Puppets at Large Part 13

F. RYEMOUTH. I dunno as I wouldn't as lief hev rain as sun. My "Hanti-Freckle Salves" all blistered up and peeled afore the summer was 'ardly begun a'most.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "I cann't get nothen done to 'en till the weather's a bit more hopen like."]

F. LACKADAY. 'Tis a turr'ble hard climate to make 'ead against, is ourn. I've 'eard tell as some farmers are takin' to they enamelled hiron affairs, same as they used to hev when I wur a lad. I mind theer wur a crop o' "Read Comic Cagmag" as lingered on years arter the paper itself.

Not as I hold with enamelling, myself--'tain't what I call 'igh farmin'--takes too much outer the land in _my_ 'pinion.

F. FRETWAIL. Aye, aye. "Rotation o' boards." Say, "Spooner's Sulphur Syrup" fur a spring crop, follered with some kind o' soap or candles, and p'raps cough lozengers, or hembrocation, or bakin' powder, if the soil will bear it, arterwards--that's the system _I_ wur reared on, and there ain't no better, 'pend upon it!

F. RYEMOUTH. I tell 'ee what 'tis; it's time we 'ad some protection agen these yere furrin advartis.e.m.e.nts. I was travellin' along the Great Northern t'other day, an' I see theer wos two or three o' them French boards nigh in ivery field, a downright shame and disgrace I call it, disfigurin' the look of the country and makin' it that ontidy--let alone drivin' honest British boards off the land. Government ought to put a stop to it; that's what _I_ say!

F. LACKADAY. They Parliment chaps don't keer _what_ becomes of us poor farmers, they don't. Look at last General Election time. They might ha'

given our boards a turn; but not they. Most o' they candidates did all their 'tisin' with rubbishy flags and balloons--made in j.a.pan, Sir, every blamed one o' them! And they wonder British Agriculture don't prosper more!

F. RYEMOUTH. Speaking o' queer ways o' hadvertisin', hev any of ye set eyes on that farm o' young Fullacrank's? Danged if ever _I_ see sech tomfool notions as he's took up with in all _my_ born days.

F. FRETWAIL. Why, what hev he been up to _now_, eh?

F. RYEMOUTH. Well, I thought I shud ha' bust myself larfin' when I see it fust. Theer ain't not a board nor a sky sign; no, nor yet a 'oarding, on the 'ole of his land!

F. LACKADAY. Then how do he expect to get a profit out of it?--that's what _I_ want to year.

F. RYEMOUTH. You'll 'ardly credit it, neighbours, but he's been buryin'

some o' they furrin grains, hoats and barley, an' I dunno what not, in little holes about his fields, so as to make the words, "Use Faddler's Non-Farinaceous Food"--and the best of it is the darned young fool expecks as 'ow it'll all sprout come next Aperl--he do indeed, friends!

F. FRETWAIL. Flying in the face o' Providence, I calls it. He must ha'

gone clean out of his senses!

F. LACKADAY. Stark starin' mad. I never heerd tell o' such extravagance.

Why, as likely as not, 'twill all die off o' the land afore the year's out--and wheer wull he be _then_?

F. RYEMOUTH. Azactly what I said to 'en myself. "You tek my word for it," I sez, "'twun't never come to no good. The nateral crop for these yere British Hiles," I told 'en, "is good honest Henglish hoak an'

canvas," I sez, "and 'tain't the action of no sensible man, nor yet no Christian," sez I, "to go a-drillin' 'oles and a-droppin' in houtlandish seeds from Canada an' Roosha, which the sile wasn't never intended to bear!"

FARMERS FRETWELL and LACKADAY. Rightly spoke, neighbour Ryemouth, 'twas a true word! But theer'll be a jedgment on sech new-fangled doin's, and, what's moor, you and I will live fur to see it afore we're very much older!

[_They all shake their heads solemnly as scene closes in._

[Ill.u.s.tration]

A DIALOGUE ON ART.

(A STUDY IN SPIRITS AND WATERS.)

_The Smoke-room of a Provincial Hotel. TIME--Towards midnight.

CHARACTERS--MR. LUCESLIPP-BLETHERON, a middle-aged Art Patron and Dilettante. He has arrived at his third tumbler of whiskey and water, and the stage at which a man alludes freely before strangers to his "poor dear father." MR. MILBOARD, a Painter, on a sketching tour. He is enduring MR. L.-B. with a patience which will last for just one more pipe. FIRST COMMERCIAL, who considers Mr. L.-B. a highly agreeable and well-informed gentleman, and is anxious to be included in his audience.

