RED PAINT AT
OXFORD
Sketches
BY
“PISH” AND “TUSH”
London
GREENING & CO., LTD.
20 CECIL COURT, CHARING CROSS ROAD
1904
PREFACE.
These little sketches must not be taken too seriously, and it must not
be imagined that they describe the most prominent characteristics of
the good sportsmen portrayed in them. We have only turned our attention
to the lightest side of their ’Varsity careers because we think that
the most amusing; but nearly every one of the Undergrads referred to
has distinguished himself in some less lurid but more useful way. Five
‘Blues’ altogether have been amassed among the gentlemen who move about
and have their being herein; while the Pilot upset the odds of 33 to 1
freely laid against him, scraped through on the rails with a rush at
the finish, and secured a creditable ‘First.’ When he is Archbishop of
Canterbury, Freddy hopes to be in the Cabinet, and, it appears already
during the short year that has elapsed since we all ‘went down,’ that
Squiff is well on his way to ruling a Province in India. Who knows
whether he and the Pilot, in alliance, may not yet be the means of
converting that most hearty blot of Ink the Rajah of Jellipore!
ONE AUTHOR.
THE OTHER.
LONDON, _May, 1904_.
CONTENTS.
PAGE.
I. ON MOTORING TO TOWN 1
II. A QUIET EVENING 15
III. CONCERNING THE THEATRE 27
IV. THE MUTUAL HELP SOCIETY 53
V. ON THE STRENUOUSNESS OF LIFE 67
VI. RUGGER NIGHT 87
VII. HOW WE RAGGED “THE SUBURBAN” 105
VIII. AN “EIGHTS’ WEEK” 119
RED PAINT AT OXFORD.
I.
ON MOTORING TO TOWN.
Freddy said it was very cheap, and so I went, having only seven and
sixpence, which I had borrowed from our landlady.
Freddy had less.
Soon after eight I was aroused by Freddy’s acrobatic treble and the
shrieks of an impossible check suit.
He mentioned that he was coming to breakfast with me as the men in his
digs never came down till ten.
Just then the Pilot announced in a loud and penetrating voice that
‘a perspiring stinkocar had arrived outside’ and so I hastened on my
dressing to the accompaniment of ‘The Miller’s Daughter,’ played by
Freddy with one finger and the loud pedal down.
In the middle of the second kidney there was a loud report from the
street, and Mrs. MacNab, whose cat consumes an abnormal quantity of our
whisky, rushed into the room exclaiming that ‘the Chuffer had brought
round the hengine.’
Hastily rising I ran down into the street and found a pair of legs
performing strange antics on the kerbstone, while their owner’s head
appeared to be in the petrol tank, at least a voice from that direction
declared ‘the whole of the ---- ---- petrol has gone and (adjectived)
itself away.’
This edifying remark was accompanied by a series of alarming though
apparently harmless reports which did not in the least affect the
equanimity of the person under the car.
By this time Freddy, having consumed ‘kidneys and bacon for three,’
appeared in the doorway, disguised in a mangy fur coat and a pair of
hideous black goggles.
He straightway proceeded to haul the unknown out of the petrol tank by
his legs, at the same time enquiring with unnecessary heat ‘Why they
had not pumped that mess in at the shop?’
To which query the Chauffeur replied that ‘They never did nothink at
the shop.’
This answer appeared to satisfy Frederick, who boarded the smell-cart
without further parley, and, having seated the Chauffeur behind,
pounced upon a sort of lever arrangement, whereupon the car gave two
awesome leaps, I jumped aboard, and we found ourselves at some distance
from the house.
The Pilot, who appeared in a dressing-gown at the top window, bestowed
a pantomimic blessing on us as we shot away, followed by the ironical
cheers of two small boys and the Swithin’s Hall man from next door,
who had kept an early chapel and was accordingly most obnoxious.
We had scarcely passed Magdalen when Freddy informed me in a hurried
gasp that we were bound for London, which communication constrained me
to remind him that our joint capital only amounted to thirteen and six,
but he merely muttered something unprintable and put on full speed.
