Voces Populi Part 26

THE SHADOW. Sir?

MR. F. Where have we got to now?

PEAc.o.c.k. I ain't rightly sure, Sir.

MRS. F. Tell him to turn round, and go home.

MR. F. It's no use going on like this. Turn back.

PEAc.o.c.k. I dursn't leave the kerb--all I got to go by, Sir.

MR. F. Then take one of the lamps, and lead the horse.

PEAc.o.c.k. It's the _young_ 'orse, Sir.

MR. F. (_sinking back_). We must put up with it, I suppose.

[_A smart crack is heard at the back of the carriage._

MORE VOICES. Now, then, why the blanky dash, &c., &c.

MRS. F. Marmaduke, I can't sit here, and know that a bus-pole may come between us at any moment. Let us get out, and take a cab home at once.

MR. F. There's only one objection to that suggestion--viz., that it's perfectly impossible to tell a cab from a piano-organ. We must find out where we are first, and then turn. Peac.o.c.k, drive on as well as you can, and stop when you come to a shop.

MRS. F. What do you want to stop at a shop for?

MR. F. Why, then I can go in, and ask where we _are_.

MRS. F. And how do you expect _them_ to know where we are! (_She sees a smear of light in the distance._) Marmaduke, there's a linkman. Get out quick, and hire him to lead the way.

MR. F. (_who gets out, and follows in the direction of the light, grumbling to himself_). Hallo!--not past the park yet--here's the railings! Well, if I keep close to them, I shall--(_He suddenly collides with a bench_). Phew! Oh, confound it! (_He rubs his s.h.i.+ns._) Now, if it hadn't been for f.a.n.n.y, I--Where's that linkman? Hi!--you there!--stop!

(THE LIGHT STOPS.) Look here--I want you to come to my carriage, and show my man the way out of this!

VOICE FROM BEHIND THE RAILINGS. We got to find our _own_ way out fust, Guv'nor. We're _inside_!

A BELATED REVELLER (_lurching up to_ MR. F.) Beg your pardon, bur cou'

you dreck me nearesht way--er--Dawshon Plashe?

MR. F. (_savagely_). First turning to the right, third to the left, and then straight on till you come to it!

THE B. R. I'm exsheedingly 'blished; (_confidentially_) fact ish, I'm shuffrin' shli' 'fection eyes.h.i.+', an' I 'shure you, can't shee anys.h.i.+ng dishtingly to-ni'. (_He cannons against a lamp-post, to which he clings affectionately, as a Policeman emerges from the gloom._)

POLICEMAN. Now then, what are you doing 'ere, eh?

THE B. R. Itsh all ri', P'lishman, thish gerrilman--(_patting lamp-post affectionately_)--has kindly promished shee me home.

MR. F. Hang it! Where's Peac.o.c.k and the brougham? (_He discovers a phantom vehicle by the kerb, and gets in angrily._) Now, look here, my dear, it's no earthly good--!

OCCUPANT OF THE BROUGHAM. (_who is not_ f.a.n.n.y). Coward, touch a defenceless woman if you dare! I have nothing on me of any value. Help!

Police!

[MR. F., _seeing that explanation is useless, lets himself out again, precipitately, dodges the_ POLICEMAN, _and bolts, favoured by the fog, until all danger of pursuit is pa.s.sed, at the end of which time he suddenly realizes that it is perfectly hopeless to attempt to find his own carriage again_. _He gropes his way home, and some hours later, after an extemporised cold supper, is rejoined by his Wife._

MRS. F. (_cheerfully_). So _there_ you are, Marmaduke! I wasn't anxious--I felt sure you'd find your way back somehow!

MR. F. (_not in the best of tempers_). Find my way back! It was the only thing I could do. But where have _you_ been all this time, f.a.n.n.y?

MRS. F. Where? Why, at the Blewitts, to be sure. You see, after you got out, we had to keep moving on, and by and by the fog got better, and we could see where we were going to,--and the Blewitts had put off dinner half an hour, so I was not so _very_ late. Such a _nice_ dinner!

Everybody turned up except _you_, Marmaduke--but I _told_ them how it was. Oh, and old Lady h.o.r.ehound was there, and said a man had actually got into her brougham, and tried to wrench off one of her most valuable bracelets!--only she spoke to him so severely that he was struck with remorse, or something, and got out again! And it was by the Park, _close_ to where you left me. Just fancy, Marmaduke, he might have got into the carriage with _me_, instead!

MR. F. (_gloomily_). Yes, he _might_--only, he--er--_didn't_, you know!

Bricks without Straw

SCENE--_A Village School-room. A Juvenile Treat is in progress, and a Magic Lantern, hired for the occasion, "with set of slides complete--to last one hour," is about to be exhibited._

THE VICAR'S DAUGHTER (_suddenly recognizing the New Curate, who is blinking unsuspectingly in the lantern rays_). Oh, Mr. Tootler, you've just come in time to help us! The man with the lantern says he only manages the slides, and can't do the talking part. And I've asked lots of people, and no one will volunteer. _Would_ you mind just explaining the pictures to the children? It's only a little Nursery tale--_Valentine and Orson_--I chose that, because it's less hackneyed, and has such an excellent _moral_, you know. I'm sure you'll do it so _beautifully_!

MR. TOOTLER (_a shy man_). I--I'd do it with pleasure, I'm sure--only I really don't know anything about _Valentine and Orson_!

THE V.'S D. Oh, what _does_ that matter? I can tell you the outline in two minutes. (_She tells him._) But it's got to last an hour, so you must spin it out as much as ever you can.

