Transcriber’s Note.
A jump in the narrative between pages 25 and 26 suggests some text
was lost in the printing process. A note has been inserted at the
appropriate location.
Italic text is indicated with _underscores_, bold text with =equals=.
Small/mixed capitals have been replaced with ALL CAPITALS.
Evident typographical and punctuation errors have been corrected
silently. Inconsistent hyphenation has been normalised.
"One got lost, one got hung" in the verse on page 39 is as published,
but may be a misquote.
A reference to "reece monkey" on page 17 has been corrected to
"rhesus monkey".
A Table of Contents has been added by the transcriber.
Illustration captions have been placed between chapters to improve text
flow.
Green Room
Gossip
By ARCHIBALD HADDON
Crown 8vo. Cloth. =6s. 0d.= net.
A notable book on the contemporary theatre by the well-known dramatic
critic of “The Daily Express.” All the principal happenings of the
London Stage during the last few years are discussed with astonishing
freedom of expression. One of its most attractive features is a
considerable number of vivacious pen-sketches of leading actors and
actresses in their dressing-rooms. Another section “When the Censor
Nods” deals with certain notorious productions which startled London
playgoers. The book being indexed is a useful work of reference.
LONDON: STANLEY PAUL & CO.
31, ESSEX STREET, W.C.2.
[Illustration: Whimsical Walker in private life at 71 years of age]
FROM SAWDUST TO WINDSOR CASTLE
BY
“WHIMSICAL WALKER”
(_The famous Drury Lane Clown_)
With eight full page half-tone illustrations
LONDON:
STANLEY PAUL & CO.
31, ESSEX STREET, STRAND, W.C.2
_First published in 1922_
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
My father and mother. My mother dies and my father marries again. A
bad time with stepmother. When nine years old I run away. My first
“engagement.” Odd experiences. I try to be a photographer and come
to grief. Another engagement--“A living head without a body.” With
Bedell’s show at Whitby. My first “panto” part. How I got to London.
I make the acquaintance of Morris Abrahams, who sends me home. Am
engaged by Pablo Fangue, the circus proprietor. My training. Thanks
to my face I am made a clown. Pablo Fangue an admirable master.
CHAPTER II
I tramp from Bristol to London with my properties. A one-day show
with the “Retort” Circus at the Crystal Palace. The seats collapse.
I join Croueste and Nella’s Circus. A “double somersault over five
horses by the Little Clown.” An unexpected catastrophe. How I
“performed” on the slack rope. With Powell and Clarke at Southampton.
The preacher and the monkey. I appear at the Theatre Royal,
Manchester, for a benefit at Sanger’s Circus. A lion in my dressing
room! Practical joking among circus lads. Am tired of circus life and
go in for “mumming.” I take an “engagement” at Royston’s Circus at
Carlisle. Playing “Little Willie” in “East Lynne” and the “ghost” in
“Hamlet” under difficulties. Am disappointed with “mumming” and go
back to the circus. My first shave. Terrible death of Macmart, the
lion tamer.
CHAPTER III
Am engaged at Astley’s. The curious history of the theatre. Sanger’s
odd expedient against fire. I am a soldier for one night in “Fair
Rosamond.” Recreation at the “Bower Saloon.” I play the part of
a monk. The monks’ revenge on an obnoxious actor. A fight with
“Richard III.” Am pitched into the orchestra. I join Adams’ Circus in
Yorkshire. I make Marwood, the hangman, laugh. Am an unsatisfactory
witness in a police court case.
CHAPTER IV
A turning point in my career. I accept an offer to go to America and
travel with John H. Murray’s Railroad Circus. The discomforts of
crossing the Atlantic. The adventures of a jar of whisky. Our opening
show at Harlum a success. Blowing up “Hell Gate.” New York scared.
Odd experiences down south. An indignant darkie thirsts for my blood.
