"And so," said TIME, as he carefully arranged his forelock before a
mirror in the corridor, in reply to a communication recently made
to him by _Mr. Punch en route_, "and so we're to make a regular
rollicking night of it'? You insist on taking me into every Music
Hall in Seriocomix, hey, you young dog, you! Well, well, Sir, I'm not
so young as I used to be--but I'm as fond of a bit of good honest
wholesome fun as ever I was. So lead on!"
[Illustration]
They were in Seriocomix--a new and brilliant planet recently
discovered by _Mr. Punch_--by the aid of WELLER's patent
double-million gas-magnifying microscope (extra power). This star,
as all astronomers are by this time aware, is a howling waste of
extraordinary density, and occupied entirely by Music Halls, which
TIME, for some inexplicable reason, was desirous of visiting in _Mr.
Punch's_ company.
_Mr. Punch_, though considerably TIME's junior, almost envied his
companion's boyish eagerness for pleasure; he was so evidently
unfamiliar with Music Halls.
"If you are expecting to be vastly amused, Sir," _Mr. Punch_ ventured
to hint, "I am afraid you may be just a trifle disappointed."
"Disappointed?" said TIME; "not a bit of it, Sir; not a bit of it!
Isn't a Music Hall a place of entertainment? You've plenty of them
where _you_ come from, haven't you? They wouldn't be filled night
after night, as I'm given to understand they are, if they didn't
succeed in entertaining, _would_ they, now?"
_Mr. Punch_ felt a natural reluctance to betray the weak points of any
terrestrial institution.
"Oh, _our_ Music Halls? they are perfection, of course," he said. "The
entertainments there are distinguished by humour of the most refined
and intellectual order. It only struck me that they mayn't be quite
the same _here_, you know, that's all."
"We shall see, Sir, we shall see," said TIME. "I don't think I'm
particularly difficult to amuse." By this time they had entered the
dazzling hall, and, reclining on sumptuous seats, were prepared to
bestow their best attention upon the proceedings. A stout man with a
fair wig, a dyed moustache and a blue chin, occupied the stage. He was
engaged in representing a Member of the Seriocomican aristocracy with
irresistible powers of social fascination, and he wore a loose-caped
cloak over garments of closely-fitting black, which opened in front
to display a mass of crumpled white, amidst which scintillated an
enormous jewel. In his hand he held a curious black disc, with which
he beat time to a ditty, of which _Mr. Punch_ only succeeded in
catching the following refrain:--
"Oh, I 'ave sech a w'y with the loydies! All the dorlins upon me are gorn!
For they soy--'Yn't he noice! you can tell by his vice,
He's a toff and a gentleman born!'"
And here the singer suddenly caused the black disc to expand with a
faint report to a cylindrical form of head-dress, which he placed upon
one side of his head, amidst thunders of approval.
But TIME seemed rather depressed than exhilarated by this performance.
"He ought to be kicked off the stage," he muttered. "I'd do it myself
if I was younger!"
"You would make a mistake," said _Mr. Punch_; "he is just the person
that a Music Hall audience idolises as their highest ideal of a man
and gentleman--in Seriocomix."
"At least," said TIME, "you wouldn't stand such an outrageous cad as
that in any of _your_ Music Halls, I hope?"
A deeper tinge stole into _Mr. Punch's_ already highly-coloured
countenance. "Certainly not," he replied, with perhaps the slightest
suspicion of a gulp. "Our 'Lion Comiques' are without exception,
persons of culture and education, and, if they sing of love at all, it
is only to treat the subject in a chaste and chivalrous spirit. They
are worthy examples to all young people who are privileged to listen
to their teachings."
"I wish you could send one or two out to Seriocomix, then, as
missionaries," said TIME.
"I wish we could send them _all_," rejoined _Mr. Punch_, feelingly,
and they went on to another Music Hall. Here TIME had no sooner
perceived the artist who was upon the stage than he exclaimed
indignantly, "Disgraceful, Sir. This man is in no condition to
entertain a respectable audience--he is _intoxicated_, Sir--look at
his _tie_!"
"I think not," said _Mr. Punch_, after observing him attentively
through his opera-glass; "he merely affects to be so because the
point and humour of the song depend on it. But he has evidently forced
himself to make a close study of the symptoms, or he could hardly have
produced so marvellous an imitation. Art does demand these sacrifices.
You will observe that he represents another Music-Hall ideal--the hero
who can absorb the largest known quantity of ardent spirits, and whose
prowess has earned for him the proud title of the Boozer King."
It was a spirited chorus, and the accomplished vocalist reeled in
quite a natural manner as he chanted:--
"So every pub I enter, boys,
With welcome the room will ring;
Make room for him, there, in the centre, boys!
For he is the Boozer King!
Yes, give him a seat in the centre, boys.
Three cheers for our Boozer King!"
[Illustration]
But TIME's worn features exhibited nothing but the strongest disgust.
"Is it possible," he exclaimed, "that this sort of thing can be
considered amusing anywhere!"
"It is considered extremely facetious," said _Mr. Punch_--"in
Seriocomix."
"What would they think of such a--such an apotheosis of degradation
in one of your Music Halls at home, eh?" demanded TIME.
Privately, _Mr. Punch_ was of opinion that it would not be at all
unpopular. However, he was not going to admit this:--
[Illustration]
"It would be hissed off the stage," he said, courageously. "The
fact is, that our Eccentric Vocalists have always shrunk from the
responsibility of presenting a national vice under an attractive
light, and so such exhibitions are absolutely unknown among us."
"I respect them for their scruples," said TIME; "they have their
reward in a clear conscience," "No doubt," said _Mr. Punch_. "Shall we
go on?" And as TIME had had enough of the Boozer King, they went on,
and entered the next hall, just as a remarkably pretty young girl,
with an innocent rosebud mouth and saucy bright eyes like a bird's,
tripped daintily on to the platform.
"Come," said TIME, with more approval than he had yet shown, "this is
better--_much_ better. We need feel no shame is listening to _this_
young lady, at all events. What is she going to give us? Some tender
little love-ditty, I'll be bound?"
She sang of love, certainly, though she treated the subject from
rather an advanced point of view, and this was the song she sang:--
"True love--you tyke the tip from me--'s all blooming tommy-rot!
And the only test we go by is--'ow much a man has got?
So none of you need now despair a girlish 'art to mash,--
So long as you're provided with the necessairy cash!"