We narrowly missed a milkman in Iffley Road and an early bicyclist only
just escaped an equally early death.
It was at this point that P.C. Robert Swiller hove in sight; we only
noticed a red and angry face but failed to catch his remarks, which,
to judge from the way he stamped on the pavement, must have been of a
forcible nature.
I think that after this I must have dozed--the Swithin’s Hall man plays
till 1.30 a.m.--for the next thing I remember was a violent concussion
which threw a heavy oil-can on to my foot and the Chauffeur into the
ditch.
Freddy, whose ordinary conversation is sprinkled with epithets that do
not bear repetition, referred to the ancient rustic whose hay-cart we
had shattered, as ‘a d--d old crawler,’ and added insult to injury by
enquiring why his rotten hearse was in the middle of the road.
On the yokel pointing out that our car was in fact in that position,
and that his cart was almost in the ditch, Freddy repeated his former
statement and seemed to think that that closed the discussion. Not so
the rustic, who showed an aggressive desire for compensation, which
was only appeased by Freddy generously presenting him with my card and
remarking that I would see he was paid.
After a short inspection of the ruins we proceeded, and no further
incident occurred until we reached Maidenhead, where we bagged a
chicken and a small spaniel. Freddy declared that their loss would not
be felt and we went straight ahead.
In the next village, Freddy, who resembles a blotting-pad in his
capacity for absorbing liquid, stopped abruptly before the ‘Sow and
Scissors’ for a reviver.
After this operation, I, mindful of our victims at Maidenhead, firmly
declined to mount the car again unless Freddy gave up the steering
wheel to the Chauffeur; this he did, and we soon reached Slough.
Shortly afterwards we entered the village of Little Pudley at thirty
miles an hour, marking our passage by a slight entanglement with the
village pump; however Freddy succeeded in jerking off the handle before
it caught him in the wind, and so no harm was done beyond leaving a
portion of our splash-board in the well. The calm of our progress
through Hounslow and Chiswick was unbroken, and I was wiping the dust
from my eyes preparatory to a gentle snooze, when without any warning
except a violent shock, which threw my hat into the neighbouring
gutter, the car stopped abruptly; and although we tried each of the
handles in turn and subsequently all together, the sparrow-starver
remained motionless.
Frederick then spoke.
When the air had cleared we discovered that the Chauffeur was again
seeking the seclusion of his beloved petrol tank, but reappeared with
astonishing rapidity just in time to avoid a shower of greasy black
liquid which spread itself about the pavement.
Freddy shrieked ‘jump,’ and we jumped.
Immediately afterwards the car, groaning hideously, made with fearful
speed for a saddler’s shop, and was only prevented from entering by
an opportune collision with a lamp-post. This appeared to annoy the
death-trap, for it blew out its bonnet and then reclined peacefully
against a metropolitan water-trough, from which all efforts to move it
were unavailing.
After a hasty palaver we consigned the dam-thing to the Chauffeur and
made for the Shepherd’s Bush Tube. We journeyed as far as Notting Hill
Gate, and there Freddy, having borrowed my few remaining shillings,
left me and went in search of his female cousin. This compelled me
to lunch with one Timmins, a man of the Inner Temple, honoured by
my acquaintance, but as he had had no warning of my arrival I was
obliged to make the best of two old chicken legs and some rather
older Gorgonzola, and after borrowing a couple of sovereigns from
him, I treated him to a theatre. On crossing Piccadilly, after the
performance, we were surprised to see Freddy engaged in altercation
with a cabman in front of the Criterion. We crossed over to speak to
him and the guileless one seized the opportunity to borrow half a
sovereign from Timmins, whose purse and patience are inexhaustible.
Then having disposed of the quarrelsome Jehu we decided to take
the Templar to dinner at the Cabanero, which invitation he readily
accepted, possibly with the idea of getting some return for his money.
