[_Later; the Company are playing "Hide the Thimble"; i.e., someone has
planted that article in a place so conspicuous that few would expect to
find it there. As each person catches sight of it, he or she sits down._
UNCLE JOSEPH _is still, to the general merriment, wandering about and
getting angrier every moment_.
MR. C. That's it, Uncle, you're _warm_--you're _getting_ warm!
UNCLE J. (_boiling over_). _Warm_, Sir? _I am_ warm--and something more,
I can tell you! [_Sits down with a bump._
MR. C. You haven't _seen_ it! I'm sure you haven't seen it. Come now,
Uncle!
[Illustration: "_Warm_, SIR? I _am_ WARM--AND SOMETHING MORE!"]
UNCLE J. Never mind whether I have or have not. Perhaps I don't _want_
to see it, Sir!
THE CHILDREN. Then do you give it up? Do you want to be told? Why, it's
staring you in the face all the time!
UNCLE J. I don't care whether it's staring or not--I don't want to be
told anything more about it.
THE CHILDREN. Then you're _cheating_, Uncle--you must go on walking till
you _do_ see it!
UNCLE J. Oh, that's it, eh? Very well, then--I'll walk!
[_Walks out, leaving the company paralysed._
MRS. C. Run after him, Tommy, and tell him--quick!
[_Exit_ TOMMY.
MR. C. (_feebly_). I think when Uncle Joseph does come back, we'd better
try to think of some game he _can't_ lose his temper at. Ah, here's
Tommy!
TOMMY. I _told_ him--but he went all the same, and slammed the door. He
said I was to go back and tell you that you would find he _was_ cut
up--and cut up rough, too!
MRS. C. But what did you tell _him_?
TOMMY. Why, only that Parpar asked him to come to-night because he was
sure to cut up well. You said I might!
[_Sensation; Prompt departure of_ TOMMY _for bed; moralising by
Aunts; a spirit of perfect candour prevails; names are called--also
cabs; further hostilities postponed till next Christmas_.
On the Ice.
SCENE--_The Serpentine. On the bank, several persons are having
their skates put on; practised Skaters being irritable and
impatient, and others curiously the reverse, at any delay in
the operation_.
CHORUS OF UNEMPLOYED SKATE-FASTENERS. 'Oo'll 'ave a pair on for an hour?
Good Sport to-day, Sir! Try a pair on, Mum! (_to any particularly stout
Lady_). Will yer walk inter _my_ porler, Sir? corpet all the w'y! 'Ad
the pleasure o' puttin' on your skites last year, Miss! Best skates in
London, Sir! [_Exhibiting a primaeval pair._
THE USUAL COMIC COCKNEY (_to his Friend, who has undertaken to instruct
him_). No _'urry_, old man--this joker ain't _arf_ finished with me yet!
(_To_ SKATE-FASTENER.) Easy with that jimlet, Guv'nor. My 'eel ain't
'orn, like a 'orse's 'oof! If you're goin' to strap me up as toight as
all that, I shell 'ave to go to _bed_ in them skites!... Well, what is
it _now_?
SKATE-FASTENER. Reg'lar thing fur Gen'lm'n as 'ires skates ter leave
somethink be'ind, jest as security like--_anythink_'ll do--a gold watch
and chain, if yer got sech a thing about yer!
THE C. C. Oh, I dessay--not _me_!
SKATE-F. (_wounded_). Why, yer needn't be afroid! _I_ shorn't run
away--you'll find _me_ 'ere when yer come back!
THE C. C. Ah, that _will_ be noice! But all the sime, a watch is a thing
that slips out of mind so easy, yer know. You might go and forgit all
about it. 'Ere's a match-box instead; it ain't silver!
SKATE-F. (_with respect_). Ah, you _do_ know the world, _you_ do!
THE C. C. Now, Alf, old man, I'm ready for yer! Give us 'old of yer
'and.... Go slow now. What's the Vestry about not to put some gravel
down 'ere? It's downright dangerous! Whoo-up! Blowed if I ain't got some
other party's legs on!... Sloide more? Whadjer torking about! I'm
sloidin' every way at once, _I_ am!... Stroike out? I've struck sparks
enough out of the back o' my 'ed, if that's all!... Git up? Ketch me!
