Once upon a time there was a quiet respectable little
spell-of-hot-weather, with no idea of being a nuisance or doing
more than warm people up a bit, and make the summer really feel like
summer, and add attraction to seaside resorts. Directly it reached our
shores every one began to be happy; and they would have gone on being
so but for the sub-editors, who cannot leave well alone but must be
for ever finding adjectives for it and teasing it with attentions.
Just then they were particularly free to turn their attentions to the
kindly visitor, because there was no good murder at the moment, and no
divorce case, and no spicy society scandal, and therefore their pages
were in need of filling. And seeing the little spell-of-hot-weather
they gave way to their passion for labelling everything with crisp
terseness--or terse crispness (I forget which)--and called it a "heat
wave," and straightway began to give it half the paper, and with huge
headings such as, "THE HEAT-WAVE," "HEAT-WAVE STILL GROWING," "80 IN
THE SHADE," "HOW TO SUPPORT SUCH WEATHER," so that the nice little
spell-of-hot-weather was gradually goaded into the desire really to
justify this excitement.
"Very well," it said, "I never meant to be more than 80 in the shade
and a pleasant interlude in the usual disappointing English June; but
since they're determined I'm a nuisance I'll be one. I'll go up to
84."
And it did. It reached 84; and the wise people who like warmth
said, "How splendid! If only it would go on like this for ever! Not
hotter--just like this.".
But the sub-editors were not satisfied. They had got hold of a good
thing and they meant to run it for all it was worth. So "HOTTER THAN
EVER" they sprawled across their papers, there still being nothing of
real public interest to distract them, "HOTTER TOMORROW," "HEAT-WAVE
GROWING," "TERRIBLE HEAT."
And now the spell-of-hot-weather was stimulated to be really vicious.
"I call Heaven to witness," it said, "that my sole desire was to be
genial and beneficial. But what can one do when one is taunted and
provoked, abused and nick-named like this? Very well then, I'll go up
to 90!"
And it did. The sub-editors were delighted. "APPALLING HEAT," they
wrote, "TROPICAL ENGLAND," "GASPING LONDON," "HEAT-WAVE BREAKS ALL
RECORDS," "HOTTEST DAY FOR FIFTY YEARS," "NO SIGNS OF RELIEF."
And even the people who like warmth began to grumble a
little--hypnotised by the Press. But the spell-of-hot-weather had had
enough. "I'll go somewhere else, where I'm really welcome and they
don't have contents bills," it said, and it crossed the Channel to
Paris. It looked back to the English shores, deserted now by the happy
paddlers and bathers and baskers of the days before. "I'm sorry to
leave you," it said, "but don't blame me."
Yet the public did.
* * * * *
"The downpour of rain, which lasted for an hour, was preceded
by a remarkable shower of hailstones, some of which were
almost as large as marbles, and were as hard as ice."
_Yorkshire Herald._
And then came the rain, some drops of which were as wet as water.
* * * * *
"The tussle between Mr. Matheson and Mr. Anderson was carried
to the 18th green, where the latter stood one."--_Daily
Record._
"Mine's a gin and ginger," said Mr. MATHESON, as he holed the winning
put.
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE CREATION OF A MASTERPIECE OF MILLINERY.]
* * * * *