To fill up the time Timmins suggested the Aquarium, a place that both
Freddy and I detest, but as we had borrowed about fifty shillings from
the unfortunate man, we felt that this was the moment for a graceful
concession.
On our arrival we let Timmins out of the hansom first, but in spite
of this subtle move I was compelled to pay the cabby, and then firmly
resisting an impassioned appeal from a golden-haired lady in the
entrance to give her a bracelet or something else, we passed the
turnstiles and made with one accord for the nearest bar.
I am unable to state the precise number of cherry brandies that
Freddy had consumed during his absence from my care, but his lady
cousin appeared to have had a distinctly exhilarating effect
upon him. At any rate after two lagers had been followed by a
sherry and bitters, he manifested a desire to dance, which was
only suppressed by the advent of a uniformed attendant with a
Bow-Street-and-seven-shillings-or-three-days glitter in his eye. The
small sum of half-a-crown mollified this dignitary, a view of whose
face was--as Freddy remarked--cheap at the price.
Then, while Freddy and I were watching a lady in scanty costume who
was advertised to dive from the roof into a six-foot tank, Timmins
disappeared. After forty minutes’ diligent searching, which involved
on Freddy’s part a frivolous conversation with the young lady at the
assorted jewellery stall, we came upon the wanderer.
He was seated in the centre of the crystal maze and a strong odour
of patchouli, exchanging vows of undying affection with a lady of a
certain age and uncertain character.
The cab, in which we then set out for the Cabanero, cost me another
half-crown, and the dinner which followed took nearly all our remaining
bullion.
However it was a great success.
Towards the end Freddy expressed a violent antipathy to the colour of
the Turkish gentleman who served us with coffee, and was only quieted
by the strains of the ‘Girl from Kays’ from the orchestra.
Dinner over, we were going downstairs, when Freddy, who appeared unable
to find the bannisters, grasped the hand of an ancient and enamelled
dowager who was laboriously ascending, and, greeting her effusively,
enquired ‘if her mother knew she was out.’ Leaving the venerable relic
speechless and perspiring, we saved ourselves from rough treatment at
the hands of the attendants by bolting hatless into Piccadilly Circus,
and here we saw the last of Timmins.
He leant into our cab, and after explaining pathetically that he had
no money to pay his washing bill and that he had pawned his mother’s
photograph, propped himself wearily against the railings and took no
further interest in the proceedings.
Our arrival at Paddington a few minutes after nine was marked by wild
cheers on Freddy’s part and the disbursement of my last eighteenpence.
A short interview with the station-master resulted in the exchange of
my card for two third singles to Oxford, and a final shilling’s worth
at the expense of Blandford, who was returning from the funeral of an
imaginary aunt, filled up the time till the train left.
After a few minutes’ travelling Freddy remarked that he would feel more
comfortable in the rack, and proceeded to climb up there. A little
later we covered him with a seat cushion as he felt cold, and all slept
peacefully till Didcot.
When we reached the draughty junction Blandford and I left Freddy,
who appeared to be asleep, in search of lip-salve; but we had barely
reached the refreshment room when loud crashes, followed by curious
oaths and several heavy bumps, brought us back to find Freddy
struggling with an inspector and two porters, while a lamp and the
window of the third class waiting-room were much the worse for wear.
We conveyed him to our carriage--N.B. I gave the inspector my card--and
except for throwing out a seat cushion at Culham, he relapsed into
comparative inaction.
The cab in which we reached 129 St. Aldate’s was paid for by Mrs.
Corker, and Blandford stayed to see Freddy to bed.
When I arrived at our digs the door was opened by Mrs. MacNab, whose
cat seemed to have been imbibing with unusual freedom; and I found the
Pilot, who had just returned from a bridge party, anxiously measuring
the decanter with a pipe-cleaner.
It just occurred to me, as I was going up to bed, that I had given my
card to the hay-cart proprietor, to the station-master at Paddington,
and the inspector at Didcot, all of whom would have to be satisfied in
the morning, while I had to repay Timmins two pounds odd, and liberally
fee the Oxford porter whom Freddy had struck somewhere amidships.
