SCENE--_Trafalgar Square. Several thousand loafers and roughs
discovered asserting right of free speech, free meeting and free
procession. A few hundred genuine artisans out of work standing about
moodily. Lines of Policemen drawn up in reserve look on impassively._
_A Lover of Liberty._ As an Englishman, Sir, I'm disgusted--it's
_un-English_, that's what it is, "dragooning" an inoffensive assembly
like this! I _used_ to think freedom of speech and action was the
right of every Briton--but it seems we're to be overawed by the Police
now--confounded impertinence on the part of the Government, I call it!
[Illustration: "Hooky Walker!"
"... The Leaders, H. George, _and the man whose name was said
to be_ Walker, put up their coat-collars and sneaked away
under the trees."--_Newspaper Report._
]
_An Orator (leaping suddenly on parapet)._ Feller Citizens, are you
_Men_ that you stand by with folded 'ands, while unlimited food and
wealth lays within a stone's throw? I want yer----
_Constables (behind)._ Ah, and we want _you_--off you go!
[_Disappearance of Orator in direction of Police-station._
_Lover of Liberty._ Shame! Is a man to be punished for his opinions?
Oh, England, England!
_Person in Search of Sensation (disappointedly)._ Well, there doesn't
seem much doing,--so far.
_Squalid Vagabond (recognising_ Stalwart Constable, _whom he has
apparently met before in a professional capacity_). 'Ow _are_ yer,
pretty bobbish?
[_Nods to show he bears no malice._
_Stalwart C. (good-humouredly)._ I'm much as usual, thankee.
_Companion Constable (to S. C.)._ Well, you _do_ know some rough 'uns,
I must say!
_Stalwart C._ Go on--that gentleman's a West-Ender.
_Professional "Hook" (to line of Policemen)._ So _you_'re 'ere, are
you? Well, me and my pal must take _our_ little prominade some hother
arternoon, that's all!
_Sympathiser (to Loafer)._ And so you've actually been out of
employment since last January? Monstrous! The Government ought to find
you work!
_Loafer._ Jes' what _I_ say, Guv'nor. Let 'em gimme work, and I'll
_do_ it fast enough. _I_ don't want ter be idle. I ain't on'y my one
trade to earn my bread by--but I'll work at that, if I'm let!
_Sympathiser._ Exactly, my poor fellow, and what _is_ your trade?
_Loafer._ Why, I'm a skate-fastener, I am; puts on parties' skates for
'em,--and 'ere I am--not 'ad a job for months!
_Truculent Ruffian (to Quiet Observer)._ Hunimployed?
_Quiet Obs._ Yes--at present.
_T. R._ Too many o' them bloomin' Coppers about, to _my_ mind--I'd
like to slug the lot--they're the ruin of _our_ bisness!
_Quiet Obs._ Ah, you're right _there_!
_Demagogue (to Police Sergeant)._ Now, don't you interfere--that's
all _I_ ask. _I'll_ speak to them--I have them thoroughly in hand
just now, but, if you offer them the least opposition, I--(_with much
solemnity_) well, I won't be responsible for what happens. (_He is
allowed to address the multitude._) Friends, you are met here in this
peaceful but imposing manner in the teeth of a brutal and overbearing
Constabulary, to show the bloated Capitalists, who are now trembling
behind their tills, that we mean to be taken seriously! Yes, in our
squalor and our rags----
[_Throws open frock-coat, and displays thick gold watch-chain._
_Mob._ Yah, pitch us over yer red slang! take orf that ere nobby coat!
Harristocrat! Yah!
_Dem. (complacently)._ It is true that I myself am not in absolute
destitution.--But what of that, my friends? Can I not _feel_----
[_Here a turnip strikes him in the eye. Yells of "Down with him!"
"Duck him!" "Spy!" "Traitor!" Mob pulls him down and attempts to take
him to pieces._
_Dem. (faintly)._ Here, hi, Policemen, help! Why the devil don't you
use your staves? [_Is rescued and assisted home by Police._
_A Rough (to Policeman)._ Keep moving? ah, _I'll_ move! [_Kicks him on
the knee-cap. Policeman draws truncheon and hits back._
_Crowd (indignantly)._ Boo! Coward! Strikin' a unarmed man--down with
'im! [_They beat brutal Constable to a jelly._
_The Truculent Ruffian (to Quiet Obs.)_ Are you game for a merry ole
lark?
_Quiet Obs._ You _try_ me--that's all!
_T. R._ Then, as them cowards of cops 'ave as much on their 'ands as
they kin do with, now's the time for a bit of a loot! Pass the word to
them mates o' yourn--"Pall Mall and no tyranny!"
_Quiet Obs._ I've done it--they're only waiting for _you._
_T. R. (suddenly producing red handkerchief)._ There--_now_, boys!
"Remember Mitchelstown and no brutal perlice!" Foller me!
_Quiet Obs. (arresting him)._ No, you'll follow us, please--you won't
do no good kicking, all right, mates, we've got him.
_T. R._ Oh, please, I didn't know you was a Policeman, Sir, or I
shouldn't ha' spoke! Strike me dead I was on'y in fun! (_Whimpers._)
And I've a good ole mother at 'ome, Sir.
_The Person in Search of Sensation._ What, another arrest? and simply
for showing a red handkerchief! I shall write and describe these
atrocities. How abominably these police are behaving--actually
defending themselves, the blackguards!
[_A Policeman accidentally lifts his arm, whereupon about fifty youths
scurry like rabbits; in the rush, the Person in search of Sensation
is hustled and slightly trampled on. He becomes annoyed, and hits out
right and left--eventually striking a Constable in his excitement._
_Const. (who has been without sleep for the last two days and has just
had his cheek laid open by a stone)._ 'Ere, you come along with me,
you're one of the wust, you are!
_The Person._ But I assure you, I just came to see what there was to
be seen!
_Const._ Well, you come along with me, and you'll see a Magistrit
presently.
[The Person _resists; struggle; arrival of reinforcements; exit party,
in "frog's-marching" order, conveying him to fresh sensations._
_The Lover of Liberty (emerging from crush)._ My hat ruined, my coat
split down the back, and my watch gone! I _told_ the crowd I was with
them heart and soul--and they hit me in the stomach! What do we keep
our police _for_, I want to know?
_Professional (emerging in opposite direction)._ Three red clocks, two
pusses, and a white slang, I ain't done so dusty! 'Ooray for the right
o' Free Meetin', _I_ sez!
_Genuine Unemployed (wearily)._ Well, I dunno as I see what good all
this 'ere is a goin' to do _hus_! [_And no more does Mr. Punch._
* * * * *