We were sitting in the verandah, Ernest and I. On the greensward before
us Ernest Junior and James Junior (I am James) disported themselves as
became their years, which were respectively 1-3/4 and 1-5/8. In the
middle distance, or as middle as the size of our lawn permits, might be
seen the mothers of Ernest Junior and James Junior deep in conversation,
discussing, perhaps, the military prowess of their lords, though I
rather fear I caught the word "jumper" every now and then.
A loud difference of opinion between James II. and Ernest II. as to the
possession of a wooden horse momentarily disturbed the peaceful scene.
It was left to Ernest and myself to settle it, our incomparable wives
being still completely engrossed with the subject of our military
prowess (or of jumpers). When quiet reigned once more Ernest said, "Have
you ever looked twenty years on?"
"Practically never," I answered. "It is too exhausting."
"It is exhausting, but with my usual energy I do it all the same," said
Ernest, who is as a fact the world's champion lotus-eater. "Last night I
was picturing a little scene in the year 1940. Shall I tell you of it?"
And without waiting for my assent he proceeded:--
"The scene is laid in an undergraduate's rooms. Ernest Junior and James
Junior are discovered in _négligé_ attitudes and the conversation
proceeds something like this:--
"_Ernest Junior._ What are you going to do with yourself in the Vac.?
"_James Junior._ I shall go abroad, in spite of my choice of objectives
being so terribly restricted.
"_Ernest Junior._ Why restricted?
"_James Junior._ Well, I wouldn't say this to anybody else, but to tell
you the truth it is impossible for me to go to either France, Belgium or
Italy. You see my dear old father was in these countries during the
first Great War, and if I were so much as to mention them he'd never
stop talking. If I were to say that I proposed spending a fortnight in
the Ardennes it would let loose such a flood of reminiscence that I
should hardly get away before next term begins.
"He gets a little confused too at times. He told me the other day a long
story about the relief of Ypres, and he also boasted of having himself
captured a large number of Turks on the Somme.
"And it isn't only that. My mother was a V.A.D. in France, you know. And
when the old man had done talking of Ypres and the Somme she'd begin
about Rouen and Etaples."
I laughed, but without mirth, for I did not really think this at all
funny. And after all I might have said just the same about Ernest, if
only I'd thought of it first.
* * * * *
"CHAR-À"-VARIA.
[_The Manchester Daily Dispatch_ gives a most distressing
account of the bibulous hooliganism which is becoming more
rampant week by week among char-à-bancs trippers.]
The patrons of the charabang
Employ the most outrageous slang
And talk with an appalling twang.
Their manners ape the wild orang;
They do not care a single hang
For sober folk on foot who gang,
But as they roll, with jolt and clang,
For parasang on parasang,
They cause a vulgar _Sturm und Drang_.
They never heard of Andrew Lang,
Or even Mr. William Strang;
They are, I say it with a pang,
A most intolerable gang;
In fact I wish them at Penang
Or on the banks of Yang-tse-Kiang--
_Some_ folk who use the charabang.
* * * * *
"Wanted, a good, clean General, for private."--_Provincial
Paper_.
Discipline is going to the dogs.
* * * * *