Volume 158 — AN INTER-SERVICE MATCH.
Reading edition
(With the British Army in France.)
Frederick entered the Mess with a decided sea-roll, hitched his slacks and berthed himself on the starboard settee.
"Cheerio, my hearties," said he breezily. "Everybody on the old lugger still luffing along all serene?"
"Why so oppressively nautical?" inquired Percival. "You haven't been on the leave-boat lately."
"'Tis true, old messmate. I'm under the influence of my new batman, one 'Enery 'Enson. After a lifetime in the Marines he's now spending his declining days in the Army, and he's terribly infectious. I found myself saying, 'Ay, ay, Sir,' when the C.O. spoke to me."
"I think I've noticed your 'Enery," said Percival. "Isn't he about ten feet high by six broad, tattooed all over like a circulating art gallery, and addicted to chewing quids and swabbing out your hut in his bare feet?"
"My cabin, you mean. And says he's going ashore when he takes a trip down the village. That's 'Enery."
"Incidentally he's a confirmed bath-lifter," interjected Binnie. "Yesterday morning my batman prepared me a tub, and while he was fetching me along your hulking pirate boosted out my sponge and towels and installed your lily-white self in it. You were so busy wallowing in my hot water that you never heard my protests on the door. You really must curb his buccaneering instincts, old Tirps."
"I accept no responsibility for his methods," said Frederick haughtily; "I merely profit by them. In any case I didn't take your hot water; I simply used it. You should live near the bath-house and get up promptly when you are called, as I do."
"Well, I don't mind the British Navy ruling the waves," grumbled Binnie, "but I object to its extending its sphere of influence over my bath-water."
"It jolly well doesn't extend over mine," said Percival with pride. "Frederick's 'Enery doesn't get the better of my Elfred. This morning a queue, consisting of two perfectly good Loots, a really excellent Skipper and a priceless Major were waiting for vacant baths. But was Elfred Fry dismayed? To forestall an answer that might possibly be wrong I may say that he wasn't. He promptly appropriated a cubicle that happened to be unoccupied—"
"Really, my frowsty old Camembert, don't ask us to believe that they had all overlooked it," expostulated Frederick.
"Not for worlds would I endeavour to impose on your gentle trusting natures. So far from their overlooking it the bath had been the subject of earnest scrutiny, and they had all regretfully come to the conclusion that it lacked one important attribute of a bath—it wouldn't hold water. The plug was missing."
"And by a singular chance the plug happened to be in the possession of your Elfred?"
"That is my case, me luds," said Percival simply. "If the silent Navy wants to beat my Elfred it's got to rise very early in the morning."
"We shall see," said Frederick darkly. "I'm going to tell this tale to the Marines."
That evening the troops had organised a stupendous boxing tournament in the Recreation Hut. Binnie by invitation combined the offices of referee, M.C. and timekeeper, and Frederick and Percival at the ring-side unanimously disagreed with his verdicts.
"Most appalling decision," said Percival in a loud whisper. "The referee has obviously been got at."
"Sh!" replied Frederick. "He hasn't been told it's a boxing contest. He thinks it's a clog-dancing competition and is giving the points for footwork."
Unfortunately the M.C. did not hear. He was speaking himself.
"The next bout should conclude our programme," he said, "but I am asked to announce that Private Henson challenges Private Fry to box six two-minute rounds, backing himself for five francs against a small article of no intrinsic value."
Enthusiastic applause greeted the announcement. A disturbance in the rear of the hut indicated that Elfred was heading for cover.
"'E 's twice my size," he wailed as strong hands hauled him back.
"The challenger admits that he holds a slight advantage in weight," continued the M.C., "but considers that is counterbalanced by his advanced years."
"This is your fiendish work," hissed Percival to Frederick.
"Not a bit of it, old sportsman," replied Frederick cheerfully. "The patent rights are held by 'Enery. I merely mentioned to him that Elfred possessed a desirable bath-plug that it might be useful to acquire."
Percival left his seat to confer with the shrinking Elfred.
