My friend Arthur's hobby is the stupendous. He conceives himself to
be the direct successor of the mediaeval travel-story merchants.
War-tales, of course, are barred to him, for nothing is too improbable
to have happened during the War, and all the best lies were used by
professionals while Arthur was still serving. Once, however, in his
career he has realised his ambition to be taken for a perfect liar,
and that time he happened to be speaking the simple truth. I was his
referee and he did it in this wise.
When ALLENBY was making his last great drive against the Turk, he was
no doubt happy in the knowledge that Arthur and I were pushing East
through Bulgaria to take his adversary in the rear. We pushed with
speed and address, but just when it looked as if we should exchange
the tactical for the practical we stopped and rusticated at the hamlet
of Skeetablista, on the Turco-Bulgarian frontier.
Skeetablista was under the control of Marko and Stefan and an assorted
following of Bulgar cut-throats. Although the mutual hatchet had been
interred a bare three weeks we found ourselves among friends. Thomas
Atkins was soon talking Bulgarian with ease and fluency, while his
"so-called superiors," as the company Bolshevik put it, celebrated the
occasion by an international dinner in Marko's quarters. The dinner
consisted chiefly of rum (provided by us) and red pepper (provided by
Marco and Stefan).
These latter were bright and eager youths from Sofia military academy,
and while the rum and red pepper passed gaily round they talked the
shop of their Bulgarian Sandhurst in a queer mixture of English
and French. They made living figures for us of the KAISER, who had
inspected them not long before, of FERDIE and of BORIS his son, and
told moving tales of British gunfire from the wrong end. We countered
with KITCHENER, LLOYD GEORGE and the British Navy, while outside in
the night the Thracian wolves howled derisively at both alike.
"I should like plenty to travel away and see the other countries,"
said Marko, rolling us cigarettes after dinner. "This is a good
country, but _ennuyant_. 'Ow the wolfs make plenty _brouhaha_
to-night, _hein_? Stefan, did you command the guard to conduct our
frien's 'ome?"
Stefan waggled his head from side to side in assent.
"Yes," continued Marko, "to see Italie, Paris, Londres. Particulierly
Londres."
"I live in London," Arthur remarked.
"You live?" said Marko with interest. "Tell me, 'ow great is Londres?"
"How great?" repeated Arthur, doubtful what kind of greatness was
indicated, moral or material.
"_Oui_, 'ow great? From one side to the other side?"
"Oh, I see," replied Arthur, and took thought. "About twenty-five
kilometres, I suppose."
"Twenty-five!" Marko's eyes rounded with astonishment. "_Ecoute,
Stefan; vingt-cinq kilometres._"
"But--but," demanded Stefan, "'ow many people is there?"
"About six millions," replied Arthur, swelling with pleasure. At last
he had found his incredulous audience.
"But that is a nation! I do not know if there are so many in all
Bulgarie," cried Marko. "'Ow do they travel? No droski could go so
far--it is a day's march. But perhaps you 'ave tramway? In Sofia we
'ave tramway," he added, not without pride.
"There are trams, but most of the people travel in buses----"
"Bussesse?" interjected Stefan. "_Qu' est-ce que c'est_, bussesse?"
"Lorries--_camions_. Big automobiles containing many people. And there
are also underground railways, railways under the ground in a tunnel.
You know tunnels?"
"_Oui, galleria._ But a railway under a town--_mon Dieu!_" said Marko,
appalled. "'Ow do the people descend to it?"
"In lifts--_ascenseurs_. From the street."
Stefan nodded assent. "I 'ave seen _ascenseurs_ at Sofia," he said.
"In these tunnels," continued Arthur, visibly warming to his work,
"trains go to all parts of the town every three minutes, and the cost
is only twenty _statinki_. The streets above are paved with wood."
"With _wood! Kolossal!_" said Marko, forgetting our prejudice
against Bosch idiom in his wonder at this crowning marvel.
To what lengths of veracity Arthur would have gone I never knew,
for at that moment a trampling of feet and a hoarse command outside
announced the arrival of our escort, and Marko, still in a sort of
walking swoon of amazement, went out to give them their orders.
Stefan regarded us with twinkling eyes.
"Ah, _farceur!_" he remarked, shaking his finger waggishly at Arthur.
"I know all the time you make the joke, but poor Marko, you 'ave
deceived 'im _absolument_. Railway under the ground, streets of wood,
'e swallow it all. Oh, naughty _Baroutchik!_"
The wolves did not come near us and our escort on our way home,
but they could have had Arthur for the taking. At the moment he had
nothing left to live for.
* * * * *
"Johannesburg tramway men started a lightning strike on
Thursday owing to the suspension of a conductor."--_Daily
Paper._
It seems a logical reason.
***
"Do not waste any time in entering for our 'Hidden' Geography
Competition."
_Daily Paper._
Thanks for the advice; we won't.
***
"LINACRE LECTURE.--Dr. Henry Head, F.R.L., 'Aspasia and
Kindred Disorders of the Speech.'"--_Cambridge Calendar._
Yet this is the lady who is supposed to have inspired the most famous
of PERICLES' orations.
***
"Furnished Railway Carriage in Surrey garden to Let; 3 beds;
company's water, gas-cooker, and light: 2gs. weekly."
_Daily Paper._
Miss DAISY ASHFORD seems to have foreseen this development when she
wrote of _Mr. Salteena's_ "compartments."
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE RELUCTANT THRUSTER.
MR. ASQUITH (_performing the function of a battering-ram_). "I CONFESS
THAT AT MY TIME OF LIFE I SHOULD HAVE PREFERRED A MORE SEDENTARY IF
LESS HONORIFIC SPHERE OF USEFULNESS."]
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Profiteer (after trying a variety of patterns without
success)._ "WELL, IT LOOKS PRETTY 'OPELESS WHEN THEY WON'T 'AVE A GOLD
FLY. WHAT DO THEY EXPECT--DIAMONDS?"]
* * * * *