to kiss Mummy ''good-bye," before 
 setting forth for the evening expedition, there 
 were Callers having tea. 
 
 "You'll join the hunt, I suppose, Major, for 
 the short time you're here?" one of the ladies 
 was remarking to a big stout man, a new-comer. 
 
THE MODERN DESDEMONA 173 
 
 " Oh, yes," was the reply. '' I always hunt, on 
 principle — support local industries, y'know." 
 
 It struck the Vice as a curious remark to make. 
 Naturally he'd hunt on principle — he wouldn't 
 do it on foot, would he ? Evidently quite a 
 drawing-room word. Not like the dreadful 
 word with which he had shocked and sullied the 
 young ears of Buster, Snooty, Jerks, and Birdie. 
 
 Then it was discovered to be a word publicly 
 used by ladies of irreproachable discretion. Nice 
 kind Miss Drake of the Zenana Mission invited 
 the children to come to the annual tamasha at 
 her school and see the little Indian orphan-girls 
 enjoy their big treat. After the distribution of 
 sweets and prizes by Lady Morton- Maxwell, 
 Miss Drake made a tiny little speech, in the 
 course of which she said there were several 
 things they did there on principle. 
 
 The Vice quite understood that it is tiring to 
 stand too long — especially in the heat of the 
 day. He always lay down, himself . . . He 
 abandoned other valued cliches in favour of this 
 new phrase, and he surprised Mr. Hunter, the 
 new Collector, when that gentleman, seeing him 
 
174 THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 sitting in his rickshaw and contemplating the 
 unbeginning endless sea, remarked, " Do you 
 sit here every evening, little man ? " by reply- 
 ing :— 
 
 *'Yeth thir — on principle." 
 
 • ••••••• 
 
 '' Now this is before we're married," said the 
 President to the Vice, *' and you've got to tell me 
 wonderful fairy tales, and stories about what 
 you've done, so as to make me fall in love with 
 you. Venus can sit up here and be the Dog of 
 Venice — or is it the Dodge ? Anyhow, we'll call 
 him the Dog as he is one. He is my father, you 
 know, and you are my suitor." 
 
 ** Do I have to shoot you, then?" inquired 
 the Vice. 
 
 ** I didn't say shooter!' was the reply. '' I said 
 suitor. ... If you don't suit me, I say ' Hop it,' 
 and you bung off." 
 
 ''I'm Oh-tell-oh, aren't I?" asked the Vice. 
 " Is it because I have to tell these tales? " 
 
 " 'Spec so. You have to tell * moving tales by 
 flood and field,' I think Buster said. . . . Better 
 begin with one about the Flood. And let it be 
 
THE MODERN DESDEMONA 175 
 
 a good one or you get the push, and the next 
 suitor tries." 
 
 The Vice was on his mettle and did his best. 
 Where the genius of Invention failed him he 
 turned to Adaptation's artful aid. 
 
 *' Oneth upon a time there wath a Flood," he 
 began. 
 
 " I know that," said the captious Desdemona. 
 
 *' But you don't know what / did in it," coun- 
 tered Othello. *' You're too clever, Mith Death 
 de Moaner." 
 
 ** Swam, I 'spec," hazarded Desdemona. 
 
 ''Wrong again," repeated Othello. "You 
 just listen, or you'll put me out." 
 
 "Father will do that," murmured Desdemona, 
 giving the Dog, or Dodge, of Venice a pat on 
 the head. 
 
 " It was a norftd Flood, and rained like any- 
 thing for days and days. The children couldn't 
 go out to tea-parties and that made it worse." 
 
 " I 'spec they paddled though, and that was 
 top-hole," hazarded Desdemona. 
 
 " Yeth — until it got too deep. Well, a Sahib 
 named Noah told all the silly natives they'd be 
 
176 THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 drowned if they didn't buck up and build boats 
 to get into. But they said, ' Abhi nahin^ and 
 ' Kaly'^ and it rained and rained. And Noah 
 Sahib, he went out in the wet and built a Noah s 
 Ark. Norful big, it was, because he was going 
 to thave Noah Memsahib and the chota^ Noah 
 Sahibs and choti Noah Miss-sahibs, and the butler 
 and second-boy and cook and hamal and chokra 
 and ayah and syces — I don't know about the 
 sweeper — and all the people in his compound, and 
 two of every kind of animal in the world ! . . . 
 He took two in case one got lost or drowned 
 or anything — and he'd still have one left of that 
 
 thort. . . ." 
 
 "He had a long way to go for Polar Bears 
 and Kangaroos, didn't he?" interrupted Des- 
 demona, ''and I've heard a tale very like this 
 before." 
 
