Some people would die rather than talk aloud in a 'bus; others would rather
die than hold their peace there. This second kind is more fun, and four of
it made part of my journey the other day from Victoria to Oxford Street (I
forget the number of the 'bus, but it goes up Bond Street) much less
tedious. They were all young women in the latest teens or the earliest
twenties, and all were what is called well-to-do, and they were fluent
talkers.
Years ago, when poor LEWIS WALLER was at the height of his fame, we used to
hear of a real or fictitious "Waller Club," the members of which were young
women who spent as much time as they could in visiting his theatre and
rejoicing in the sight of his brave gestures and the sound of his vibrant
voice. It was even said that they had a badge by which they could know each
other; although on the face of it, judging by what sparse scraps of
information concerning the nature of woman I have been able painfully to
collect, I should say that segregation would be, in such a case as this,
more to their taste.
Be that true or only invented, it is very clear that in spite of the War
and its shattering way with so many ancient shibboleths the cult of the
actor is still strong; for this is the kind of thing that lasted all the
way from Hyde Park Corner to Vere Street:--
"Did you see him the other day in that ballet? Of course I knew he could
dance, because he can do everything, but I never thought he was going to be
so gloriously graceful as he was."
"But surely you ought to have known. Don't you remember him as the Prince
at the LORD MAYOR'S Ball?"
"And what a wonderful figure he has!"
"I couldn't help wishing that he had only stained his legs instead of
putting on red tights."
"My dear!!!"
"It's his grace that's the wonderful thing about him, I always think. His
ease. He moves so--how shall I put it?--so, well, so easily and
gracefully."
"Don't you love him when he stands with his hands in his pockets?"
"My dear, yes. But what a wonderful tailor he goes to. I always used to
tell my brother to try and find out where his things were made and go to
the same place."
"But of course it's the way clothes are worn much more than the clothes
themselves. I mean, some men can never look well dressed, whereas others
can look well in anything."
"But he does go to the best tailor, I'm sure."
"How many times have you seen this new piece?"
"Six."
"Only six! I've seen it eleven."
"I've seen it three times."
"I've seen it five times; but one of those doesn't count, because when we
got there we found he was ill with chicken-pox. Wasn't that rotten luck?"
"I heard he had been ill, but I didn't know what it was. Was it really
chicken-pox?"
"Yes, poor darling."
"Fancy him having a thing like that! I suppose it's part of the price of
keeping so young."
"Oh, yes, isn't he young!"
"They say this thing's going to run for years."
"I hope not. I want to see him in something new. It's so wonderful how he's
always the same and yet always different."
"I want him to be in every play. I never go to one without thinking how
much better he would be than the other leading man."
"I saw that little what's-his-name imitate him the other evening. Really
it's rather a shame."
"Yes, I've seen it. I couldn't help laughing, but I hated myself for it.
I'm sure, too, he doesn't waggle his head like that."
"No! I couldn't see the point of that at all; but the people shrieked."
"Pooh, they'd laugh at anything."
"What did you like him best of all in?"
"That's difficult. Of course he was priceless as the policeman. But then he
was priceless as the American too, in that thing before this."
"Well, I think--"
And so on. Except that I never mention his name, and I have suppressed the
titles of the plays, this is practically an exact reproduction of the
conversation. Naturally many of the sentences overlapped, for ladies no
less than gentlemen often talk at the same time; but otherwise I have
reported faithfully.
And who was the subject of these eulogies? You will guess at once when I
say that he is probably the only actor in history who is referred to more
often by his Christian name only than by his surname or full name. These
young women who adored WALLER spoke of him not as LEWIS, but as LEWIS
WALLER; and that is the usual custom. The divine SARAH is perhaps the only
other histrion, and she is a woman, who may be spoken of simply as SARAH,
with no risk of ambiguity. Ordinarily, as I say, we use either the surname
only or the surname and Christian name combined, as ELLEN TERRY, VIOLET
LORAINE, GEORGE GRAVES, GEORGE ROBEY, LESLIE HENSON, NELSON KEYS. But these
four devotees referred to their hero always as GERALD; just GERALD.
* * * * *
[Illustration: Mr. Punch's Navy Pages]
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Gallant Major (temporarily in the care of H.M.'s Navy)._
"ANOTHER ONE OF THAT SORT AND--I SHALL DO AS I LIKE."]
