The War of the Wenuses | Page 3

Pearson, aged 28 (no fixed abode), and
Martha Griffin, aged 54, of Maybury Tenements, were circulating
among the crowd offering matches for sale. They have nothing to do
with this story, but their names and addresses make for verisimilitude;
or at least, I hope so. In case they do not, let me add that Mary Griffin
wore a blue peignoir which had seen better days, and Herbert Pearson's
matches struck everywhere except on the box.
With a mental flash we linked the Crinoline with the powder puffs on
Wenus. Approaching it more nearly, we heard a hissing noise within,
such as is made by an ostler, or Mr. Daimler grooming his motor car.

"Good heavens!" said Swears, "there's a horse in it. Can't you hear? He
must be half-roasted."
So saying he rushed off, fraught with pity, to inform the Secretary of
the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals; while I hurried
away to tell Pendriver the journalist, proposing in my own mind, I
recollect, that he should give me half the profits on the article.
Pendriver the journalist, so called to distinguish him from Hoopdriver
the cyclist, was working in his garden. He does the horticultural
column for one of the large dailies.
"You've read about the disturbances in Venus?" I cried.
"What!" said Pendriver. He is as deaf as the Post, the paper he writes
for.
"You've read about Venus?" I asked again.
"No," he said, "I've never been to Venice."
"Venus!" I bawled, "Venus!"
"Yes," said Pendriver, "Venus. What about it?"
"Why," I said, "there are people from Venus in Kensington Gardens."
"Venus in Kensington Gardens!" he replied. "No, it's not Venus; it's the
Queen."
I began to get angry.
"Not the statue," I shouted. "Wisitors from Wenus. Make copy. Come
and see! Copy! Copy!"
The word "copy" galvanised him, and he came, spade and all. We
quickly crossed the Park once more. Pendriver lives to the west of it, in
Strathmore Gardens, and has a special permit from his landlord to dig.
We did not, for sufficient reasons, converse much. Many persons were

now hastening towards the strange object. Among them I noticed Jubal
Gregg the butcher (who fortunately did not observe me--we owed him a
trifle of eighteen shillings, and had since taken to Canterbury lamb
from the Colonial Meat Stores), and a jobbing gardener, whom I had
not recently paid. I forget his name, but he was lame in the left leg: a
ruddy man.
Quite a crowd surrounded the Crinoline when we arrived, and in
addition to the match-vendors already mentioned, there was now
Giuseppe Mandolini, from Leather Lane, with an accordion and a
monkey. Monkeys are of course forbidden in Kensington Gardens, and
how he eluded the police I cannot imagine. Most of the people were
staring quietly at the Crinoline, totally unaware of its significance.
Scientific knowledge has not progressed at Kensington by the same
leaps and bounds as at Woking. Extra-terrestrial had less meaning for
them than extra-special.
We found Swears hard at work keeping the crowd from touching the
Crinoline. With him was a tall, red-haired man, who I afterwards learnt
was Lee-Bigge, the Secretary of the Society for the Prevention of
Cruelty to Animals. He had a summons and several officials with him,
and was standing on the Crinoline, bellowing directions in a clear, rich
voice, occasionally impeded by emotion, like an ox with a hiccough.
As soon as Swears saw me, he asked me to bring a policeman to assist
him to keep back the crowd; and I went away, proud to be so honoured,
to find one. I was unsuccessful. P.C. A581 had gone off duty; but
another constable, I was told, had been seen, an hour or so earlier,
asleep against the railings,--it was a baker's boy who told me, just back
from delivering muffins in St. Mary Abbot's Terrace,--and had since
wandered in the direction of the Albert Hall. I followed, but could not
see him in any of the areas, and therefore returned slowly by way of
Queen's Gate, Cromwell Road, Earl's Court Road, and Kensington
High Street, hoping to meet another; and as it was then about noon, I
entered an A.B.C. and had half a pork-pie and a bucket of Dr. Jaeger's
Vi-cocolate. I remember the circumstance distinctly, because feeling
rather hungry and wishing to vary the menu, I asked the girl for half a

veal-and-ham pie and she brought me the balance of the original pasty;
and when I remonstrated, she said that her directors recognised no
essential difference between veal-and-ham and pork.

III.
THE CRINOLINE EXPANDS.
When I returned to the Gardens the sun was at his zenith. The crowd
around the Crinoline had increased and some sort of a struggle seemed
to be going on. As I drew