Voces Populi Part 2

TOMMY (_anxious to escape the threatened chapters if possible_). I know about _him_, Uncle, he invented postage stamps!

OVER THE CASES.

FIRST PATRONISING P. "A Tooth of Queen Katherine Parr." Dear me! very quaint.

SECOND P. P. (_tolerantly_). And not at all a bad tooth, either.

'ARRIET (_comes to a case containing a hat labelled as formerly belonging to Henry the Eighth_). 'Arry, look 'ere; fancy a king going about in a thing like that--pink with a green feather! Why, I wouldn't be seen in it myself!

'ARRY. Ah, but that was ole 'Enery all over, that was; _he_ wasn't one for show. He liked a quiet, una.s.sumin' style of 'at, he did. "None of yer loud pot 'ats for Me!" he'd tell the Royal 'atters; "find me a tile as won't attract people's notice, or you won't want a tile yerselves in another minute!" An' you may take yer oath they served him pretty _sharp_, too!

'ARRIET (_giggling_). It's a pity they didn't ask you to write their Catalogue for 'em.

THE AUNT. John, you're not really _looking_ at that needlework--it's Queen Elizabeth's own work, John. Only look how wonderfully fine the st.i.tches are. Ah, she was a truly _great_ woman! I could spend hours over this case alone. What, closing are they, _already_? We must have another day at this together, John--just you and I.

JOHN. Yes, Aunt. And now--(_thinks there is just time to call on the_ Chestertons, _if he goes soon_)--can I get you a cab, or put you into a 'bus or anything?

HIS AUNT. Not just yet; you must take me somewhere where I can get a bun and a cup of tea first, and then we can go over the Catalogue together, and mark all the things we _missed_, you know.

[JOHN _resigns himself to the inevitable rather than offend his wealthy relative_; _the_ INTELLIGENT PERSON _comes out, saying he has had "an intellectual treat" and intends to "run through Froude again" that evening_. 'ARRY _and_ 'ARRIET, _depart to the "Ocean Wave" at Hengler's.

Gallery gradually clears as Scene closes in._

In an Omnibus.

_The majority of the inside pa.s.sengers, as usual, sit in solemn silence, and gaze past their opposite neighbours into vacancy.

A couple of Matrons converse in wheezy whispers_.

FIRST MATRON. Well, I must say a bus is pleasanter riding than what they used to be not many years back, and then so much cheaper, too. Why you can go all the way right from here to Mile End Road for threepence!

SECOND MATRON. What, all that way for threepence--(_with an impulse of vague humanity_). The _poor_ 'orses!

FIRST MATRON. Ah, well, my dear, it's Compet.i.tion, you know,--it don't do to think too much of it.

CONDUCTOR (_stopping the bus_). Orchard Street, Lady!

[_To_ SECOND MATRON, _who had desired to be put down there_.

SECOND MATRON (_to_ CONDUCTOR). Just move on a few doors further, opposite the boot-shop. (_To_ FIRST MATRON.) It will save us walking.

CONDUCTOR. Cert'inly, Mum, we'll drive in and wait while you're tryin'

'em on, if you like--_we_ ain't in no 'urry!

[_The_ MATRONS _get out, and their places are taken by two young girls, who are in the middle of a conversation of thrilling interest_.

FIRST GIRL. I never liked her myself--ever since the way she behaved at his Mother's that Sunday.

SECOND GIRL. How _did_ she behave?

[_A faint curiosity is discernible amongst the other pa.s.sengers to learn how she--whoever she is--behaved that Sunday._

FIRST GIRL. Why, it was you _told_ me! You remember. That night Joe let out about her and the automatic scent fountain.

SECOND GIRL. Oh, yes, I remember now. (_General disappointment._) I couldn't help laughing myself. Joe didn't ought to have told--but she needn't have got into such a state over it, _need_ she?

FIRST GIRL. That was Eliza all over. If George had been sensible, he'd have broken it off then and there--but no, he wouldn't hear a word against her, not at that time--it was the b.u.t.ton-hook opened _his_ eyes!

[_The other pa.s.sengers strive to dissemble a frantic desire to know how and why this delicate operation was performed._

SECOND GIRL (_mysteriously_). And enough too! But what put George off most was her keeping that bag so quiet.

[_The general imagination is once more stirred to its depths by this mysterious allusion._

FIRST GIRL. Yes, he did feel that, I know, he used to come and go on about it to me by the hour together. "I shouldn't have minded so much,"

he told me over and over again, with the tears standing in his eyes,--"if it hadn't been that the bottles was all silver-mounted!"

SECOND GIRL. Silver-mounted? I never heard of _that_ before--no wonder he felt hurt!

FIRST GIRL (_impressively_). Silver tops to every one of them--and that girl to turn round as she did, and her with an Uncle in the oil and colour line, too--it nearly broke George's 'art!

SECOND GIRL. He's such a one to take on about things--but, as I said to him, "George," I says, "You must remember it might have been worse.

Suppose you'd been married to that girl, and _then_ found out about Alf and the Jubilee sixpence--how would _that_ have been?"

FIRST GIRL (_unconsciously acting as the mouthpiece of the other pa.s.sengers_). And what did he say to _that_?

SECOND GIRL. Oh, nothing--there was nothing he _could_ say, but I could see he was struck. She behaved very mean to the last--she wouldn't send back the German concertina.

FIRST GIRL. You don't say so! Well, I wouldn't have thought that of her, bad as she is.

SECOND GIRL. No, she stuck to it that it wasn't like a regular present, being got through a grocer, and as she couldn't send him back the tea, being drunk,--but did you hear how she treated Emma over the crinoline 'at she got for her?

FIRST GIRL (_to the immense relief of the rest_). No, what was that?

SECOND GIRL. Well, I had it from Emma her own self. Eliza wrote up to her and says, in a postscript like,--Why, this is Tottenham Court Road, I get out here. Good-bye, dear, I must tell you the rest another day.

[_Gets out, leaving the tantalised audience inconsolable, and longing for courage to question her companion as to the precise details of Eliza's heartless behaviour to George. The companion, however, relapses into a stony reserve. Enter a_ CHATTY OLD GENTLEMAN _who has no secrets from anybody, and of course selects as the first recipient of his confidence the one person who hates to be talked to in an omnibus_.

THE CHATTY O. G. I've just been having a talk with the policeman at the corner there--what do you think I said to him?

HIS OPPOSITE NEIGHBOUR. I--I really don't know.

THE C. O. G. Well, I told him he was a rich man compared to me. He said "I only get thirty s.h.i.+llings a week, Sir." "Ah," I said, "but look at your expenses, compared to mine. What would _you_ do if you had to spend eight hundred a year on your children's education?" I spend that--every penny of it, Sir.

HIS OPP. N. (_utterly uninterested_). Do you indeed?--dear me!