Volume 101 — THE TRAVELLING COMPANIONS.
Reading edition
No. IX.
SCENE—The Burg Terrace at Nuremberg. PODBURY on a bench, grappling with the Epitome of SPENCER.
Podbury grappling with the Epitome of Spencer.
Podbury (reading aloud, with comments). "For really to conceive the infinite divisibility of matter is mentally to follow out the divisions to infinity, and to do this would require infinite time." You're right there, old cock, and, as I haven't got it to spare, I won't trouble you!—um—um ... "opposite absurdities"—"subjective modifications" ... "ultimate scientific ideas, then, are all representative of ideas that cannot be comprehended." I could have told him that. What bally rot this Philosophy is—but I suppose I must peg away at it. Didn't she say she was sorry I didn't go in more for cultivating my mind? (He looks up.) Jove, here she comes! and yes, there's that beggar CULCHARD with her! I thought he'd—how the dickens did he manage to—? I see what he's after—thinks he'll cut me out—twice over—but he shan't this time, if I can help it!
Culchard (to Miss HYPATIA PRENDERGAST). No, the Modern Spirit is too earnestly intent upon solving the problems of existence to tolerate humour in its literature. Humour has served a certain purpose in its day, but that day is done, and I for one cannot pretend to regret its decay.
Miss H. P. Nor I. In fact, the only humour I ever really appreciated is that of the ancient classics. There has been no true fun since ARISTOPHANES died. At least, I think not.
Podb. (catching the last sentence). Oh, I say, come, Miss PRENDERGAST. Have you ever read "The Jumping Frog"?
Miss P. I was under the impression that all frogs jumped. But I never read—I—ah—study.
Podb. (declining to be crushed). Well, I call MARK TWAIN funny anyhow. But I'm going in for study now. I am—honour bright! I'm swotting up SPENCER—look!
[He exhibits the volume proudly.
Miss P. And are you not enchanted by the logical lucidity of that great thinker?
Podb. Um—I should be more enchanted if I ever had the faintest notion what the great thinker was driving at. Look here—here's a simple little sentence for you! (Reads.) "Let us therefore bear in mind the following:—That of the whole incident force affecting an aggregate, the effective force is that which remains after deducting the non-effective, that the temporarily effective and the permanently effective vary inversely, and that the molar and molecular changes wrought by the permanently effective force also vary inversely." (With pathos.) And that's only in an Epitome, mind you!
Miss P. Really, Mr. PODBURY, I see nothing particularly incomprehensible in that.
Culch. (with his superior smile). My dear PODBURY, you can hardly expect to master the Spencerian phraseology and habit of thought without at least some preliminary mental discipline!
Podb. (nettled). Oh—but you find him plain-sailing enough, I suppose?
Culch. I have certainly not encountered any insuperable difficulties in his works as yet.
Podb. Well, I'll just trouble you to explain this—wait a bit. (Opens volume again.) Ah, here we are—"And these illusive and primordial cognitions, or pseud-ideas, are homogeneous entities which may be differentiated objectively or subjectively, according as they are presented as Noumenon or Phenomenon. Or, in other words, they are only cognoscible as a colligation of incongruous coalescences." Now then—are you going to tell me you can make head or tail of all that?
Culch. (perceiving that Miss P. is awaiting his reply in manifest suspense). It's simple enough, my dear fellow, only I can't expect you to grasp it. It is merely a profound truth stated with masterly precision.
Podb. Oh, is that all, my dear fellow? (He flings up his heels in an ecstasy.) I knew I'd have you! Why, I made that up myself as I went along, and if you understand it, it's a jolly sight more than I do! [He roars with laughter.
Miss P. (behind her handkerchief). Mr. CULCHARD has evidently gone through the—the "preliminary mental discipline."
Culch. (scarlet and sulky). Of course, if Mr. PODBURY descends to childishness of that sort, I can't pretend to—
Podb. (wiping his eyes). But you did pretend, old chap. You said it was "profound truth" and "masterly precision"! I've got more profound truth where that came from. I say, I shall set up as an intellectual Johnny after this, and get you to write an Epitome of me. I think I pulled your leg that time, eh?
Culch. (biting his lip). When you have extracted sufficient entertainment from that very small joke, you will perhaps allow Miss PRENDERGAST to sit down and begin her sketch. You may not be aware that you've taken her place.
[He withdraws majestically to the parapet, while PODBURY makes way for Miss P. with apologies.
Podb. (as he leans over seat while she sketches). I wish your brother BOB had been here—he would have enjoyed that!
Miss P. It was really too bad of you, though. Poor Mr. CULCHARD!
Podb. He shouldn't try to make me out a bigger duffer than I am, then. But I say, you don't really think it was too bad? Ah, you're laughing—you don't!
Miss P. Never mind what I really think. But you have got us both into sad disgrace. Mr. CULCHARD is dreadfully annoyed with us—look at his shoulders!
Culch. (leaning over parapet with his back to them). That ass PODBURY! To think of his taking me in with an idiotic trick like that! And before Her too! And when I had made it all right about the other evening, and was producing an excellent impression on the way up here. I wish I could hear what they were whispering about—more silly jokes at my expense, no doubt. Bah! as if it affected me!
Podb. (to Miss P.). I say, how awfully well you draw!