I'm a deal syfer settin' dayown, and I'll sty 'ere! [_He stays._
A NERVOUS SKATER (_hobbling cautiously down the bank--to Friend_). I--I
don't know how I shall _be_ in these, you know--haven't had a pair on
for years. (_Striking out._) Well, come--(_relieved_)--skating's one of
those things you never forget--all a question of poise and
equi--confound the things! No, I'm all right, thanks--lump in the ice,
that's all! As I was saying, skating soon comes back to--thought I was
gone that time! Stick by me, old fellow, till I begin to feel my--Oh,
hang it _all_!... Eh? surely we have been on more than five minutes!
Worst of skating is, your feet get so cold!... These _are_ beastly
skates. Did you hear that crack? Well, _you_ may stay on if you like,
but I'm not going to risk _my_ life for a few minutes' pleasure! [_He
returns to bank._
THE FOND MOTHER (_from bank, to_ CHILDREN _on the ice_). That's right.
Alma, you're doing it _beautifully_--don't _walk_ so much! (_To_ FRENCH
GOVERNESS). Alma fay bocoo de progray, may elle ne glisse assez--nayse
par, Ma'amzell?
MADEMOISELLE. C'est Ella qui est la plus habile, elle patine deja tres
bien--et avec un aplomb!
THE F. M. Wee-wee; may Ella est la plus viaile, vous savvy. Look at
Ella, Alma, and see how _she_ does it!
MAD. Vous marchez toujours--toujours, Alma; tachez donc de glisser un
petit peu--c'est beaucoup plus facile!
ALMA. Snay pas facile quand vous avez les skates toutes sur un
cote--comme _moi_, Ma'amzell!
F. M. Ne repondy a Ma'amzell, Alma, and watch Ella!
ELLA. Regardez-moi, Alma. Je puis voler vite--oh, mais vite ... oh I
_have_ hurt myself so!
ALMA (_with sisterly sympathy._) _That's_ what comes of trying to show
_off_, Ella, darling! [ELLA _is helped to the bank_.
A PATERNAL SKATE-FASTENER. 'Ere you are, Missie--set down on
this 'ere cheer--and you, too, my little dear--lor,
_they_ won't do them cheers no 'arm, Mum, bless their little 'arts!
Lemme tyke yer little skites orf, my pooties. _I'll_ be keerful,
Mum--got childring o' my own at 'ome--the moral o' _your_ two, Mum!
[Illustration: "SNAY PAS FACILE QUAND VOUS AVEZ LES SKATES TOUTES SUR UN
COTE--COMME MOI!"]
THE F. M. (_to_ GOVERNESS). Sayt un homme avec un bong ker.
Avez-vous--er--des cuivres, Ma'amzell?
THE P. S. (_disgustedly_). Wot?--only two bloomin' browns fur tykin' the
skites orf them two kids' trotters! I want a shellin' orf o' you fur
that job, _I_ do.... "Not another penny?" Well, if you do everythink as
cheap as you do yer skiting, you orter be puttin' money by, _you_ ought!
That's right, tyke them snivellin' kids 'ome--blow me if ever I--&c.,
&c., &c. [_Exit party, pursued by powerful metaphors._
THE EGOTISTIC SKATER (_in charge of a small_ NIECE). Just see if you can
get along by yourself a little--I'll come back presently. Practise
striking out.
THE NIECE. But, Uncle, directly I strike out, I fall down!
THE E. S. (_encouragingly_). You will at first, till you get into
it--gives you confidence. Keep on at it--don't stand about, or you'll
catch cold. I shall be keeping my eye on you! [_Skates off to better
ice._
THE FANCY SKATER (_to less accomplished_ FRIEND). This is a pretty
figure--sort of variation of the "Cross Cut," ending up with "The Vine";
it's done this way (_illustrating_), quarter of circle on outside edge
forwards; then sudden stop----(_He sits down with violence_). Didn't
quite come off that time!
THE FRIEND. The sudden stop came off right enough, old fellow!
