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XIII
THAT OF ALGERNON CROKER

 
Permit me, and I will quite briefly relate
The sad story of Algernon Croker.
Take warning, good friends, and beware of the fate
Of this asinine practical joker,
Who early in life caused the keenest distress
To his uncle, Sir Barnaby Tatton,
By affixing a pin in the form of an S
To the chair which Sir Barnaby sat on.
 
 
His uncle had often been heard to declare
That to make him his heir he was willing;
But the point of this joke made Sir Barnaby swear
That he'd cut the boy off with a shilling.
Their anger his parents took means to express,
Tho' I may not, of course, be exact on
The particular spot – though you'll probably guess —
That young Croker was properly whacked on.
 
 
His pranks, when they presently sent him to school,
Resulted in endless disasters,
And final expulsion for playing the fool
(He made "apple-pie" beds for the masters).
Nor was he more fortunate later in life,
When courting a lady at Woking;
For he failed to secure this sweet girl for his wife
On account of his practical joking.
 
 
To her father – a person of eighteen-stone-two,
In a round-about coat and a topper —
He offered a seat; then the chair he withdrew,
And, of course, the old chap came a cropper.
Such conduct, the father exceedingly hurt,
And he wouldn't consent to the marriage;
So the daughter she married a person named Birt,
And she rides to this day in her carriage.
 
 
But these are mere trifles compared with the fate
Which o'ertook him, and which I'm recalling,
When he ventured to joke with an old Potentate,
With results which were simply appalling.
'Twas in some foreign country, far over the sea,
Where he held a small post ministerial
(An Ambassador, Consul, or something was he.
What exactly is quite immaterial).
 
 
He told the old Potentate, much to his joy,
That King Edward had sent him a present,
And handed a parcel up to the old boy,
With a smile which was childlike and pleasant.
The Potentate he, at the deuce of a pace,
At the string set to fumbling and maulin';
Then Croker laughed madly to see his blank face —
For the package had nothing at all in.
 
 
The Potentate smiled – 'twas a sad, sickly smile;
And he laughed – but the laughter was hollow.
"Ha! a capital joke. It doth greatly beguile;
But," said he, "there is something to follow.
I, too, wish to play a small joke of my own,
At the which I'm remarkably clever."
Then, – a man standing by, at a nod from the throne,
Croker's head from his body did sever.
 

XIV
THAT OF – ?

 
Phwat's thot yer afther sayin' —
Oi "don't look meself at all?"
Och, murder! sure ye've guessed it.
Whist! Oi'm not meself at all,
But another man entoirly,
An' Oi'd bether tell ye trooly
How ut iz Oi'm but purtendin'
That Oi'm Mr. Pat O'Dooley.
 
 
Tim Finnegan an' me, sor,
Waz a-fightin ov the blacks
In hathen foreign parts, sor,
An' yer pardon Oi would ax
If Oi mention thot the customs
In them parts iz free an' aisy,
An' the costooms – bein' mostly beads —
Iz airy-loike an' braizy.
 
 
But them blacks iz good at fightin'
An' they captured me an' Tim;
An' they marched us back in triumph
To their village – me an' him;
An' they didn't trate us badly,
As Oi'm not above confessin',
Tho' their manners – as Oi said before —
An' customs, waz disthressin'.
 
 
So Oi set meself to teachin'
The King's daughter to behave
As a perfect lady should do;
An' Oi taught the King to shave;
An' Oi added to the lady's
Scanty costoom by the prisent
Ov a waistcoat, which she thanked me for,
A-smilin' moighty plisent.
 
 
Now she wazn't bad to look at,
An' she fell in love with me,
Which was awkward for all parties,
As you prisently will see;
For on wan noight, when the village
Waz all quiet-loike an' slapin',
The King's daughter to the hut, phwere
Tim an' me lay, came a-crapin'.
 
 
An' she whispered in my ear, sor:
"Get up quick, an' come this way,
Oi'll assist ye in escapin',
If ye'll do just phwat Oi say."
An' she led me by the hand, sor;
It waz dark, the rain was pourin'
An' we safely passed the huts, sor,
Phwere the sintrys waz a snorin'
 
 
Then we ran, an' ran, an' ran, sor,
Through all the blessid noight,
An' waz many miles away, sor,
Before the day was loight.
Then the lady saw my features,
An' she stopped an' started cryin',
For she found that I waz Tim instead
Ov me, which waz most tryin'.
 
 
In the hurry an' the scurry
Ov the darkness, don't yez see,
She had made a big mistake,
An' rescued him instead ov me —
An' to me it waz confusin'
An' most hard ov realizin';
For to find yerself another person,
Sor, iz most surprisin'.
 
 
An' pwhen the lady left me,
An' Oi'd got down to the shore
An' found a ship to take me home,
Oi puzzled more an' more,
For, ov course, the woife an' family
Ov Finnegan's was moine, sor,
Tho' Oi didn't know the wan ov 'em
By hook, nor crook, nor soign, sor.
 