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Survivor from U-Boat._ "KAMERAD! KAMERAD! IF I VOS ON LAND
I VOS HOLD UP MEIN HANDS!"
_Ordinary Seaman._ "WELL, YOUR FEET 'LL DO INSTEAD."]
* * * * *
[Illustration: _A.B._ "GIVE US YER KNIFE." _Boy._ "AIN'T GOT IT."
_A.B. (with bitter scorn of non-essentials)._ "GOT YER WRIST-WATCH ALL
RIGHT, I S'POSE?"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Apollo._ "I NEVER SAID NOTHING TO 'ER--DID I?"
_Neptune._ "NO. BUT YOU WAS TRYIN' ON ONE OF YER FASCINATIN' LOOKS."]
* * * * *
[Illustration: ECHOES FROM JUTLAND.
_Wine Steward (acting as one of Ammunition Supply Party)._ "WILL YOU TAKE
LYDDITE OR SHRAPNEL, SIR?"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: SNOOKER POOL AFLOAT.
_Commander (as the black he has tried to pot threatens to touch the port
cushion)._ "LIST HER TO STARBOARD!"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE "DAMNÉD SPOT."]
* * * * *
[Illustration: "YOU OUGHT REALLY TO MANAGE TO GET BLOWN TO BITS SOMEHOW,
NOBBY. YOU'D MAKE A CHAMPION JIG-SAW PUZZLE."]
* * * * *
[Illustration: "HEY, DONAL'! HERE'S A WEE BETTLESHIP COMIN' ALONG."
"OCH! A WISH IT MICHT BE A U-BOAT."]
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Old Lady._ "PARDON ME! I SUPPOSE YOU'VE JUST COME FROM THE
SEA. CAN YOU TELL ME WHY I'VE HAD TO PAY A PENNY MORE FOR SCALLOPS
TO-DAY?"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Landlord._ "WHATEVER DID YOU LET THE FIRE OUT FOR? WHY
DIDN'T YOU PUT SOME COALS ON?"
_Stoker._ "NOT LIKELY! I'M ON LEAVE, I AM."]
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Friend._ "SEE YOU'RE IN A HURRY. WON'T KEEP YOU. OFF TO
ADMIRALTY, I SUPPOSE?"
_Sub-Lieutenant H.M.S. "Unbendable."_ "NOT EXACTLY. FACT IS I'M DUE AT MME.
GIROUETTE'S ACADEMY. STRUCK AGAINST A COUPLE OF NEW STEPS IN THE FOX TROT
AT THE PILKINGTONS' LAST NIGHT--RATHER WORRIED ME. BYE-BYE. MUST SHOVE
OFF!"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Apologetic Golfer._ "I SHOUTED 'FORE!' YOU KNOW."
_Sailor._ "WELL, YOU'VE HIT ME AFT!"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Tar (by way of opening the conversation)._ "AHEM! BEEN OUT
IN THE LIFEBOAT OFTEN, MISS?"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Jones (who in going through his wardrobe has unearthed a
memento of happier days at Margate)._ "WELL, IF THEY SHOULD CALL UP THE
FORTY-FIVES, I THINK IT WILL HAVE TO BE THE NAVY."]
* * * * *
[Illustration: _The Artist (impatiently)._ "FOR GOODNESS' SAKE PUT SOME
EXPRESSION INTO IT! JUST IMAGINE YOU'VE COME THROUGH A TERRIBLE
EXPERIENCE--SHIP TORPEDOED--YOU SOLE SURVIVOR. AFTER CLINGING TO A
BELAYING-PIN NINETEEN HOURS IN THE OPEN SEA YOU ARE RESCUED AT THE LAST
GASP. YOU ARE NOW RELATING YOUR ADVENTURES TO YOUR AGED PARENTS."
_Model (obligingly)._ "THAT'S ALL RIGHT, SIR--I CAN MANAGE IT. BUT EXCUSE
ME. DID YOU SAY EIGHTEEN HOURS, OR WAS IT NINETEEN?"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: _King Alfred (founder of the Navy)._ "MADAM, I WAS
EXPERIMENTING ON BISCUITS FOR MY SEA-DOGS."]
* * * * *
"LET HER GO!"