The clown not understood in America. A Yankee who didn’t like my
“general appearance.” A Pittsburg “burglar.” I return to England.
CHAPTER V
My second visit to America. A caravan journey across the prairies and
the Rockies from New York to San Francisco. My experiences with Red
Indians. A novel treatment of fever. Performances at San Francisco,
Java and Australia. Return to New York. A “spiritualistic” swindle.
Am engaged by Barnum, Bailey and Hutchinson. The baby elephant born
in the show becomes my playmate. An elephant’s wonderful memory. My
mysterious mission to Paris under “sealed orders.” What the sealed
letter contained--instructions to buy “Jumbo.” Agitation in London
over the proposed sale of the big elephant. The Zoological Society
accept Barnum’s offer. Proceedings in Chancery. The matter settled.
“Jumbo’s” opposition. The true story of the delay. A mishap to his
car.
CHAPTER VI
“Jumbo” shipped. The Baroness Burdett-Coutts gives him his last bun.
Arrives safely at New York. A duty of £450 demanded. My awkward
encounter with the Customs officer. Fatal accident to “Jumbo.”
Something about the Aztecs. Their curious history. I go in for
theatrical management. I start with pantomime at the Metropolitan
Alcazar, Broadway. Deverna’s extraordinary rubber “properties.” The
topical hits greatly relished. The foolish penal code. Marriages
in Barnum’s captive balloon. My benefit and the misfortune that
happened. The gallery gives way and many people injured. In five
minutes I lose all my fortune.
CHAPTER VII
I join Hengler’s Circus at Liverpool. Mr. Charles Hengler’s
peculiarities. A black or red nose? An unlucky ride in the early
morning after a late night. I break my ankle. Incapacitated for two
years. I go with Hengler’s to Dublin. My popularity. A favourite
song. I experiment with performing cats. They have stage fright.
A Dublin reporter taken aback. “Billy Gladstone.” The reporter’s
revenge. My awkward experience on the boat to Holyhead. A “Dick
Turpin” impromptu ride to York.
CHAPTER VIII
The doings of my donkeys “Tom” and “Jerry.” How I educated them. The
training of animals. A Hull doctor hoaxed. My misadventure on the
opening night at Hull. How “Tom” was taught to sing. “Jerry” suddenly
drops dead at Glasgow. “Tom’s” great cleverness. How he scared
the ballet girls at the Leicester Square Empire. “Tom” undergoes
a singular surgical operation at Bordeaux. How I said “something
nice” to Mr. Gladstone at Covent Garden Theatre. I am “commanded” to
perform before Queen Victoria at Windsor Castle. “Tom’s” misbehaviour
on this occasion. Her Majesty’s appreciation of the performance.
CHAPTER IX
I experiment with geese. A goose race in tubs. A fiasco. Sarony, the
showman artist-photographer of Scarborough. I begin the training of
geese. Their erratic behaviour. They devour the stuffing of the ring
fence. Mr. Hengler’s indignation. The Sisters Vades and their safety
net. The geese make a meal off the net and spoil the turn of the
sisters. Their doom pronounced by Mr. Hengler. How they terminated
their career. I fail to train a vicious monkey. The late King Edward
(then Prince of Wales) at Scarborough--I am permitted to join his
shooting party. I arrange a children’s cricket match at which the
Prince and Dr. W. G. Grace captain the respective sides. I get up a
comic cricket match at Hengler’s at the Prince’s request. I make up
as “W. G.” and execute a marvellous and unsuspected hit. My horse
“Spot” and his dancing on the Scarborough sands. The Scarborough
widows.
CHAPTER X
I am engaged to appear at Madrid. Something about my wonderful
game-cock. Cock-fighting in London in the ’eighties! The secret of an
Endell Street cellar. How I obtained the bird. A match between myself
and the game-cock. An Argyle Street show which took the town. A
trying journey to Madrid. The trials of Spanish etiquette. Am invited
by Royalty to a bull-fight. The singing donkey creates a furore. Also
the game-cock “turn.” My _gallio_ challenged by a Spanish champion.