Freddy said it would be very cheap; well, perhaps it was.
II.
A QUIET EVENING.
Accrington called it coffee, but Reggie stipulated for a bottle
of brandy to be kept in the cupboard. As Freddy and I climbed the
staircase in the corner of the Quad we heard the strident tones of our
host proclaiming that he was ‘looking for a needle in a haystack.’
This, however, did not in any way justify Freddy’s throwing an empty
tobacco tin at him immediately on entering the room, and it seemed only
just that the others should show their disapproval of this action by
throwing their cushions at Freddy. I alone missed him, but the Pilot
was rude enough to say that I must have aimed at Freddy, because I got
in a bull’s-eye on a tray containing glasses and syphons which was
balanced on a Japanese stool in the corner.
When peace had been restored, Reggie, addressing no one in particular,
remarked, ‘The Pilot was seen at the gathering at Martyrs’ Memorial
last night.’
‘You’re an artistic liar,’ replied the Pilot, who is not as meek as
he looks. And the slight struggle that ensued awoke Fatty, who was
peacefully perusing ‘Pick-me-up’ in the corner.
‘I don’t know whose rooms these are,’ he murmured sleepily, ‘but it
is customary among gentlemen to offer refreshment to a visitor upon
arrival;’ and then, after a plaintive pause, ‘I have been here just
three-quarters of an hour.’ After his thirst had been satisfied he was
led to the piano, and proceeded to play ‘Hiawatha,’ ‘in order,’ as
Reggie explained, ‘to get it over.’
‘Henry Dalston,’ said Freddy, addressing the pianist, ‘as a balloon you
are incomparable, but as an ivory-thumper you only take a gulf, and if
the same would swallow you up it would be better still.’
‘He takes,’ said Accrington wearily, ‘he takes at least five pounds’
worth of use out of my piano every term; “Hiawatha” about plays itself
now.’
‘Then why don’t you make him hire a piano?’ said Reggie.
‘He used to,’ put in Freddy with a gurgling laugh, ‘until we played it
the night he was in London, and the Dean had it sent out of College
before he came back.’
These revelations were interrupted by Reggie suggesting bridge.
He once taught a Colonial Governor the game at a Swiss mountain hotel,
and the Pilot, who was with him, said he made enough to keep them in
smokes for a week.
‘Reggie’s getting too uppish about bridge,’ I remarked, as Accrington
produced the cards, ‘he thinks he’s rather an authority.’
‘Nobody,’ replied Reggie, severely, ‘nobody is an authority on any
game till he can be sure of winning money off his opponents.’
‘How many does it take to play bridge?’ asked Fatty, peevishly, from
the window-seat; ‘I hate these card games, they’re always so dull.’
‘Then you shan’t be dull, Henry dearest,’ said Freddy, landing upon
Fatty’s lower chest, and then, as he led him by his starboard ear into
Accrington’s bedder, ‘Come with your Frederick, and let us cuddle
together.’
As they disappeared, Accrington, moved by reminiscences of former quiet
evenings, called after them uneasily:
‘Kindly refrain from throwing my pyjamas out of the window, and do not,
O do not, spread water about the floor.’
‘The only complaint I have to make against the owner of this
public-house,’ said Reggie, as the Pilot dealt in the slow and solemn
manner peculiar to him, ‘is that when I came in at the ordinary
excursion hour of 1.15 this morning, and demanded a “corpse reviver,”
the licensed victualler, who had retired to bed, refused to provide me
with anything.’
‘Freddy, who is doing contracts, says that if you don’t get what
you want, you may take what you can get, so I took three oranges, a
brandy-bottle, and my leave. It was only after Maberly had borrowed
the bottle, and served it out to seven men whom he found sleeping in
his rooms on his return from the theatre, that Accrington arrived
in a costume that was hardly decent, to remark that I had taken the
methylated spirits. Of course we went round to see what could be done,
but, as Maberly said they had got through three-quarters of the bottle,
we decided to leave them in peace.’
