Even _The Times'_ "agony column," my staple reading during
toast-and-marmalade, suffers from the all-pervading war. Old friends
have dropped out of the column on its war march. No longer does the
Young Gentleman yearning for the idyllic life call on the charitable to
provide him with a year of perfect ease, comfort and luxury. I had hoped
to meet him some day, to draw out his confidences, perchance to edit his
memoirs. "My Check is My Fortune" would be a catchy title. But
apparently the War has put him out of business. The idyllic life has
gone. Another victim.
His place is being filled by the Sportsman, eager to be up and
shooting--partridges. "Either singly or with a house party," he offers.
He asks only for board, lodging and ammunition. These provided, he is
willing to go for the enemy all September and October.
Another Sportsman, humbler in aspiration, is prepared to specialise on
rabbits. He is ready to continue the fight until "Peace terms dictated
in Berlin by Allies."
There has also arisen the Professional Rescuer. He offers to go
abroad--for a cash consideration--and smuggle back stranded relatives.
He does not give particulars of personal appearance, but one may imagine
him as essentially Williamlequeuish--small dark moustache, super-shrewd
eyes, Homburg hat, a revolver in every pocket, speaking six languages
more fluently than the natives, and on terms of intimacy with half the
diplomats of Europe. He would open his conversation with a casual: "The
last time I was chatting with the KAISER (I shall, of course, cut him in
future)...."
Another occupation has been called into being by the War. It is that of
Berth-Snatcher. He is apparently a City man who has realised all his
securities and invested them in berths and staterooms on Atlantic
Liners. These he now offers "at a small bonus"--exact amount unstated.
Also interesting is the occupation of Amateur Adviser. He has much
well-intentioned advice to offer to all and sundry: "To the War Office.
It is hoped that something is being done regarding," etc. Or: "Japan,
our Ally, could easily lend us half a million men."
Presumably the Amateur Adviser has been denied place in the
correspondence columns.
The Young Hungarian Nobleman, whose remittances have been stopped by the
war, is reminiscent of the original yearner for the idyllic life. "Is
supposed to be of good appearance," he states with obtrusive modesty.
But the romantic halo around these young aristocrats is rather tarnished
by the Young French Vicomte. When he advertises that he "would
thankfully accept some clothes from English or American gentlemen," one
suspects a snug little second-hand business somewhere in savoury Soho.
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