The fight comes off. The Spaniard defeated. The Spanish game-cock
fanciers anxious to secure my bird. I adopt precautions for his
safety. Difficulties in the way of returning home. I succeed by a
ruse in escaping.
CHAPTER XI
Odds and ends of circus life. The “peep show” cooking stoves. How I
“had” Lord Randolph Churchill in Dublin. I distinguish myself at a
sham fight. An unscrupulous practical joker. Faked up “Zulu” warriors
and how the fraud was discovered. The story of a Birmingham Christmas
pudding. My trick canary that failed. A day’s fishing on a yacht.
CHAPTER XII
More odds and ends. How I was rescued from “drowning” at Douglas. The
mock medals. A night sensation at sea. I act as a race-course steward
at the Manx “Derby.” A good old “gag.” I personate another actor at
Warrington. Dan Leno’s champion clog dancing. Eccentric lodging house
keepers. Selling the “deadheads.” Advertisements introduced into
performing. A mean firm. Curried fowl and the disappointed supers.
Advertising an electric bell. The audience “sold.” I play at the
Cirque Nouveau, Paris. My excess of zeal.
CHAPTER XIII
American notes. A bogus boxing match. Dispersed by hose-pipe. Jem Mace
and Joe Goss. I second Mace and get the worst of it. Queer American
law. Washed away on Coney Island. An insulted Irishman. How I started
“Sequah” in business. Daring robbery of my presentation watch and
chain. Curious coincidences. Terrible death of a Barnum acrobat. I
go to America with Charlie Chaplin. An unlucky tour. The company
collapse in Seattle. The discomforts of a Seattle hospital. I return
to England. An unexpected shower bath. Chased by a hippopotamus.
CHAPTER XIV
My second visit to Australia. I train a performing horse on board. Am
engaged by Harry Rickards for a twenty-seven weeks’ tour. I play for
five nights only. Summoned to London by Mr. Arthur Collins owing to
the death of Herbert Campbell. Mr. Rickards’ luxurious home. I bathe
with sharks. I escort two wallabies to England. A strange meeting at
Colombo. I arrive in London. Death of Dan Leno. Dan’s merry pranks.
His unlucky garden party.
CHAPTER XV
Managers and actors I have known. P. T. Barnum. A wonderful
organiser. How a big circus travels. Barnum’s consideration for his
company. His little speeches. General Tom Thumb. Signor Foli and
Frank Celli. Sir Augustus Harris a born showman. The elder Harris
and his glossy hat. The value of an advertisement. My “benefit” at
Drury Lane and why it was a frost. I miss my chance in the Drury Lane
Pantomime, 1890-91, “Beauty and the Beast.” An unrehearsed incident.
I play “Mercury” in “Venus.” I am “Hamlet” at Richardson’s show in
the Olympic Carnival. A Scottish “Ghost.” A new view of “Hamlet.”
CHAPTER XVI
My first engagement at Covent Garden. My performing pig. Its
ultimate end. Some dog yarns. Animal trainers not cruel. “Verdun,”
the wonderful performing horse. How E. T. Smith swallowed a £1,000
note. A shadow in my life. My first panto at Drury Lane Theatre. A
“great cab act.” Comic film scenes indebted to the harlequinade.
The decline of the harlequinade. The clown’s difficulties with the
orchestra. Royalty at the pantomime. I present Princess Mary with a
Christmas cracker. The cracker and the cats--a practical joke. The
relief of Ladysmith--an excited audience. Arthur Roberts, the prince
of “spoofers.” Escapades at a Sheffield hotel. Pressmen “spoofed” by
a water chute. The “spooferies.”
CHAPTER XVII
Pantomimes at old “Drury.” A pantomime mishap. “Spoofing” a Hebe of
the old Gaiety buffet. E. J. Odell’s rebuke. Sitting on a corpse!