‘Especially as,’ added Accrington, ‘when we shouted at them from the
Quad, a coal-box, two boot-trees, and an alarm clock suddenly came
through the window more or less in our direction.’
‘The only sad thing about it,’ said the Pilot, as he quietly trumped
his opponent’s trick, ‘is that Accrington must have meant to drink
those spirits himself, which in one so young is positively painful.’
‘Two in diamonds,’ I said, as I put down the score.
‘And one in the footbath,’ yelled Freddy through the open door, as a
splash was heard, and Fatty appeared, dripping from the effects of an
immersion in Accrington’s tub.
I rose from the table and wiped Fatty tenderly down with an
antimacassar; I have noticed that he always repays attentions like
these by a sumptuous luncheon, or the gift of a choice cigar imported
from Borneo by Dalston senior.
‘Your deal, Martha,’ said the Pilot, as Fatty collapsed heavily into
the best chair.
I had just started when a sound of frenzied yells from the Quad caused
me to pause for a moment; the shrieks grew louder, and a string of
guttural oaths in very low German floated up the staircase.
‘Sport the oak,’ shrieked Accrington, but as Freddy reached the door
it flew open, and the portly form of von Graussman, our Rhodes Scholar
from the Fatherland, burst in and fell flat upon the floor.
‘I did my best, you fellows,’ panted Cobson, who followed with a red
and perspiring face, ‘but he’s rather fatigued, and he’s been sitting
on the flower-bed under the Dean’s window for the last half-hour. We’ve
put him to bed three times, but he only threw his water-jug out of
window, and then came down and posed as Adam in the Quad.’
Von Graussman suddenly sat up, and remarked in a disconnected and
peevish way, ‘Hoch der Kaiser,’ after which patriotic effort he
mechanically reached for the brandy-bottle on the table near at hand.
As he removed the stopper with a shaky hand, his eye suddenly lighted
on Fatty, who was gazing dreamily at the ceiling. A sudden crack
followed, as the decanter caught the unfortunate Henry on the lower
jaw, and spread its contents down his waistcoat. Fatty rose with a yell
which would have done credit to a wild Indian, and, picking up the
poker, made for the German who appeared to be quite unconscious of what
he had done.
As he had propped himself against the fender and was softly crooning
the ‘Wacht am Rhein,’ even Fatty saw that violent retaliation was out
of the question, and having emptied a syphon down von Graussman’s back,
in order, as he said, to wake him up, he retired to change his suit.
The silence which followed his disappearance was broken by Cobson
remarking that it was ‘time to get old Grausser to bed.’
‘Right oh!’ said Freddy, who is always ready for an emergency, ‘just
you keep a watchful eye upon him while I search for his song-book.’ It
is well known to all members of Cecil’s, that the only way to get von
Graussman to bed is to let him sing a song. After he has polished off
a German students’ drinking chorus, a child of three could manage him
with ease.
Unfortunately, as we raised the fuddled foreigner to his feet,
Farmborough, who puts the weight for the ’Varsity, and was practising
in the Quad, put a clod of earth through our window. Any little trifle
like this is enough to disconcert von Graussman, who immediately made a
clear sweep of the ornaments on the mantelpiece, and threw them in one
clattering cloud on to Farmborough’s head. The immaculate de Beresford,
who was crossing the Quad, received a bowl of chrysanthemums over his
new winter waistcoat, while the Junior Porter, who had just emerged
from the Dean’s staircase, was taken somewhere amidships by a carriage
clock.
At the first signs of this fresh disturbance, Accrington had hastily
sported his oak, but the hoarse curses of von Graussman soon drew the
offended parties to the right door, on which they continued to thump
with ever-increasing vigour.