THE F. S. I'll show you again--it's really a neat thing when it's well
done; you do it all on one leg, like this----
[_Executes an elaborate back-fall._
HIS FRIEND. You seem to do most of it on no legs at all, old chap!
THE F. S. Haven't practised it lately, that's all. Now here's a figure I
invented myself. "The Swooping Hawk" I call it.
HIS FRIEND (_unkindly--as the_ F. S. _comes down in the form of a St.
Andrew's Cross_). Y--yes. More like a Spread Eagle though, ain't it?
PRETTY GIRL (_to_ Mr. ACKMEY, _who has been privileged to take charge
of herself and her_ PLAIN SISTER). Do come and tell me if I'm doing it
right, Mr. Ackmey. You _said_ you'd go round with me!
[Illustration: "GO IT, OLE FRANKY, MY SON!"]
THE PLAIN S. How can you be so _selfish_, Florrie? You've had ever so
much more practice than _I_ have! Mr. Ackmey, I wish you'd look at my
left boot--it _will_ go like that. Is it my ankle--or what? And this
strap _is_ hurting me so! Couldn't you loosen it, or take me back to the
man, or something? Florrie can get on quite well alone, can't she?
MR. A. (_temporising feebly_). Er--suppose I give _each_ of you a hand,
eh?
THE PLAIN S. No; I can't go along fast, like you and Florrie. You
promised to look after me, and I'm perfectly helpless alone!
THE PRETTY S. Then, am I to go by myself, Mr. Ackmey?
MR. A. I--I think--just for a little, if you don't mind!
THE PRETTY S. Mind? Not a bit! There's Clara Willoughby and her brother
on the next ring, I'll go over to them. Take good care of Alice, Mr.
Ackmey. Good-bye for the present.
[_She goes_; ALICE _doesn't think_ MR. A. _is "nearly so nice as he used
to be."_
THE RECKLESS ROUGH. Now then, I'm on 'ere. Clear the way, all of yer!
Parties must look out fur themselves when they see _me_ a comin', I
carn't stop fur nobody!
[_Rushes round the ring at a tremendous pace._
AN ADMIRING SWEEPER (_following his movements with enthusiasm_). Theer
he goes--the Ornimental Skyter! Look at 'im a buzzin' round! Lor, it's a
treat to see 'im bowlin' 'em all over like a lot er bloomin' ninepins!
Go it, ole Franky, my son--don't you stop to apollergise!... Ah, there
he goes on his nut agen! _'E_ don't care, not _'e_!... Orf he goes
agin!... That's _another_ on 'em down, and ole Franky atop--'e'll 'ave
the ring all to 'isself presently! Up agin! Oh, ain't he _lovely_! I
never see his loike afore nowheres.... _Round_ yer go--that's the
stoyle! My eyes, if he ain't upset another--a lydy this time--she's done
_'er_ skytin fur the d'y any 'ow! and ole Frank knocked silly.... Well,
I ain't larfed ser much in all my life! [_He is left laughing._
In a Fog.
(_A Reminiscence of the Past Month._)
SCENE--_Main thoroughfare near Hyde Park. Time_ 8 P.M. _Nothing
visible anywhere, but very much audible; horses slipping and
plunging, wheels grinding, crashes, jolts, and English as she
is spoke on such occasions._
MRS. FLUSTERS (_who is seated in a brougham with her husband, on their
way to dine with some friends in Cromwell Road_). We shall be dreadfully
late, I know we shall! I'm sure Peacock could go faster than this if he
liked--he always loses his head when there's much traffic. Do tell him
to make haste!
MR. F. Better let him alone--he knows what he's doing.
MRS. F. I don't believe he does, or he wouldn't dawdle like this. If you
won't speak to him, I must. (_Lets down the glass and puts out her
head._) Peacock!
A BLURRED SHADOW ON THE BOX. Yes, M'm.
MRS. F. What are we stopping for like this?
THE SHADOW. Fog very thick just 'ere, M'm. Can't see what's in front of
us, M'm.
MRS. F. It's just as safe to keep moving as to stand still--go on at
once.