Drury Lane memories. Lady Dunlo and the ham and beef shop. I play in
Drury Lane panto from 1912 to 1920. Actors and actresses who have
played in pantomimes. Jimmy Welch and the New Clown. Mr. Arthur
Bourchier as clown in W. S. Gilbert’s “Fairy’s Dilemma.” A Crystal
Palace Pantomime. The Lupinos as children. Covent Garden fancy dress
balls. “Codding” the first prize. Dan Leno as a policeman. Baddeley
Twelfth Cake Festivities.
CHAPTER XVIII
American comic films an imitation of the English harlequinade.
Charlie Chaplin’s “method.” The modern pantomime not produced for
children. The clown’s “business” spoilt by the orchestra. A defence
of the harlequinade. Grimaldi and summer pantomimes. What a pantomime
should be. A suggestion. The best clowns with circus experience.
The art of pantomime running in families. The Leopolds, the Vokes
family, the Lupinos. The difference between a circus and a pantomime
clown. Watty Hillyard, Wallet and Tom Matthews. Mr. W. S. Gilbert as
harlequin. W. J. Payne, the “King of Pantomime.” How Dan Leno and
Herbert Campbell worked together. The clown of the harlequinade works
by himself. Sausages and the red-hot poker. The origin of the clown.
Eighteenth century pantomimes. Grimaldi. Other famous clowns. How old
circus jokes were made. A plea for the revival of the harlequinade.
CHAPTER XIX
The films. A new experience. The humours of rehearsals. Chasing a
hat. An embarrassing encounter with bees. How “little Nell” was
buried. Blowing up “old Peggotty.” The “Starting Point.” A glance
back at a life’s work.
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
_Whimsical Walker in private life at 71 years of
age_ _frontispiece_
_The best friend I ever had in the Theatrical Profession_ 32
_The Royal Windsor Castle Programme_ 64
_Whimsical Walker as old “Daniel Peggotty,” in
Hepworth’s film, “David Copperfield”_ 96
_Whimsical Walker, in his studio, writing his life_ 96
_All ready to appear before the British Public, Drury
Lane Theatre Pantomime_ 128
_Whimsical Walker as “The Single Gentleman” in
Hepworth’s film, “The Old Curiosity Shop”_ 160
_Whimsical Walker and the Drury Lane Harlequinade
entertaining the Lord and Lady Mayoress and
children at the Mansion House, London, in aid
of the Blind Children of London_ 160
_Whimsical Walker as he appeared before H.M.
Gracious Majesty Queen Victoria, by command,
Windsor Castle, 25th February, 1886_ 192
_Whimsical Walker rehearsing a love scene with Miss
Nancy Buckland, Drury Lane Theatre Stage_ 192
_Whimsical Walker enjoying the sea air, Gorleston-on-Sea_ 228
_Mr. and Mrs. W. Walker at their home at Peggotty’s
Hut, Gorleston-on-Sea, with their mascot cat
“Whimmy”_ 228
FROM SAWDUST TO WINDSOR CASTLE
CHAPTER I
My father and mother. My mother dies and my father marries again. A
bad time with stepmother. When nine years old I run away. My first
“engagement.” Odd experiences. I try to be a photographer and come
to grief. Another engagement--“A living head without a body.” With
Bedell’s show at Whitby. My first “panto” part. How I got to London.
I make the acquaintance of Morris Abrahams, who sends me home. Am
engaged by Pablo Fangue, the circus proprietor. My training. Thanks to
my face I am made a clown. Pablo Fangue an admirable master.
I was born in Hull in the year--well, it doesn’t much matter what year
it was. My mother kept a public house in Paragon Street with the odd
name of the “March of Intellect,” and it happened that Cooke’s Circus,
of which Robert Stanley Walker was manager, came to the theatre. Robert
Walker fell in love with the hostess of the “March of Intellect,”
married her, and so I was brought into the world.