The application of a syphon to the letter-slit proved unavailing, and
as Cobson had to be back in his digs at eleven, it was imperative to
make a sally. The German, who had seated himself in the coal-scuttle,
was past help, so we tied him to his throne with a towel, and removed
all possible missiles from within his reach. Having taken these
precautions, we armed ourselves with our host’s last two syphons and
some rotten oranges which we found in the coal bunker, and prepared for
a sortie.
‘They seem to have left off that d----d row,’ said Freddy, ‘but they’re
probably waiting for us on the landing, so throw back the portal, and
we’ll rout the foe.’
As the door swung back we saw a dim figure on the landing. Reggie took
careful aim and caught it in the face with an elderly orange, Freddy
bowled a chunk of coal at its feet, while Cobson got in a bull’s-eye
with a syphon. The sallying party then retired in good order.
‘I say, Martha, who was that?’ queried Freddy as we closed the door.
‘It looked to me like Farmborough,’ I replied.
‘But,’ said the Pilot, who always raises objections, ‘this was in
evening dress, and Farmborough hasn’t been out.’
Just then some person, or persons, unknown, struck a staggering blow
on the oak outside. This noise aroused von Graussman, who moved
into a commanding position opposite the door, unavoidably taking
the coal-scuttle with him. The next thing was the voice of the Dean
demanding entrance, which caused the warlike spirit of the company
to evaporate instantaneously. Accrington, with the skill born of
long practice, concealed himself beneath the sofa, Reggie and I
shared his bed, the Pilot, who had taken but a small part in the
proceedings, sought the seclusion of the coal-bunker, while Freddy and
Cobson stowed themselves behind the piano. Our efforts to induce von
Graussman to hide were futile; he still retained his position, and his
loudly-expressed contempt for all in authority was, I am told, audible
three staircases off.
The jingling of keys outside announced to the expectant but invisible
audience, that the Junior Porter was opening the oak, and the Dean
made an imposing entrance to the strains of the ‘Lustige Brüder,’ as
rendered, somewhat indistinctly, by the Graf von Graussman.
As the Dean entered, von Graussman rose with some difficulty, and after
making a low obeisance--accompanied by the coal-scuttle--addressed the
Rev. Fanny in a short but impressive speech which commenced with ‘Mein
geliebte und hochwohlgeborn Herr Professor Doktor,’ and ended, after
indistinct rumblings, with the words, ‘damnable inshult,’ ‘Faderland’
and ‘Timeforbed.’
After this elocutionary effort was finished, he announced in a feeble
voice, that he ‘wongohometel morring,’ and then fell heavily into
the fender. The Dean (who has not used the letter R since childhood)
remarked nervously, ‘This is a howwid spectacle,’ to which the Porter,
who makes a point of agreeing with everybody, replied, ‘Yes sir,
certainly sir, of course sir.’
‘I fear the gentleman is partially, or even totally, inebwiated,’
continued the Dean, more to himself than the Porter, and then ‘we will
wemove him to his bedwoom,’ which they proceeded to do.
As soon as the melancholy procession had passed down the staircase, a
black and dispirited face appeared from the coal-bunker, and suggested
that the party should leave for some other and less stirring part of
the College.
‘It’ll be allright for Grausser,’ said Freddy, ‘dear old Fanny had a
sister who died at twenty-nine from drinking eau-de-cologne, and he’s
had a friendly feeling for the noble army of thirst quenchers ever
since.’
‘I should suggest that Accrington takes to his virtuous couch,’ said
Cobson, as we prepared to depart; ‘if you put a night-shirt over your
clothes, and get into bed, you will naturally be too sleepy to answer
any questions the Dean may ask. We’ll turn out the electric.’
We descended the stairs without attracting any attention, and just
reached the shelter of Fatty’s rooms as the Rev. Fanny and the Junior
Porter returned to Accrington’s staircase.
