ON THE SANDS

(A Sketch at Margate)

Close under the Parade wall a large circle has been formed, consisting chiefly of Women on chairs and camp-stools, with an inner ring of small Children, who are all patiently awaiting the arrival of a troupe of Niggers. At the head of one of the flights of steps leading up to the Parade, a small and shrewish Child-nurse is endeavouring to detect and recapture a pair of prodigal younger Brothers, who have given her the slip.

Sarah (to herself). Wherever can them two plegs have got to? (Aloud; drawing a bow at a venture.) Albert! 'Enery! Come up 'ere this minnit. I see yer!

'Enery (under the steps—to Albert). I say—d'ye think she do?—'cos if——

Albert. Not she! Set tight.

[They sit tight.

Sarah (as before). 'Enery! Albert! You've bin and 'alf killed little Georgie between yer!

'Enery (moved, to Albert). Did you 'ear that, Bert? It wasn't me upset him—was it now?

Albert (impenitent). 'Oo cares? The Niggers'll be back direckly.

STOPPING AT A WATERING PLACE

Sarah. Al-bert! 'Enery! Your father's bin down 'ere once after you. You'll ketch it!

Albert (sotto voce). Not till father ketches us, we shan't. Keep still, 'Enery—we're all right under 'ere!

Sarah (more diplomatically). 'Enery! Albert! Father's bin and left a 'ap'ny apiece for yer. Ain't yer comin' up for it? If yer don't want it, why, stay where you are, that's all!

Albert (to 'Enery). I knoo we 'adn't done nothin'. An' I'm goin' up to git that 'ap'ny, I am.

'Enery. So 'm I.

[They emerge, and ascend the steps—to be pounced upon immediately by the ingenious Sarah.

Sarah. 'Ap'ny, indeed! You won't git no 'apence 'ere, I can tell yer—so jest you come along 'ome with me!

[Exeunt Albert and 'Enery, in captivity, as the Niggers enter the circle.

Bones. We shall commence this afternoon by 'olding our Grand Annual Weekly Singing Competition, for the Discouragement of Youthful Talent. Now then, which is the little gal to step out first and git a medal? (The Children giggle, but remain seated.) Not one? Now I arsk you—What is the use o' me comin' 'ere throwin' away thousands and thousands of pounds on golden medals, if you won't take the trouble to stand up and sing for them? Oh, you'll make me so wild, I shall begin spittin' 'alf-sovereigns directly—I know I shall! (A little Girl in a sun-bonnet comes forward.) Ah, 'ere's a young lady who's bustin' with melody, I can see. Your name, my dear? Ladies and Gentlemen, I have the pleasure to announce that Miss Connie Cockle will now appear. Don't curtsey till the Orchestra gives the chord. (Chord from the harmonium—the Child advances, and curtsies with much aplomb.) Oh, lor! call that a curtsey—that's a cramp, that is! Do it all over again! (The Child obeys, disconcerted.) That's worse! I can see the s'rimps blushin' for yer inside their paper bags! Now see Me do it. (Bones executes a caricature of a curtsey, which the little Girl copies with terrible fidelity.) That's ladylike—that's genteel. Now sing out! (The Child sings the first verse of a popular music-hall song, in a squeaky little voice.) Talk about nightingales! Come 'ere, and receive the reward for extinguished incapacity. On your knees! (The little Girl kneels before him while a tin medal is fastened upon her frock.) Rise, Sir Connie Cockle! Oh, you lucky girl!

[The Child returns, swelling with triumph, to her companions, several of whom come out, and go through the same performance, with more or less squeakiness and self-possession.

EAST-BORN

First Admiring Matron (in audience). I do like to see the children kep' out o' mischief like this, instead o' goin' paddling and messing about the sands!

Second Ad. Mat. Just what I say, my dear—they're amused and edjucated 'ow to beyave at the same time!

First Politician (with the "Standard"). No, but look here—when Gladstone was asked in the House whether he proposed to give the Dublin Parliament the control of the police, what was his answer. Why....

The Niggers (striking up chorus). "'Rum-tumty diddly-umty doodah-dey! Rum-tumty-diddly-um was all that he could say. And the Members and the Speaker joined together in the lay. Of 'Rum-tumty-diddly-umty doodah-dey!'"

Second Pol. (with the "Star"). Well, and what more would you have 'ad him say? Come, now!

Alf (who has had quite enough ale at dinner—to his fiancée). These Niggers ain't up to much Loo. Can't sing for nuts!

Chorley (his friend, perfidiously). You'd better go in and show 'em how, old man. Me and Miss Serge'll stay and see you take the shine out of 'em!

WEST-BORN

Alf. P'raps you think I can't. But, if I was to go upon the 'Alls now, I should make my fortune in no time! Loo's 'eard me when I've been in form, and she'll tell you——

Miss Serge. Well, I will say there's many a professional might learn a lesson from Alf—whether Mr. Perkins believes it or not.

[Cuttingly, to "Chorley."

