DEAR MR. PUNCH,--This is one of those social problems which end by
asking what A should do, only in this case I want to know what you would
do.
It happened on the first day of my leave, just after I had, as is my
custom on this day, had my hair cut and otherwise made beautiful at a
place in Bond Street. (I am afraid this sounds as if I was a rich man,
but really I am a Naval Officer.)
I was wearing--well, that would not interest you, but it really was
rather a pleasant suit, with a hat which even _The Daily Mail_ could not
improve upon. Briefly, I was strolling along in a perfectly contented
frame of mind when a horse, drawing a van, chose to fall down right
alongside me.
In a moment of rashness and chivalry--have I said that the horse was
being driven by a girl?--I promptly sat on the brute's head, an act
which I had always been told is the correct thing to do, though, I
should imagine, discouraging for the horse.
In my haste I sat down with my back to the van, so was unable to gauge
the progress of the refitting work which was going on.
In an effort to convey to the crowd, which had, of course, collected,
that I was in no way embarrassed, nay more, that I was well accustomed
to sitting on horses' heads in the middle of Bond Street, I lit
a cigarette and tried to look _blasé_, no easy thing to do in the
circumstances.
Small boys made tactless remarks about my personal appearance and
eccentric habits, but I ignored them, feverishly thinking that this
adventure would necessitate an early visit to my club. I had just
decided what brand of cocktail would best meet the case when I felt a
tap on my shoulder and looked up at a vast blue expanse which I realised
later was a policeman.
"If you've quite finished with that there 'orse you're sitting on, young
man," he said, "the leddy wants to take it 'ome."
The crowd chuckled and I rose hurriedly. Unfortunately, so did the
horse, urged on, possibly by the cries and kicks of several willing
helpers, or possibly by the sight of his mistress, who had come up, I
hoped, to thank me.
Not only did the horse rise, but he rose at full speed and without
giving me time to get my foot off the rein on which I was unwittingly
standing.
My leg shot into the air and I lost all sense of direction for a few
seconds. Then a slight shock, and I found myself clasping the "leddy"
firmly round the neck.
At this juncture my aunt appeared.
My aunt, I should explain, is nothing if not dignified. She is built on
the lines of a monitor, bluff in the bow, broad in the beam, slow and
majestic of movement. Her lips were moving feebly when I saw her, but
she uttered no sound, uncertain, I suppose, whether to intervene or to
pretend that I was in no way connected with her.
Paralysed by her arrival, I saw her slowly take in the scene. Her eye
wandered from the policeman to me, from me to the unfortunate girl
to whom I still clung. I could see her jumping--no, moving
ponderously--towards the wrong conclusion.
Mr. Punch, what would you have done?
Yours faithfully, An N. O.
[Your first thought should have been for the girl, whom you had clearly
compromised in your aunt's eyes. You should at once have introduced her
to that lady as your long-lost _fiancée_. Later in the afternoon you
could have called on your relative and told her that you had mislaid the
girl again--this time irretrievably.--ED.]
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[Illustration: THE FOLLY OF ATHENS.