Miss P. There you betray your ignorance in Art matters. Sketching with me is a pastime, not a serious pursuit, (They go on conversing in a lower tone.) No, please, Mr. PODBURY. I'm quite sure he would never—
Podb. (rises; comes up to CULCHARD, and touches his shoulder). I say, old chappie—
Culch. (jerking away with temper). Now, look here, PODBURY. I'm not in the mood for any more of your foolery—
Podb. (humbly). All right, old boy. I wouldn't bother you, only Miss PRENDERGAST wants a figure for her foreground, and I said I'd ask you if you'd keep just as you are for a few minutes. Do you mind?
Culch. (to himself). Afraid she's gone too far—thinks she'll smooth me down! Upon my word, it would serve her right to—but no, I won't be petty. (Aloud.) Pray tell Miss PRENDERGAST that I have no immediate intention of altering my position.
Podb. Thanks awfully, old chap. I knew you'd oblige.
Culch. (incisively). I am obliging Miss PRENDERGAST, and her only. (Raising his voice, without turning his head.) Would you prefer me to face you, Miss PRENDERGAST?
Miss P. (in tremulous tones). N—no, thank you. It—it's so much more n—natural, don't you know, for you to be l—looking at the view.
Culch. As you please. (To himself.) Can't meet my eye. Good! I shall go on treating her distantly for a little. I wonder if I look indifferent enough from behind? Shall I cross one foot? Better not—she may have begun sketching me. If she imagines I'm susceptible to feminine flattery of this palpable kind, she'll—how her voice shook, though, when she spoke. Poor girl, she's afraid she offended me by laughing—and I did think she had more sense than to—but I mustn't be too hard on her. I'm afraid she's already beginning to think too much of—and with my peculiar position with Miss TROTTER—(MAUD, that is)—not that there's anything definite at present, still—(Aloud.) Ahem, Miss PRENDERGAST—am I standing as you wish? (To himself.) She doesn't answer—too absorbed, and I can't hear that idiot—found he hasn't scored so much after all, and gone off in a huff, I expect. So much the better! What a time she is over this, and how quiet she keeps! I wish I knew whether it was coquetry or—shall I turn round and see? No, I must be perfectly indifferent. And she did laugh at me. I distinctly saw her. Still, if she's sorry, this would be an excellent opportunity for—(Aloud.) Miss PRENDERGAST! (No reply—louder.) May I take it that you regret having been betrayed into momentary approbation of a miserable piece of flippancy? If so, let me assure you—(Turns round—to discover that he is addressing two little flaxen-haired girls in speckled pinafores, who are regarding him open-mouthed. Miss PRENDERGAST and PODBURY have disappeared.) PODBURY again! He must have planned this—with her! It is too much. I have done—yes—done with the pair of them! [Strides off in bitter indignation.
SCHOOL-BOY'S FIRST EXPERIENCE OF SMOKING.—One sickarette,—and he never could do another. O si sic omnes!
"LET SLEEPING DOGS LIE!"
"HOTEL ME, GENTLE STRANGER!"
[Mrs. WHEELER and Mrs. CUSTER, two literary ladies of New York, are starting a hotel for women only.]
Says Mrs. CUSTER to Mrs. WHEELER: "I propose we put out a 'promoting' feeler!" Says Mrs. WHEELER to Mrs. CUSTER, "Monopolist Males we shall greatly fluster;" 'Hotel it not in Gath!' at present Till we have made things nice and pleasant. First rule—'No Rules!' O, of course male noddies Will snigger at once, the superior bodies! But OSCAR WILDE must 'pull up his socks,' Ere he'll equal women at paradox. What I mean is this, in our 'Women's Hotel,' We'll have no such thing as the 'Curfew Bell,' And no fixed hour for the cry, 'Out lights!' We will give free way to true 'Woman's Rights,' Which are to thump, strum, tap, twirl, trill, From morn till night at her own sweet will. That's why we cherish, despite male spleen, Typewriter, Piano, and Sewing-Machine! The 'woodpecker tapping' is, indeed, not in it With Emancipate Woman—no, not for a minute! Our Hotel will be, when we've won the battle, 'The Paradise of unlimited Rattle,' 'The Realm of the Spindle,' 'the Home of the Duster!'" Says Mrs. WHEELER to Mrs. CUSTER. "Nought tabooed save Man! So comes Peace the Healer!" Says Mrs. CUSTER to Mrs. WHEELER. Punch hopes their Hotel may flourish—only, Spots "Reserved for Ladies" are often—lonely!
THE GERMAN EMPEROR GOING NAP.—It now appears that the words descriptive of NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE used by the German Emperor, and to which the French took so strong an exception, were not "Le parvenu Corse," but "Le conquérant Corse," which, of course, makes all the difference. At this banquet it would have been better had each course been omitted from the menu.
A Vain Vaunt.
La belle France boasts of being Art's true henchman! That cosmopolitan claim she should be mute on. "Art for Art's sake!" shouts the thrasonic Frenchman, "Save when that Art is Teuton," Though Art's not marred for him by subtle sin A German twang poisons e'en Lohengrin.
INDISCRIMINATE CHARITY.
Benevolent Old Lady. "NO, MR. SMITH; I SHALL NOT CONTINUE MY SUBSCRIPTION TO YOUR CRICKET-GROUND ANY LONGER—FOR I FIND YOU ALLOW IT TO BE USED IN THE WINTER FOR PIGEON-SHOOTING!"
Secretary to the Local Cricket Club. "BUT, MADAM, YOU CAN'T BE AWARE THAT WE SHOOT AT NOTHING BUT CLAY PIGEONS!"
B. O. L. "I DON'T CARE WHAT THE BREED MAY BE—IT'S EQUALLY CRUEL!"