Chorley. Now reelly, Miss Loo, don't come down on a feller like that. I want to see him do you credit, that's all, and he couldn't 'ave a better opportunity to distinguish himself—now could he?

Miss Serge. I'm not preventing him. But I don't know—these Niggers keep themselves very select, and they might object to it.

Alf. I'll soon square them. You keep your eye on me, and I'll make things a bit livelier!

[He enters the circle.

Miss Serge (admiringly). He has got a cheek, I must say! Look at him, dancing there along with those two Niggers—they don't hardly know what to make of him yet!

Chorley. Do you notice how they keep kicking him beyind on the sly like? I wonder he puts up with it!

Miss S. He'll be even with them presently—you see if he isn't.

[Alf attempts to twirl a tambourine on his finger, and lets it fall; derision from audience; Bones pats him on the head and takes the tambourine away—at which Alf only smiles feebly.

Chorley. It's a pity he gets so 'ot dancing, and he don't seem to keep in step with the others.

Miss S. (secretly disappointed). He isn't used to doing the double-shuffle on sand, that's all.

The Conductor. Bones, I observe we have a recent addition to our company. Perhaps he'll favour us with a solo. (Aside to Bones.) 'Oo is he? 'Oo let him in 'ere—you?

Bones. I dunno. I thought you did. Ain't he stood nothing?

Conductor. Not a brass farden!

Bones (outraged). All right, you leave him to me. (To Alf.) Kin it be? That necktie! them familiar coat-buttons! that paper-dicky! You are—you are my long-lost convick son, 'ome from Portland! Come to these legs! (He embraces Alf, and smothers him with kisses.) Oh, you've been and rubbed off some of your cheek on my complexion—you dirty boy! (He playfully "bashes" Alf's hat in.) Now show the comp'ny how pretty you can sing. (Alf attempts a music-hall ditty, in which he, not unnaturally, breaks down.) It ain't my son's fault, Ladies and Gentlemen, it's all this little gal in front here, lookin' at him and makin' him shy! (To a small Child, severely.) You oughter know worse, you ought! (Clumps of seaweed and paper-balls are thrown at Alf who by this time is looking deplorably warm and foolish.) Oh, what a popilar fav'rite he is, to be sure!

Chorley (to Miss S.). Poor fellow, he ain't no match for those Niggers—not like he is now! Hadn't I better go to the rescue, Miss Loo?

Miss S. (pettishly). I'm sure I don't care what you do.

["Chorley" succeeds, after some persuasion, in removing the unfortunate Alf.

Alf (rejoining his fiancée with a grimy face, a smashed hat, and a pathetic attempt at a grin). Well? I done it, you see!

TAKING IN SAIL

Miss S. (crushingly). Yes, you have done it! And the best thing you can do now, is to go home and wash your face. I don't care to be seen about with a laughing-stock, I can assure you! I've had my dignity lowered quite enough as it is!

Alf. But look 'ere, my dear girl, I can't leave you here all by yourself you know!

Miss S. I dare say Mr. Perkins will take care of me.

[Mr. P. assents, with effusion.

Alf (watching them move away—with bitterness). I wish all Niggers were put down by Act of Parliament, I do! Downright noosances—that's what they are!

Delays Are Dangerous.—Young Housekeeper. "I'm afraid those soles I bought of you yesterday were not fresh. My husband said they were not nice at all!"

Brighton Fisherman. "Well, marm, that be your fault—it bean't mine. I've offered 'em yer every day this week, and you might a' 'ad 'em o' Monday if you'd a loiked!"

At Margate.—Angelina (very poetical, surveying the rolling ocean). "Water, water everywhere, and not a drop to drink."

Edwin (very practical). No drink! Now, hang it all, Angy, if I've asked you once I've asked you three times within the last five minutes to come and do a split soda and whiskey! And I can do with it!

THE LAST DAY AT THE SEASIDE—PACKING UP

Maid (to Paterfamilias). "Please, sir, missus say you're to come in, and sit on the boxes; because we can't get 'em to, and they wants to be corded."

The General. "And what are you going to be when you grow up, young man?"

Bobbie. "Well, I can't quite make up my mind. I don't know which would be nicest—a soldier, like you, or a sailor, like Mr. Smithers."

"THEM ARTISES!"

Lady Artist. "Do you belong to that ship over there?"

Sailor. "Yes, miss."

Lady Artist. "Then would you mind loosening all those ropes? They are much too tight, and, besides, I can't draw straight lines!"

THE DISORDER OF THE BATH

How Belinda Brown appeared with "waves all over her hair" before taking a bath in the sea— and How she looked after having some more "waves all over it"

CAUTION TO BATHERS

Don't let them jolt you up the beach till you are dressed.

Jones (obliged to hold fast). "Hullo! Hi! Somebody stop my boots!"

A FIX

Separated husband. "Fetch him out, sir!"

Proprietor of moke. "Why, if I went near her, she'd lie down; she always goes in just before high water; nothing'll fetch her out till the tide turns!"