 **/ fetched the Polar Bears and Kangaroos," 
 replied Othello modestly, and all the uvver long- 
 way-off beathts, while Noah Sahib got on with 
 the Noah's Ark." 
 
 ^ Not now. 2 To-morrow. ^ Little. 
 
THE MODERN DESDEMONA 177 
 
 ** I'm very sorry, Othello Sahib," said Desde- 
 mona firmly, "but I don't believe a word of it. 
 
 ''Do you, Father?" she added, turning to the 
 Doge, or Dodge, or Dog, of Venice. 
 
 Venus certainly shook his head violently — but 
 this may have been due to the fact that a large 
 ant was exploring the interior of his right ear. 
 
 **No — I thought you didn't," continued Des- 
 demona, on receiving this sign of paternal in- 
 credulity. ** I don't believe the little liar ever 
 set eyes on Noah in his life." 
 
 Turning to her suitor, Desdemona fixed him 
 with a cold and cruel eye. 
 
 " Try another," said she. " Better have a go 
 at a ' field ' one, if that's the best you can do 
 about the flood." 
 
 ** I can't think of a field one just for a minute," 
 replied the saddened Othello, *'but I wemember 
 the piece of poetry Buthter made up about 
 Mithter Bell of the Rutlands when he was taken 
 ill on the h^ld-day. Would that do for a ' field ' 
 story ?" 
 
 **No," replied Desdemona, and, woman-like, 
 
 at once added, *' What was it ? " 
 
 12 
 
178 THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 '* MIthter Bell told Daddy at dinner, and I heard 
 him over the banisters, and they all laughed and 
 
 he had to tell it again. I think it was : — 
 
 "Gregory Greatorex Bell, 
 Sat on the trap-door of — well — 
 
 I know Satan came 
 
 And troubled the wame, 
 
 Of Gregory Greatorex Bell." 
 
 " Very interesting," said Desdemona. *' We'll 
 be married at once." 
 
 ''Shall we, Papa?" she inquired, turning to 
 the Dodge, or Dog, of Venice. 
 
 Venus protruded a pink tongue at surprising 
 length, wagged his tail, and nearly yawned his 
 head off. 
 
 " Papa smiled with pleasure at the idea of my 
 having a wedding," interpreted Desdemona, 
 "but he's very bored with you, Othello. . . . 
 It's a pity, as he is going to live with us after 
 we are married. Still it can't be wondered at, 
 can it, because after all, you're only a Hubshi, 
 aren't you, really, and most 'strornrally black." 
 
 Othello was. From head to foot, he was as 
 black as ink, charcoal, blacking, burnt-cork and 
 
THE MODERN DESDEMONA 179 
 
 water-colour black paint could make him. That 
 his hair was fair almost to whiteness and his 
 eyes very blue, were unalterable facts which 
 militated against the general Moorishness of his 
 get up. 
 
 Although welcoming with ardour the Presi- 
 dent's fiat that he must be blacked all over for 
 the part, he had flatly and finally refused to wear 
 a turban when his senior had remarked that a 
 puggri would hide his hair and a pair of black 
 glare-glasses his eyes. Th^ptiggri idea having 
 to be abandoned, the President had decided 
 that the black glare-glasses were not a success 
 as part of an Othello make-up, as, if anything, 
 they accentuated the unfortunate fairness of the 
 hair. ... 
 
 As he advanced to make some colourable 
 demonstration of a hymeneal nature, Desdemona 
 
 waved him off. 
 
 *' Don't you touch me while we get married," 
 she commanded, "nor yet afterwards. You 
 come off against everything. Look at that 
 stool ! " 
 
 And indeed it was evident that Othello had 
 
 12 * 
 
i8o THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 been sitting on the stool. His only garment 
 must have slipped or something. 
 
 *' Where's the ring ? " asked the bride-elect. 
 
 *' Othello fumbled in his trunk-hose (recently 
 mere bathing-drawers) and discovered the neces- 
 sary token. Part of its original cigar adhered 
 to it. 
 
 '* Now, we're married," said Desdemona, plac- 
 ing the ring upon a finger of her right hand. 
 
 " Thanks awfully. Where shall we go for 
 our honeymoon ? " 
 
 ''/don't care," said Othello, and that ended 
 Act I, Scene I. 
 
 Scene 2. 
 
 " You have to strangle me in this scene," 
 announced Desdemona. 
 
 The eye of Othello lit up. This was going 
 tx) be a better '' part " than he had anticipated. 
 
 '' I don't think I shall like it," added the bride. 
 
 '* Oh, it'll be all-right," opined the bridegroom. 
 
 '' You musn't strangle me much, you know," 
 she directed. 
 