I was three years old and my sister Rachel one year and three months
younger, when my mother was taken ill. She was ordered to Torquay,
where she died. Five years later my father married again, and giving up
circus life became proprietor of Castle Farm, Mile End, Hazel Grove,
Stockport.
At Castle Farm were cows, pigs, a horse, fowls, etc., and the
familiarity with animals which afterwards served me in such good stead
in later life began here. Something else must also have begun--my
“whimsicality,” only it wasn’t called by that name. I must have been
a wrong-headed urchin, always going my own way in preference to other
people’s. Anyway, according to my stepmother, I could do nothing right;
thrashings followed, and young as I was--only nine years--I made up my
mind to run away.
One day I was sent with my stepmother’s mother to Stockport market to
sell butter and eggs, and was left by her in charge of the stall. Here
was the very chance and I took it. I sold the stock on my own account
and went off with the money to Manchester.
The showman’s spirit must have been in my blood, for instinctively I
turned towards Knott Mill Fair which was being held just off Deansgate.
I chummed on with a boy I met; I treated him to hot peas, gingerbread
and nuts until I was stony broke. My new friend was a lad of resource
and introduced me to the proprietor of a tumbling booth who must have
seen something funny in my face (I doubt if it was a lovely one) which
took his fancy. “Put on some togs,” said he, “knock about on the front
of the booth and let me see how you get on.”
It was my first engagement! My salary was plenty to eat, lodging and a
penny or twopence a week. It wasn’t much, but I felt independent, and I
tried to forget I had a father of whom I was horribly afraid.
Rigged up in comic clothes, my performance was to tumble about in any
way I fancied. I suppose I must have been unconsciously “whimsical,”
for the crowd laughed, and what was more to the purpose, so also did
the show people.
I made a start at acrobatic training with the assistance of a
broomstick, trying to bend back until my head touched my heels,
but this did not suit my youthful fancy, and my ideas of a salary
enlarging, I threw up my “engagement” at the tumbling booth and took up
with a travelling photographer who gave me two shillings a week and my
board, but as I had to pay for my bed I didn’t get much out of it.
Looking back, it puzzles me how a photographer could find a boy of
nine or ten useful. For my duties were to talk to the gaping multitude
and induce them to have their portraits taken! I suppose I was a “hit”
or he wouldn’t have kept me on. I can only put it down to my innate
“whimsicality.”
I had odd experiences with the photographer. Once a hurricane blew the
whole show over. The proprietor flew into a passion, said it was my
fault and was for “firing” me right away, but altering his mind he gave
me some lessons in photography, and leaving me in charge, went off to
find a “pitch” in another town.
I suppose I imagined I was a full-blown artist, and a woman with her
baby coming along, I induced her to give me a sitting and sent her
away with an awful production for which I charged her eighteenpence.
The next day her husband descended upon me in the shape of a burly
drunken collier who threatened to kill me unless I returned the money.
Unluckily I’d spent it, but I pacified him by offering to take the lady
and baby again. He vanished into a public house, and deciding that art
was not my vocation, I fled and left the booth to its own devices. What
became of it I never knew.
Ashton Fair was on and here I presented myself and was recognised
by a showman named Randal Williams. Williams wanted a boy to play a
part called “A living head without a body,” a sort of trick which
anticipated a portion of Maskelyne and Cooke’s well-known entertainment
years after. All I had to do was to put on a wig and old whiskers and
go underneath the stage about a dozen times a day, and at a given
signal put my head through a small trap door, my body of course being
concealed. The exhibitor would then say, “Open your eyes--can you see?”
“Yes,” was my reply. “Turn your eyes to the right--now to the left.
Smoke a cigarette,” etc.
One day some mischievous urchin stuck a pin into my body. I dived down
to punch the young rascal. It was the critical moment of the show and
when the trap opened there was no head! The audience thought they had
been swindled and went for the proprietor who went for me. That was the
end of my “living head” engagement.