SECOND COMMERCIAL, who doesn't intend to join in the conversation until he feels he can do so with crus.h.i.+ng effect._

MR. LUCESLIPP-BLETHERON. Yes, I a.s.sure you, I never come acrosh a David c.o.x but I say to myself, "_There_'sh a Bit!" (_Here he fixes his eye-gla.s.s, sips whiskey and water, and looks at MR. MILBOARD as if he expected him to express admiration at this evidence of penetration. The only tribute he extorts, however, is a grunt._) Now, we've a Cornelius Janssen at home. Itsh only hishtory is--my dear father bought it. He was an artist himself, painted a bit, travelled man, an' all that short o'

thing. Well, _he_ picked it up for ten pounds!

FIRST COMMERCIAL (_deferentially_). Did he reelly now? A Johnson for ten pounds! Did he get a warranty with it, Sir?

MR. L.-B. (_after bringing the eye-gla.s.s to bear on the intruder for a second_). Then I've a Mieris--at leasht, _shome_ clever f'ler painted it, and it'sh a pleashure to look at it, and you can't get over _that_, can you?

MR. MILBOARD. I don't intend to _try_ to get over it.

MR. L.-B. You're qui' right. Now I'm the lasht man in the world to shwagger; shtill, I'm goin' to ashk you to lemme have my lil' shwagger now. I happened to be at Rome shor' time ago, and I met Middleman there.

We had our lil' chat together and what not--he'sh no pershonal friend o'

mine. Well; I picked up a lil' drawing by a Roman chap; worth nothing more than what I got it for, or _anything_, as you may shay. Middleman had the whole run of this chap's studio. I saw this drawing--didn't care mush about it--but thought it wash a gem, and gave the modesh shum of a hundred an' fifty _lire_ for it. Put it in my portmanteau between a couple o' s.h.i.+rts----

FIRST COMM. (_still pining for notice_). When you say s.h.i.+rts, Sir, I presume you mean _clean_ ones?

MR. L.-B. No man with the shlightest feelin' or reverence for Art would _put_ sush a queshtion! (_The FIRST COMM. collapses._) Between a couple of--(_underlining the word_) s.h.i.+rts, and brought it home. Now I'm comin'

to my point. One afternoon after my return, I wash walking down Bond Street, when I saw a sketch exhibited in a window by the shame f'ler. I went in and shaid, "What are you asking for thish? Mind I don' wanter _buy_ it; ashk me any price yer like!" And they shaid forty guineash.

MR. MILB. Apparently they availed themselves of your permission, and _did_ ask you any price they liked.

MR. L.-B. No doubt; but wait till I've _done_. I saw another--a finished drawing not qui' so good as mine, there. Then I shaid to them quietly, "Now, look _here_, why don' you go an' buy 'em for yourshelves in the artist's own shtudio?" It shtruck me as sho odd, a man like Middleman, being there, and having the pick, shouldn' buy _more_ of 'em!

MR. MILB. Wasn't worth his while; he can't buy _everything_!

MR. L.-B. (_after considering this impartially with some more whiskey_).

No; your ansher is a very _good_ one, and a very _fair_ one. He _can't_ buy everything. I _did_ pick, however, an' I gorrit. I said to him, "How mush?" an' he tol' me, and there wash an end of it, do you shee?

MR. MILB. It's the ordinary course of business, isn't it?

MR. L.-B. Egshackly. But how few _do_ it! Now, I'll tell you 'nother shtory 'bout my poo' dear father. He came 'pon a sculpture in a curios.h.i.+ty shop; it wash very dirty and used up, but my dear father saw it was worth shpotting, and a thing to _be_ shpotted, and sho he put hish _finger_ on it!

FIRST COMM. (_undaunted by past failure_). And was it antique, Sir?

MR. L.-B. That'sh more'n I can tell you; it wash very dirty, at any rate, and he only gave fifty guineash for it. Wasn't a _great_ shum----

FIRST COMM. (_encouraged by his affability_). No, indeed; a mere nothing, so to speak, Sir!

MR. L.-B. (_annoyed_). Will you have the goodnesh to lemme finish what I was telling thish gentleman? When my poo' father got that busht home, it was the mos' perfect likenesh o' Napoleon!

[Ill.u.s.tration: "They haven't the _patiensh_ for it."]

MR. MILB. Ha! puts me in mind of the old story of the man who picked up a dingy panel somewhere or other, took it home, cleaned it, and found a genuine Morland; went on cleaning and discovered an undoubted Rembrandt; cleaned _that_, and came to a Crivelli; couldn't stop, kept on cleaning, and was rewarded by a portrait of George the Fourth!

FIRST COMM. (_deeply impressed_). And all of them genuine? How _very_ extraordinary, to be sure!

MR. L.-B. (_wagging his head sapiently_). I could tell you shtranger things than _that_. But as I was shaying, here was this busht of Napoleon, by some French chap--which _you_ would tell me was _against_ it.