 "Only till you're dead, of courthe," he agreed. 
 
THE MODERN DESDEMONA i8i 
 
 "Go and wash your hands while I go to bed," 
 requested Desdemona. '' You'll make a norful 
 mess of me and the bed-clothes if you don't. . . . 
 I'll put my nighty on over the wedding-dress." 
 
 Othello departed to the bath-room since he 
 might not strangle his bride with unwashen hands. 
 
 Desdemona put on her nightdress, and re- 
 moved her shoes. She then climbed on to her 
 bed, lay down, pulled the sheet over her and 
 gleefully awaited what was in store for her. 
 
 Othello entered, his hands looking as though 
 their Moorish owner wore white kid gloves. 
 
 ** Half a sec," ejaculated Desdemona the 
 Realist, *' I forgot my prayers." 
 
 Kneeling up, she assumed the conventional 
 attitude of prayer, gabbled " Fwot we are about- 
 receive, Lord, makus trulyfankfulamen," flopped 
 down again, and began to snore. 
 
 Othello advanced, glaring horribly, with 
 clutching fingers, and what he conceived to be 
 an evil smile. 
 
 He licked his lips with the lick of cruel anti- 
 cipation. The nearest pigment to his mouth 
 was blacking, and he savoured its rich flavour. 
 
182 THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 Changing his course he steered for the mirror 
 and thrust forth his tongue. It was black. . . . 
 Was he going to be poisoned ? . . . Anyhow, 
 it made him more Othello-Hke than ever. 
 Probably Buster's friend, who blacked himself 
 all over, quite forgot to black his tongue. 
 
 Desdemona watched out of one eye. 
 
 Othello turned and approached the bed, and 
 then behaved as though playing tigers. With a 
 growling roar he sprang at Desdemona and 
 seized her by the throat with both white hands. 
 
 '* Ee-e-e-e-e-e-e," shrilled Desdemona, as she 
 felt their cold touch, and 
 
 " Ka-a-a-a-a-k ! Ka-a-a-a-a-k," as the touch 
 became a clutch. 
 
 She found that she hated being throttled when 
 it came to the point. 
 
 *' Stop it, you Sneak ! " she gasped at her cruel 
 and relentless husband. ** Stop it — I didn't do it ! " 
 
 *' Didn't do what ? " inquired Othello, some- 
 what relaxing his strangle-hold upon the poor 
 lady's throat. 
 
 '* Why, what you are strangling me for," re- 
 plied the gasping Desdemona. 
 
THE MODERN DESDEMONA 183 
 
 " There you are ! " countered her remorseless 
 husband. '' You done so many things you don't 
 even know which of them this is to pay you out 
 for." 
 
 ''Well, which is it, then?" squealed the fated 
 bride, as the cruel grip again tightened about 
 her neck, and the incensed Moor protruded a 
 blackened and curling tongue to mark renewed 
 vigour and determination. 
 
 '" Yah ! You don't know yourself," she gurgled, 
 and by way of dying game, used her last breath 
 in vituperative ejaculations of — 
 
 ''Black Face! . . . Black Sheep! . . . Black 
 Bird! . . . Nasty Nigger! ... Old Hubshi! 
 
 • • • X cLXX • • • • 
 
 Othello desired to be just though not generous, 
 and relaxed his grip. 
 
 '* Oh, yes, I do," he said, and pondered awhile. 
 " You poked out your tongue behind my back 
 while we were getting married, besides I'm fierce 
 and jealous ; it's in the book — Buster said so." 
 
 " Why are you fierce and jealous? " squeaked 
 Desdemona, playing for time. 
 
 " Because you ate that last ten pounds of 
 
1 84 THE YOUNG STAGERS 
 
 chocolate I left lying on my throne this morning, 
 while I had my porridge," replied the Moor. 
 
 ''Oh, you little liar," shrilled the tearfully in- 
 dignant Desdemona. *' I never, ever." 
 
 " What did you call me?" inquired Othello, 
 with deadly politeness. 
 
 " A kind of storyteller," snivelled Desdemona. 
 "You know it's a none-truth." 
 
 '* Then, by my halibut, prepare to die — and 
 less jabber," was the cruel answer. 
 
 "Well, I just shan't then," replied the hapless 
 bride, and, moved to righteous Indignation, 
 fetched her lord a good useful kick in the 
 stomach. 
 
 " * You're a 'palling little liar,' I said, and so 
 you are." 
 
 In the fight that followed, Desdemona won, 
 hands down, and by tacit consent the play, 
 " Othello, the Moor of Venice," was removed 
 from the repertoire of the Junior Curlton Club 
 Dramatic Society. 
 
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