I then joined a hanky-panky show of conjurors. With my face blackened
I was called “Jumbo”--the recognised name in those days for a comic
nigger. I imagine I then “found” myself. I certainly was a huge success
and suddenly became the greatest boy on the parade. By the time we
reached Whitby in the winter of that year I had mastered the mysteries
of conjuring.
At Whitby Mrs. Bedell, the proprietress, rented a ramshackle structure
dubbed the “Theatre Royal,” which let in the rain to such an extent
that sometimes there were two or three feet of water under the stage.
We opened three nights a week with the “legitimate,” “Maria Martin,”
“East Lynne,” etc., and we also produced a pantomime, “The Babes in
the Wood.” I was one of the “Babes” and Polly Bedell, Mrs. Bedell’s
daughter, the other; and the scene painter was the clown, Billy Baker,
who also made the properties.
One wet night a dreadful fiasco came about. In the last scene the
two little dears ascended to Heaven after being covered with leaves
(which we collected every morning from the country) by the dear little
robins, one of which, by the way, was a huge “property” bird that
became a codfish in the harlequinade. On this particular night the box
containing the babes was ascending to Heaven when one of the ropes
broke and exit the babes under the stage into a watery grave! That was
the end of the panto.
Young as I was I noticed that a company of strolling players always had
its “character.” Bedell’s “character” was the cornet player, Stokes, who
comprised the entire orchestra. He had a wooden tooth and he could only
play when this tooth was in his mouth, and as he sometimes mislaid it
there was an element of uncertainty in his performance, which lent it
considerable charm.
The time came when I got tired of Bedell’s, and a friendly fisherman
who had a son about my own age suggested that we should go to sea
together. It was winter time and I didn’t much relish the idea.
However, I sailed with him in his smack to London, and when I was in
the crowded streets the old yearning for show life came back, and I
said good-bye to my friend the fisherman.
What I did in London for some little time I don’t exactly remember,
but one day who should I come across but an acrobatic troupe, the
Carlos Brothers, whom I had met at Manchester Fair and who--thanks I
believe to my “whimsical” face--remembered me. They were showing at the
Effingham Saloon (now called “Wonderland”), Mile End Road, built by
Morris Abrahams, who was also running the Pavilion Theatre, Whitechapel
Road.
It was a very miscellaneous entertainment that Morris Abrahams provided
for his patrons of the Effingham. Sometimes it was lurid melodrama of
the old “Vic” type and sometimes it was a variety show. Something of
the latter kind was being run when the Carlos Brothers were engaged.
My recollections of the Whitechapel and Mile End Roads of the early
sixties are quite distinct. The very wide thoroughfare, probably the
finest approach to the metropolis which London possesses, was still
countrified in some parts. There was ample room in front of many of
the inns not only for waggons to draw up, but benches and tables,
arranged in rows, for _al fresco_ refreshments, and, clean and bright
with the greenest of green paint, invited the weary traveller to sit
and rest. Here on a fine evening could be seen working men and their
wives enjoying themselves in modest fashion and taking their drink
leisurely and in comfort, a thing impossible in these days of dirty
four-ale bars. One never saw young girls take their beer or whisky as
is too often the case now.
Tea gardens and dancing platforms flourished then. There was one
favourite place of this kind on the opposite side of the Mile End Road
to that where the Effingham was situated. It was called the Eagle, I
think, and on its site the Paragon music-hall was subsequently built.
Mile End toll gate was then in existence and that queer quaint old
public house stuck almost in the centre of the road not far from the
gate was a prominent and not unsightly object. It was in the winter
when I was at the Effingham, so I did not see the glories of the
Fairlop carnival and the fireworks let off in the road without any fear
of police restrictions, which welcomed the return of the boats mounted
on wheels from the fair at the Fairlop oak, Epping Forest.
