An admiring group has collected before an enormous pin-cushion in
the form of a fat star, and about the size of a Church-hassock.
_First Soldier_ (_to his Companion_). Lot o' work in _that_, yer know!
_Second Soldier_. Yes. (_Thoughtfully_.) Not but what--(_becoming
critical_)--if I'd been doin' it _myself_, I should ha' chose pins
with smaller 'eds on 'em.
_First S._ (_regarding this as presumptuous_). You may depend on
it the man who made _that_ 'ad his reasons for choosing the pins he
did--but there's no pleasing some parties!
_Second S._ (_apologetically_). Well, I ain't denying the _Art_ in it,
am I?
_First Woman_. I _do_ call that 'andsome, SARAH. See, there's a star,
and two 'arps, and a crownd, and I don't know what all--and all done
in pins and beads! "Made by Bandsman BROWN," too!
[Reading placard.
_Second W._ Soldiers is that clever with their 'ands. Four pounds
seems a deal to ask for it, though.
_First W._ But look at the weeks it must ha' took him to do!
(_Reading._) "Containing between ten and eleven thousand pins and
beads, and a hundred and ninety-eight pieces of coloured cloth!" Why,
the pins alone must ha' cost a deal of money.
_Second W._ Yes, it 'ud be a pity for it to go to somebody as 'ud want
to take 'em out.
_First W._ It ought to be bought up by Gover'ment, that it
ought--they're well able to afford it.
A select party of Philistines, comprising a young Man, apparently
in the Army, and his Mother and Sister, are examining Mr.
GILBERT'S Jubilee Trophy in a spirit of puzzled antipathy.
_The Mother_. Dear me, and _that_'s the Jubilee centrepiece, is it?
What a heavy-looking thing. I wonder what _that_ cost?
_Her Son_ (_gloomily_). Cost? Why, about two days' pay for every man
in the Service!
_His Mother_. Well, I call it a shame for the Army to be fleeced for
_that_ thing. Are those creatures intended for mermaids, with their
tails curled round that glass ball, I wonder? [She sniffs.
_Her Daughter_. I expect it will be crystal, Mother.
_Her Mother_. Very likely, my dear, but--glass or crystal--_I_ see no
sense in it!
_Daughter_. Oh, it's absurd, of course--still, this figure isn't badly
done, is it supposed to represent St. GEORGE carrying the Dragon?
Because they've made the Dragon no bigger than a salmon!
_Mother_. Ah, well, I hope HER MAJESTY will be better pleased with it
than I am, that's all.
[After which they fall into ecstasies over an industrial
exhibit, consisting of a drain-pipe, cunningly encrusted with
fragments of regimental mess-china set in gilded cement.
Before a large mechanical clock, representing a fortress, which
is striking. Trumpets sound, detachments of wooden soldiers march
in and out of gateways, and parade the battlements, clicking, for
a considerable time.
_A Spectator_ (_with a keen sense of the fitness of things_).
What--all that for on'y 'alf-past five!