Punch, Or The London Charivari

Punch, Or The London Charivari, Vol. 101, August 22, 1891

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August 22, 1891, by Various This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net
Title: Punch, Or The London Charivari, Vol. 101, August 22, 1891
Author: Various
Release Date: September 20, 2004 [EBook #13502]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
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PUNCH,
OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOL. 101.

August 22, 1891.

THE TRAVELLING COMPANIONS.
NO. III.
SCENE--_On the Coach from Braine l'Alleud to Waterloo. The vehicle has a Belgian driver, but the conductor is a true-born Briton. Mr. CYRUS K. TROTTER and his daughter are behind with PODBURY. CULCHARD, who is not as yet sufficiently on speaking terms with his friend to ask for an introduction, is on the box-seat in front._
_Mr. Trotter_. How are you getting along, MAUD? Your seat pretty comfortable?
Miss Trotter. Well, I guess it would be about as luxurious if it hadn't got a chunk of wood nailed down the middle--it's not going to have anyone confusing it with a bed of roses just yet. (_To PODB._) Your friend mad about anything? He don't seem to open his head more'n he's obliged to. I presume he don't approve of your taking up with me and Father--he keeps away from us considerable, I notice.
_Podb._ (_awkwardly_). Oh--er--I wouldn't say that, but he's a queer kind of chap rather, takes prejudices into his head and all that. I wouldn't trouble about him if I were you--not worth it, y' know.
_Miss T._ Thanks--but it isn't going to shorten my existence any.
[_CULCH. overhears all this, with feelings that may be imagined._
Belgian Driver (_to his horses_). Pullep! Allez v?te! Bom-bom-bom! Alright!
Conductor (_to CULCHARD_). 'E's very proud of 'is English, _'e_ is. 'Ere, JEWLS, ole feller, show the gen'lm'n 'ow yer can do a swear. (_Belgian Driver utters a string of English imprecations with the utmost fluency and good-nature._) 'Ark at 'im now! Bust my frogs! (_Admiringly, and not without a sense of the appropriateness of the phrase._) But he's a caution, Sir, ain't he? I taught him most o' what he knows!
A French Passenger (_to Conductor_). Dis done, mon ami, est-ce qu'on peut voir d'ici le champ de bataille?
Conductor (_with proper pride_). It ain't no use your torkin to _me_, Mossoo; I don't speak no French myself. (_To CULCHARD._) See that field there, Sir?
Culchard (_interested_). On the right? Yes, what happened _there_?
[Illustration: "Leesten, I dell you vonce more."]
_Cond._ Fine lot o' rabbits inside o' there--big fat 'uns. (To another Passenger.) No, Sir, that ain't Belly Lions as you see from 'ere; that's Mon Sin Jeean, and over there Oogymong, and Chalyroy to the left.
ON THE TOP OF THE MOUND.
_CULCHARD, who has purchased a map in the Waterloo Museum as a means of approaching Miss TROTTER, is pounced upon by an elderly Belgian Guide in a blue blouse, from whom he finds it difficult to escape._
The Guide (_fixing CULCHARD with a pair of rheumy eyes and a gnarled forefinger_). You see vere is dat schmall voodt near de vite 'ouse? not dere, along my shdeek--so. Dat is vare PEECTON vas kill, Inglis Officer, PEECTON. Two days pefore he vas voundet in de ahum. 'E say to his sairvan', "You dell ennipoddies, I keel you!" He vandt to pe in ze bataille: he vas in ze bataille--seven lance troo im, seven; PEECTON, Inglis Officer. (_CULCHARD nods his head miserably._) Hah, you 'ave de shart dere--open 'im out vide, dat de odder shentilmans see. (_CULCHARD obeys, spell-bound._) Vare you see dat blue gross, Vaterloo Shirshe, vere Loart UXBREEDGE lose 'is laig. Zey cot 'im off and pury him in ze cott-yardt, and a villow grow oudt of 'im. 'E com 'ere to see the villow growing oudt of his laig.
_Culch._ (_abandoning his map, and edging towards Miss TROTTER_). Hem--we are gazing upon one of the landmarks of our national history--Miss TROTTER.
_Miss T._ That's a vurry interesting re-mark. I presume you must have studied up some for a reflection of that kind. Mr. PODBURY, your friend has been telling me-- [_She repeats CULCHARD's remark._
_Podb._ (_with interest_). Got any more of those, old fellow?
[_CULCHARD moves away with disgusted hauteur._
The Guide (_re-capturing him_). Along dat gross vay, VELLAINTON meet BLUSHAIR. Prussian g��n��ral, BLUSHAIR, VELLAINTON 'e com hier. I see 'im. Ven 'e see ze maundt 'e vos vair angri. 'E say, "Eet is no ze battle-fiel' no more--I com back nevare!" Zat aidge is vere de Scots Greys vas. Ven they dell NAPOLEON 'oo zey are, 'e say. "Fine mens--splendid mens, I feenish dem in von hour!"