He boarded the 'bus just as it was leaving Piccadilly Circus. "Full
ahtside," chanted the conductor, so the A.B. squeezed into a totally
inadequate space between a girl of sixteen and an elderly and
benevolent-looking lady. Squaring himself forward, he placed a hand
like a boxing-glove on either knee and glanced genially up and down
the 'bus. He was a large man, dark and hairy, and it was quite easy
to associate him with pigtails, tar and cutlasses. After the first
impression there came to one a sense of something odd and un-nautical.
Then one became suddenly aware that, instead of the regulation Navy
cap, he was wearing a rough woollen tam-o'-shanter, which hung coyly
over one ear.
A thin man in a top-hat was the first to notice it.
"Still pretty cold in the North Sea?" he ventured, with an eye upon
the tam-o'-shanter.
"So I've 'eard," the sailor replied guardedly; "but this 'ere," he
touched his headgear, "ain't an Arctic brow-mitten. I got this from
a friend, 'avin' lost me own little 'at jest after the second torpedo
was fired."
"Gracious!" ejaculated the elderly lady, and the occupants of the 'bus
became magnetised to attention.
"Now that's extremely interesting," exclaimed the thin man with a
nervous movement of his hand; "could you tell us the name of the
ship?"
"Can't say as I can, Sir," was the discouraging reply.
"Of course not, of course not," spluttered a testy old gentleman in
white spats; "a very injudicious question in a public conveyance." He
glared at the thin man with intention.
"Sort o' fancy name she 'ad," the sailor continued, quite unmoved by
this outburst; "fact she was a bit fancy all round."
"Ha! disguised, I presume?" exclaimed the old gentleman, his
discretion for a moment overcome.
"Did she float for any length of time after being torpedoed?" The thin
man put the question with a legal incisiveness.
"Went to pieces like a paymaster's digestion as soon as the second
mouldy got 'er. Most unnatural."
He rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand and ruminated on the
peculiarity of it.
"I suppose you got dreadfully wet?" the elderly lady asked feelingly.
"Well, Mum," he said gravely, "I wasn't exactly dry. Yer see, after
the show sharp squalls set in from the Sou'-west, an' me 'avin' made
fast to my mate's bow awnin', I 'adn't no claim to the umbereller. So
I did get a bit soused round the superstructure, but not, so to speak,
flooded right down to my propeller casins."
"Dear! dear! How truly terrible."
She relapsed into silence convulsively, while the old gentleman
wheezed with great ferocity and muttered something about a good answer
to a d----d silly question.
"A submarine, of course?" The thin man pursued his examination
relentlessly.
"So we presoomed from events which 'appened later."
"Artful them blinkin'--beg pardon, ladies--pirits is," vouchsafed a
man of toil from the far end of the 'bus; "my brother wot's----"
"All this occurred at night, I assume?" the old gentleman interrupted
snappily.
"Yes, Sir, it was an evenin' performance." He glanced out into
the murky night. "Put me down at Sydney Terrace," he said to the
conductor.
"Wy, ye're there nah," grumbled that caustic individual as he jerked
sharply at the bell-cord.
"Well," exclaimed the thin man as the sailor rose to go, "I
congratulate you very heartily on your good luck--very heartily
indeed!"
For the first time the hero of the incident seemed to exhibit signs of
impatience.
"Good luck!" he repeated sarcastically. "Call it good luck to 'ave
your cap pinched out o' the 'arf-dollar seats an' then 'ave to take
yer best girl 'ome in this crabbin' _chappoo_. I'm goin' to see the
brass-'atted owner to-morrow, an' if 'e don't pay out I'll wreck
the 'ole bloomin' theatre. Good luck, yer call it!" He swung off the
foot-board and disappeared into the gloom, muttering incoherently.
* * * * *
"He--he!" tittered the flapper. It was the only audible comment on the
situation.
* * * * *
"A War Office statement this afternoon reports another
successful operation by Australian and New Zealand mounted
troops in Egypt.
At the enemy port of Barsalmana the enemy were compelled to
abandon their camp, and were then combed by aeroplane."
_Liverpool Echo._
An appropriate sequel to a brush with the Cavalry.
* * * * *
"If you stand the piano out into the room, you will want a
cur-choke soup, mayonaise of lamb, macaroni with tomatoes."
_Ladies' Paper._
In the interests of the cur it would be more merciful to keep the
piano in the corner.
* * * * *