MR. TOOTLER (_to himself_). Ought I to neglect such a golden opportunity of winning these young hearts? No. (_Aloud._) I will--er--do my best, and perhaps I had better begin at once, as they seem to be getting--er--rather unruly at the further end of the room. (_He clears his throat._) Children, you must be very quiet and attentive, and then we shall be able, as we purpose this evening, to show you some scenes ill.u.s.trative of the--er--beautiful old story of _Valentine and Orson_, which I doubt not is familiar to you all. (_Rustic applause, conveyed by stamping and shrill cheers, after which a picture is thrown on the screen representing a Village Festival._) Here, children, we have a view of--er--(_with sudden inspiration_)--Valentine's Native Village. It is--er--his birthday, and Valentine, being a young man who is universally beloved on account of his amiability and good conduct--(_To the_ VICAR'S D. "Is that correct?" THE V.'S D. "Quite, _quite_ correct!")--good conduct, the villagers are celebrating the--er--auspicious event by general rejoicings. How true it is that if we are only _good_, we may, young as we are, count upon gaining the affection and esteem of all around us! (_A Youthful Rustic, with a tendency to heckle._ "Ef 'ee plaze, Zur, which on 'em be Valentoine?") Valentine, we may be very sure, would not be absent on such an occasion, although, owing to the crowd, we cannot distinguish him. But, wherever he is, however he may be occupied, he little thinks that, before long, he will have to encounter the terrible Orson, the Wild Man of the Woods!

Ah, dear children, we all have our Wild Man of the Woods to fight. With _some of_ us it is--(_He improves the occasion_). Our next picture represents--(_To_ a.s.sISTANT). Sure this comes next? Oh, they're all numbered, are they? Very well--represents a forest--er--the home of Orson. If we were permitted to peep behind one of those trunks, we should doubtless see Orson himself, crouching in readiness to spring upon the unsuspecting Valentine. So, often when we--&c., &c. The next scene we shall show you represents the--er--burning of Valentine's s.h.i.+p.

Valentine has gone on a voyage, with the object of--er--finding Orson.

If the boat in the picture was only larger, we could no doubt identify Valentine, sitting there undismayed, calmly confident that, notwithstanding this--er--unfortunate interruption, he will be guided, sooner or later, to his--er--goal. Yes, dear children, if we only have patience, if we only have faith, &c., &c. Here we see--(_an enormous Bison is suddenly depicted on the screen_) eh? oh, yes--here we have a specimen of--er--Orson's _pursuits_. He chases the bison. Some of you may not know what a bison is. It is a kind of hairy cow, and--(_He describes the habits of these creatures as fully_ _as he is able._) (THE YOUTHFUL RUSTIC. "Theer baint nawone a-erntin' of 'un, Zur.") What?

Oh, but there _is_, you know. Orson is pursuing him, only--er--the bison, being a very fleet animal, has outrun his pursuer for the moment.

Sometimes we flatter ourselves that we have outrun _our_ pursuer--but, depend upon it, &c., &c. But now let us see what Valentine is about--(_Discovering, not without surprise, that the next picture is a Scene in the Arctic Regions_). Well, you see, he has succeeded in reaching the coast, and here he is--in a sledge drawn by a reindeer, with nothing to guide him but the Aurora Borealis, hastening towards the spot where he has been told he will find Orson. He doesn't despair, doesn't lose heart--he is sure that, if he only keeps on, if he--er--only continues, only perseveres--(_Aside._ What drivel I _am_ talking! _To_ a.s.sISTANT. I say, are there many _more_ of this sort?

because we _don't_ seem to be getting on!)--Well, now we come to--(_a Moonlight Scene, with a Cottage in Winter, appears_)--to the--ah--home of Valentine's _mother_. You will observe a light in the cas.e.m.e.nt. By that light the good old woman is sitting, longing and praying for the return of her gallant boy. Ah, dear children, what a thing a good old mother is! (_To the_ VICAR'S DAUGHTER.) "I really can _not_ keep on like this much longer. I'm positively certain these slides are out of order!"

THE V.'S D. "Oh, no; I'm sure it's _all_ right. Do _please_ go on.

They're _so_ interested!" THE YOUNG HECKLER. "'Ow 'bout Valentoine, Zur?--wheer be 'ee?" Ah, where is Valentine, indeed? (_To_ a.s.s.) Next slide--quick! (_Recognises with dismay a View of the Grand Ca.n.a.l._) No--but, I say--_really_, I _can't_--Here we have Valentine at Venice.

He has reached that beautiful city,--well called the Queen of the Adriatic,--at last! He contemplates it from his gondola, and yet he has no heart just now to take in all the beauty of the scene. He feels that he is still no nearer to finding Orson than before. (THE YOUNG HECKLER.

"Naw moor be we, Zur. We ain't zeed _nayther_ on 'em zo fur!" _Tumult, and a general demand for the instant production of Orson or Valentine._) Now, children, children! this is very irregular. You must allow me to tell this story my own way. I a.s.sure you that you will see them both in good time, if you only keep still! (_To_ a.s.s.) I can't stand this any more Valentine and Orson must be underneath the rest. Find them, and shove them in quick. Never mind the numbering! (_The screen remains blank while the_ a.s.sISTANT _fumbles_.) Well, have you _got_ them?

[Ill.u.s.tration: RECOGNISES WITH DISMAY A VIEW OF THE GRAND Ca.n.a.l.]

THE a.s.sISTANT. No, Sir; I'm rather afraid they ain't _here_. Fact is, they've sent me out with the wrong set o' slides. This ain't _Valentine and Orson_--_it's a miscellaneous lot_, _Sir_!

[_Collapse of Curate as Scene closes in._