 
But Oi came to the decision
They belonged to me no doubt,
So directly Oi had landed
Oi began to look about.
Tim Finnegan had told me
That he lived up in Killarn'y,
An' Oi found meself that far, somehow,
By carnying an' blarney.
 
 
An' Oi found me woife an' family —
But, ach! upon my loife
Oi waz greatly disappointed
In my family an' woife,
For my woife was not a beauty,
An' her temper wazn't cheerin'
While the family – onkindly —
At their father took to jeerin'.
 
 
"Oi waz better off as Pat," thought Oi,
"Than Oi'll iver be as Tim.
Bedad! Oi'd better be meself
An' lave off bein' him.
Oi won't stay here in Killarn'y,
Phwere they trate poor Tim so coolly,
But purtend to be meself agin
In dear old Ballyhooley.'
 
 
So Oi came to Ballyhooley,
An' Oi've niver told before
To anyone the story
Oi've been tellin' to ye, sor,
An' it, all ov it, occurred, sor,
Just exactly as Oi state it,
Though, ov course, ye'll understand, sor,
Oi don't wish ye to repate it.
 

XV
THAT OF THE RIVAL HAIRDRESSERS

 
In the fashionable quarter
Of a fashionable town
Lived a fashionable barber,
And his name was Mister Brown.
Of hair, the most luxuriant,
This person had a crop,
And – a – so had his assistants,
And – the boy who swept the shop.
 
 
He had pleasant manners – very —
And his smile was very bland,
While his flow of conversation
Was exceptionally grand.
The difficulty was that he
Did not know when to stop;
Neither did his good assistants,
Nor – the boy who swept the shop.
 
 
He'd begin about the weather,
And remark the day was fine,
Or, perhaps, "it would be brighter
If the sun would only shine."
Or, he'd "noticed the barometer
Had fallen with a flop;
And – a – so had his assistants,
And – the boy who swept the shop."
 
 
Then the news from all the papers
(Most of which you'd heard before)
He would enter into fully,
And the latest cricket score;
Or, political opinions,
He'd be pleased with you to swop;
And – a – so would his assistants,
Or – the boy who swept the shop.
 
 
At the Stock Exchange quotations
Mister Brown was quite au fait,
And on betting, or "the fav'rit',"
He would talk in knowing way;
Then into matters personal
He'd occasionally drop,
And – a – so would his assistants,
Or – the boy who swept the shop.
 
 
He'd recommend Macassar oil,
Or someone's brilliantine,
As "a remedy for baldness."
'Twas "the finest he had seen."
And he'd "noticed that your hair of late
Was thinning on the top."
And – a – "so had his assistants,
And – the boy who swept the shop."
 
 
Now one day, nearly opposite,
Another barber came,
And opened an establishment
With quite another name.
And Brown looked out and wondered
If this man had come to stop.
And – a – so did his assistants,
And – the boy who swept the shop.
 
 
But they didn't fear their neighbour,
For the man seemed very meek.
He'd no flow of conversation,
And looked half afraid to speak.
So Brown tittered at his rival
(Whose name happened to be Knopp);
And – a – so did his assistants,
And – the boy who swept the shop.
 
 
But somehow unaccountably
Brown's custom seemed to flow
In some mysterious sort of way
To Knopp's. It was a blow.
And Brown looked very serious
To see his profits drop.
And – a – so did his assistants
And – the boy who swept the shop.
 
 
And I wondered, and I wondered
Why this falling off should be,
And I thought one day I'd step across
To Mister Knopp's to see.
I found him very busy
With – in fact – no time to stop,
And – a – so were his assistants.
And – the boy who swept his shop.
 
 
Mister Knopp was very silent,
His assistants still as mice;
All the customers were smiling,
And one whispered, "Ain't it nice?"
"Hey? You want to know the reason?
Why, deaf and dumb is Knopp,
And – a —so are his assistants,
And – the boy who sweeps the shop."
 

XVI
THAT OF THE AUCTIONEER'S DREAM

 
I'll proceed to the narration
Of a trifling episode
In the life of Mr. Platt,
An auctioneer,
Who was filled with jubilation
And remarked: "Well, I'll be blowed!" —
An expression rather im-
Polite, I fear.
 
 
But he dreamt he'd heard it stated
That, in future, auctioneers
Might include their near relations
In their sales;
And he felt so much elated
That he broke out into cheers,
As one's apt to do when other
Language fails.
 
 
And he thought: "Dear me, I'd better
Seize this opportunity
Of getting rid of ma-in-law,
And Jane —
('Twas his wife) – I'll not regret her;
And, indeed, it seems to me
Such a chance may really not
Occur again.
 
 
"And, indeed, while I'm about it,
I'll dispense with all the lot —
(O'er my family I've lately
Lost command) —
'Tis the best plan, never doubt it.
I'll dispose of those I've got,
And, perhaps, I'll get some others
Second-hand."
 
 
So his ma-in-law he offered
As the first lot in the sale,
And he knocked her down for two-
And-six, or less.
Then Mrs. Platt he proffered —
She was looking rather pale;
But she fetched a good round sum,
I must confess.
 