Unfortunately, though Accrington was too sleepy, as Cobson predicted,
to answer the Dean’s questions, Fanny spotted a stiff collar protruding
from under the surplice, and retired saying that he would draw his own
conclusions, and leaving a distinct chill behind him. Anyhow it was
a very pleasant evening, and, as Accrington said, it was cheap at the
price of four days’ gating. The two pounds which von Graussman paid
the Sub-Treasurer, and the three weeks during which he remained in
College after hall, presumably for the good of his health, are they not
duly recorded in the Chronicles of Cecil College, and of Bartholomew
Wilkinson, its Dean?
III.
CONCERNING THE THEATRE.
It was quite sudden.
We were walking down the Corn one Monday morning when a poster in
front of the Hyde, depicting a lady whose skin was black, whose hair
was red, and whose clothing consisted of a string of beads, attracted
our attention. The legend above, ‘The Cannibal Girl, Grand Theatre,
To-night,’ and the words below in large letters, ‘Queenie Hareham,’
appeared to move Freddy to tender memories. He gazed at the amazing
specimen of modern art for fully three minutes, sighed heavily, and
then went straight off to take tickets for Monday and Saturday.
Squiff, who can celebrate any occasion, even that of his aunt’s death,
with a light heart and much whisky, happily suggested a large lunch to
some of the girls.
We decided to give it in Freddy’s digs, for as Squiff, whose real
name is the O’Rossa and who is descended from Michael, second King of
Ulster, naïvely said, ‘They’re accustomed to that sort of thing at our
place.’
Before the curtain fell on Monday evening fifty young gentlemen had
sent fifty notes inviting one or more of the ladies of the company
to any or every meal for the coming week. It is not remarkable in
the light of subsequent events that Miss Kiddy Childe returned an
unqualified refusal to all invitations and that the guardian of the
stage-door paid off the back instalments of his rent on the following
day.
Freddy returned from the performance in a state of ecstatic delight,
and repeatedly alluded to the good times that were coming.
‘What’s it like?’ I asked.
‘Glorious,’ replied Freddy, ‘and where Eileen takes Venus in the
private theatricals scene its simply colossal. Here’s the programme.’
And this is what I read:--
THE CANNIBAL GIRL.
_Book by Tottenham Kort. Lyrics by Frederick Freshleigh.
Music by Peter Pedyll._
JACK WARMLEIGH Mr. Reginald Craven.
ANGUS MACPHEE, M.D. Mr. Hardoph Erin.
MAJOR PHILIP FITZGIGGIN, D.S.O. Mr. Fairlie Dunn.
CAPTAIN TITUS GINSLING (S.S. ‘Oboko’) Mr. Pensell Ingpen.
THE O’HOOLIGAN (Purser) Mr. Sidney Cruikshank.
SOTITE (The King’s Executioner) Mr. Freke.
NOKOP (The Medicine Man) Mr. John Philips.
HON. ALLAN CHARTERIS, R.N. Mr. P. Gardner.
JETHRO P. HEEPZOTIN (The minced-meat magnate) Mr. Lyon Fybbe.
KING CASKOWISKI Mr. Stainer Black.
DOWAGER COUNTESS BEREHAMPTON Miss Ethel Gay.
EILEEN MAXWELL Miss Ina Carlton.
MRS. JACK WARMLEIGH Miss Kiddy Childe.
LILO } { Miss Tiny Trimmer.
NOCLO } The King’s favourite wives { Miss Tweenie Tarn.
TOOTOO } { Miss Ruby Ramsden.
MRS. MOPPER (Stewardess) Miss Lucinda Tubb.
LADY BETTY BACKSTAYS Miss Delia Kaardt.
AND
HON. MRS. CHARTERIS (late Pussie Pynkley
of the Jollity Theatre) Miss Queenie Hareham.
Islanders, Guests, etc.:--Misses Lily Lingery, Legge, Hawke,
Sharpe, Ferrars, Dacent, Milsom, Hamilton, Bond, Jones; Messrs.
Davidson, Moss, Lowe, Hart, Isaacs, Disraeli, Braun, Joseffi,
Sydenham, Hill.
ACT I. The beach at Dufrutus Island.