Punch, or the London Charivari | Page 8

any
"patterer" more smart, One whose "patriotic" zeal is more terrific, Who
can give me at snide slang the slightest start, Who can fit a swell, a toff,
a cad, a coster, At the very shortest notice, as I can, Why, unless he is a
swaggering impostor, I will gladly hail him as the Coming Man!
But he'll have to be a dab at drunken drivel, And he'll have to be a daisy
at sick gush, To turn on the taps of swagger and of snivel, Raise the
row-de-dow heel-chorus and hot flush. He must know the taste of
sensual young masher, As well as that of aitch-omitting snob; And
then--well, I'll admit he is a dasher, Who, as Laureate (of the Halls) is
"on the job!"

[Left lamenting.
* * * * *
THE MAN FROM BLANKLEY'S.
A STORY IN SCENES
SCENE I.--Breakfast-room at No. 92a, Porchester Square, Bayswater.
Rhubarb-green and gilt paper, with dark olive dado: curtains of a
nondescript brown. Black marble clock on grey granite mantelpiece;
Landseer engravings; tall book-case, containing volumes of "The
Quiver," "Mission-Work in Mesopotamia," a cheap Encyclopedia, and
the "Popular History of Europe." Time, about 9:45. Mr. MONTAGUE
TIDMARSH is leaving to catch his omnibus. Mrs. T. is at her
Davenport in the window.
Mr. T. (from the door). Anything else you want me to do, MARIA?
Mrs. T. Don't forget the turbot--and mind you choose it yourself--and
the lobster for the sauce--oh, and look in at SEAKALE'S as you pass,
and remind him to be here punctually at seven, to help JANE with the
table, and say I insist on his waiting in clean white gloves; and be home
early yourself, and--there, if he hasn't rushed off before I remembered
half----(Mr. T. re-appears at the door.) What is it now, MONTAGUE?
I do wish you'd start, and have done with it, instead of keeping JANE at
the front door, when she ought to be clearing away breakfast!
Mr. T. Very sorry, my love--I was just going, when I met a
Telegraph-boy with this, for you, I hope there's nothing wrong with
Uncle GABRIEL, I'm sure.
Mrs. T. Don't stand there holding it--give it to me. (She opens it.)
"Regret impossible dine to-night--lost Great Aunt very
suddenly.--BUCKRAM." How provoking of the man! And I
particularly wished him to meet Uncle GABRIEL, because he is such a
good listener, and they would be sure to get on together. As if he hadn't
all the rest of the year to lose his Aunt in!

Mr. T. That's BUCKRAM all over. Never can depend upon that fellow.
(Gloomily.) Now we shall be thirteen at table!
Mrs. T. Nonsense, MONTAGUE--we can't be! Let me see--Uncle
GABRIEL and Aunt JOANNA, two; the DITCHWATERS, four;
BODFISHES, six; TOOMERS, eight; Miss BUGLE, nine; Mr.
POFFLEY, ten; CECILIA FLINDERS, eleven, ourselves--we are
thirteen! And I know Uncle will refuse to sit down at all if he notices it;
and, anyway, it is sure to cast a gloom over the whole thing. We must
get somebody!
Mr. T. Couldn't that Miss--what's her name? SEATON--dine, for once?
Mrs. T. The idea, MONTAGUE! Then there would be one Lady too
many--if you can call a Governess a Lady, that is. And I do so
disapprove of taking people out of their proper station.
[Illustration: "Montague, don't say you went and ordered him."]
Mr. T. I might wire to FILLETER or MAKEWAYT--but I rather think
they're both away, and it won't do to run any risk. Shall I bring home
STERNSTUHL or FEDERFUCHS? Very quiet, respectable young
fellows, and I could let one of 'em go off early to dress.
Mrs. T. Thank you, MONTAGUE--but I won't have one of your
German clerks at my table--everyone would see what he was in a
minute. And he mightn't even have a dress-suit! Let me think ... I know
what we can do. BLANKLEY supplies extra guests for parties and
things. I remember seeing it in the paper. We must hire a man there. Go
there at once, MONTAGUE, it's very little out of your way, and tell
them to be sure and send a gentlemanly person--he needn't talk much,
and he won't be required to tell any anecdotes. Make haste, say they
can put him down to my deposit account.
Mr. T. I don't half like the idea, MARIA, but I suppose it's the only
thing left. I'll go and see what they can do for us.
[He goes out.

Mrs. T. I know he'll make some muddle--I'd better do it myself! (She
rushes out into the passage.) JANE, is your Master gone? Call him
back--there, I'll do it. (She calls after Mr. T.'s retreating form from the
doorstep.) MONTAGUE! never mind about BLANKLEY'S. I'll see to
it. Do you hear?
Mr. T.'s Voice (from the corner). All