To my boyish fancy a perpetual fair went on in the great stretch of no
man’s land--afterwards I believe called Mile End “Waste”--extending
nearly a mile along the side of the Mile End Road. Penny shows, stalls
where everything which no one could possibly want was sold, hosts of
penny merchants living on their wits--and most ingenious they were
in tickling the fancy of the public--excited groups hotly discussing
any topic which might be in the air at the time--it did not seem to
matter much what--and above all, the Cheap Jack and his Dutch auction!
The Cheap Jack with his glib tongue, ready wit, and unlimited stock of
impudence, was a joy, and one could stand for an hour enjoying the fun
and not spend a penny.
Unluckily I wasn’t allowed these delights for long. Morris Abrahams
had been a “pro” nearly all his life--I believe he came out as a
dancer--and it happened that he knew my father, so that when I told
him that I’d run away he wrote home. The sequel was the arrival the
next day of a gentleman in a tall silk hat who announced that he was a
detective and that he had come to take me back to my father.
So back I went, very down, and of course was received with black looks
all round. Three days went over and my old “whimsicality” showing
itself in the shape of letting the pigs loose into the flower garden,
my father had the sense to see that the ruling passion was too strong,
and Pablo Fangue’s Circus chancing at the time to be at Stockport Fair,
I was then and there sent to Fangue, engaged by him, and in this way my
real professional life began.
Pablo Fangue, a coloured gentleman, was a thorough master of
his profession, and I have to thank him for what I subsequently
became--without vanity may I say it?--the greatest celebrity in my
particular line in the circus business. He taught me to ride, to
tumble, to perform on the trapeze, to vault over horses, and indeed all
the intricacies belonging to circus life. I must admit that I was not
over good at riding--you see, my face was not too beautiful--so I was
made a clown. I confess that I like clowning, as the audience often
threw oranges and money into the ring when I made them laugh, as I
often did.
Training for the circus meant much harder work than people may imagine.
There were three boy apprentices besides myself, and a girl (Fanny
Bluring). We boys had to get up at 6 o’clock every morning to look
after the horses, breakfast was at 8, practice at 8.30, and school at
9, excepting when we were performing at fairs.
Pablo Fangue did his duty towards us very conscientiously and sent us
to church on Sunday mornings. Of course, we preferred playing marbles,
and to satisfy our master, who always asked us what the text was, we
used to learn one by heart beforehand. Maybe the good words came too
trippingly off our tongues and so excited his suspicions, and he caught
us out by going unseen by us to the same church. That day at dinner
he was unusually nice and said quite amicably, “Well, my boys, have
you all been to church?” “Yes, sir,” we chanted. “And was it a nice
sermon?” “Oh, yes, sir.” “And what were the words?” “Jesus wept.” “Ah,
and all of you will too”--and we did.
He certainly knew something about boys’ ways, did Pablo Fangue. We used
to have sundry threepenny and fourpenny pieces given to us during the
week, and clever little Fanny Bluring was our banker. All she had to
do was to drop the little coins down the bag-like receptacle for the
flat piece of wood in front of her old-fashioned stays, and there they
remained in safety till we wanted them on Sunday, when we would gorge
ourselves with ice creams, nuts, gingerbread, and anything we fancied.
In Glasgow we spent no end of shillings with an ice cream merchant in
the Saltmarket, and our master suspecting the reason why we couldn’t
eat any dinner conspired with the iceman. The next time we had ice
creams--but I draw a veil over the sequel. For months after I could
never face an ice cream.
I was with Pablo until he died. I was then fourteen and I fancy I knew
more about animals than most boys of my age. I was entrusted to buy the
hay for the horses; I acted as veterinary surgeon, I could tell when a
horse was lame, when he was ill I knew what was the matter with him;
and all this useful knowledge I must say I owe to Pablo Fangue. He was
certainly one of the best of masters.