 
Sister Ann was slightly damaged,
But she went off pretty well
Considering her wooden leg,
And that;
But I can't think how he managed
His wife's grandmother to sell —
But he did it. It was very smart
Of Platt.
 
 
Several children, and the twins
(Lots from 9 to 22),
Fetched the auctioneer a tidy sum
Between 'em.
(One small boy had barked his shins,
And a twin had lost one shoe,
But they looked as well, Platt thought, as e'er
He'd seen 'em.)
 
 
Then some nephews, and some nieces,
Sundry uncles, and an aunt,
Went off at figures which were
Most surprising.
And some odds and ends of pieces
(I would tell you, but I can't
Their relationship) fetched prices
Past surmising.
 
 
It is quite enough to mention
That before the day was out
All his relatives had gone
Without reserve.
This fell in with Platt's intention,
And he said: "Without a doubt,
I shall now as happy be
As I deserve."
 
 
But he wasn't very happy,
For he soon began to miss
Mrs. Platt, his wife, and all
The little "P's."
And the servants made him snappy;
Home was anything but bliss;
And Mr. Platt was very
Ill at ease.
 
 
So he calmly thought it over.
"On the whole, perhaps," said he,
I had better buy my fam-
Ily again,
For I find I'm not in clover,
Quite, without my Mrs. P. —
She was really not a bad sort,
Wasn't Jane."
 
 
But the persons who had bought 'em
Wouldn't part with 'em again.
Though Platt offered for their purchase
Untold gold.
For quite priceless now he thought 'em,
And, of course, could see quite plain
That in selling them he had himself
Been sold.
 
 
And he thought, with agitation
Of them lost for ever now,
And he said, "This thing has gone
Beyond a joke,"
While the beads of perspiration
Gathered thickly on his brow;
And then Mr. Platt, the auctioneer —
Awoke.
 

XVII
THAT OF THE PLAIN COOK

 
Miss Miriam Briggs was a plain, plain cook,
And her cooking was none too good
(Not at all like the recipes out of the book,
And, in fact, one might tell at the very first look
That things hadn't been made as they should).
 
 
Her master, a person named Lymmington-Blake,
At her cooking did constantly grieve,
And at last he declared that "a change he must make,"
For he "wanted a cook who could boil or could bake,"
And – this very plain cook – "she must leave."
 
 
So she left, and her master, the very same day,
For the Registry Office set out,
For he naturally thought it the very best way
Of procuring a cook with the smallest delay.
(You, too, would have done so, no doubt.)
 
 
But, "A cook? Goodness gracious!" the lady declared
(At the Registry Office, I mean),
"I've no cook on my books, sir, save one, and she's shared
By two families; and, sir, I've nearly despaired,
For so rare, sir, of late, cooks have been."
 
 
Where next he enquired 'twas precisely the same:
There wasn't a cook to be had.
Though quite high were the wages he'd willingly name,
And he advertised, – uselessly, – none ever came, —
Not a cook, good, indiff'rent, or bad.
 
 
What was to be done? Mr. Lymmington-Blake
Began to grow thinner and thinner.
(Now and then it is pleasant, but quite a mistake,
To dine every day on a chop or a steak,
And have nothing besides for your dinner.)
 
 
So he said: "If I can't get a cook, then a mate
I'll endeavour to find in a wife"
(His late wife deceased, I p'r'aps ought to relate,
Four or five years before), "for this terrible state
Of things worries me out of my life."
 
 
So he looked in the papers, and read with delight
Of a "Lady of good education,
A charming complexion, eyes blue (rather light),"
Who "would to a gentleman willingly write."
She "preferred one without a relation."
 
 
Now Lymmington-Blake was an orphan from birth,
And had neither a sister nor brother,
While of uncles and aunts he'd a similar dearth,
And he thought, "Here's a lady of singular worth;
I should think we should suit one another."
 
 
So he wrote to the lady, and she wrote to him,
And the lady requested a photo,
But he thought, "I'm not young, and the picture might dim
Her affection; I'll plead, to the lady, a whim,
And refuse her my photo in toto."
 
 
"I'll be happy, however," he wrote, "to arrange
A meeting for Wednesday night.
Hampstead Heath, on the pathway, beside the old Grange,
At a quarter to eight. If you won't think it strange,
Wear a rose – I shall know you at sight."
 
 
Came Wednesday night, Mr. Lymmington-Blake
To the rendezvous all in a flutter
Himself – in a new suit of clothes – did betake;
And over and over, to save a mistake,
The speech he had thought of did mutter.
 
 
He wore a red rose, for he thought it would show
He had taken the matter to heart.
A lady was there. Was it she? Yes, or no?
Blake didn't know whether to stay or to go.
He was nervous. But what made him start?
 
 
'Twas the figure – at first he could not see her face —
Which somehow familiar did look.
Then she turned – and he ran. Do you think it was base?
I fancy that you'd have done so in his place.
It was Miriam Briggs, the plain cook.