"'E can 'ave the old bath-plug an' welcome, Sir, as far as I'm concerned," said the latter.
"Tut, tut!" said Percival. "You must make a fight for it. The honour of the Army is at stake."
"I ain't all that set on the honour of the Army," said Elfred. "But 'im being the challenger, shouldn't I be justified in putting the plug in one of my gloves?"
"The rules don't provide for such a contingency. Hurry up now and get stripped, and I'll give you twenty francs if you win."
Both combatants were warmly received. 'Enery's decorative tattooing was much admired, and Elfred was urgently requested not to spoil the pictures. By desire of the referee the stakes were handed to him—Frederick producing the five francs for 'Enery—and the battle commenced.
It was early evident that the Navy intended shock tactics, while the Army favoured a system of elastic defence. A salvo of short-arm jabs by 'Enery was answered by long-range sniping on the part of Elfred, no direct hits being recorded. Towards the end of the round 'Enery attempted to approach under cover of a smoke screen, but action was broken off at the sound of the gong.
The second round opened sensationally. Elfred, on the advice of his seconds, was "making use of the ring" when he accidentally collided with his opponent coming in the reverse direction and gave him a violent thump without return. There seemed every prospect of trouble, but clever footwork prevented the incident developing into a fracas. Round two concluded with Elfred leading handsomely by one point to nothing.
"Two to one on Elfred," said Percival excitedly.
"Take you—in bath plugs," answered Frederick, carefully entering the bet.
'Enery equalised in the third round, Elfred having incautiously wandered into the track of a stray upper-cut and bounced off. More footwork followed, Elfred winning by about two yards. Both were breathing heavily when time was called, and 'Enery was complaining about his bronchitis.
Skirmishing tactics in the fourth round resulted in Elfred having a narrow escape from being torpedoed beneath the belt, and during several subsequent clinches he was requested to stop studying the pictures and get on with the business.
The fifth and sixth rounds were marked by the departure of most of the spectators, and in the end a draw was the only possible verdict.
"But what about the plug, old scout?" asked Percival, as they wandered back to their quarters.
"As referee," answered Binnie, "I gave a draw; as Battalion Boxing Board of Control I order the match to be re-fought in six months' time, to give the men a chance to get into condition; and meanwhile as stakeholder I continue to hold the five francs and the bath-plug."
Profiteer (to M.F.H.). "Look 'ere!—this is the third time I've been out with your crowd, an' y' 'aven't caught a fox. Best thing you can do is to gimme back me 'sub' an' sell yer bloomin' dogs!"
Blusterous Person (who has forced a cigar on unwilling Club acquaintance). "There my boy—you don't often smoke a thing like that! That's something like a cigar, Eh?"
The Victim. "Yes—something. What is it?"
THE TRUE SONG-STUFF.
[A writer in an evening paper describes a certain song as being sung, "sometimes with a lump in the throat and a tear in the eye," all over England.]
If you wish to succeed as a writer Of songs that undoubtedly count, By making the atmosphere brighter, The moral barometer mount, Then be it your aim and endeavour to try For the lump in the throat and the tear in the eye. Scriabine and Stravinsky may flatter The ears of the brainy élite, But the musical numbers that matter Express what is simple and sweet; You may easily miss, by aspiring too high, Both the lump in the throat and the tear in the eye. Though cynics conspire to repress it, To sentiment, "heavenly link" (As the Bard of Savoy would address it), With joy "I eternally drink;" For it gives us the key, which no science can buy, To the lump in the throat and the tear in the eye. But, if you are anti-Victorian And, scorning the coo of the dove, Hold the roar of the primitive Saurian The final expression of love, You may have, if you choose, an alternative shy At a tear in the throat and a lump in the eye.
"For 70 years Regent Street has basked in sunshine, and now it is to be cast into shadow again. It will be like a gloomy canon between dour stone walls."—Daily Chronicle.
We have heard of a gloomy Dean, whose habitat answers to the description given. Can this be his understudy?
"The 'brasses' worn by the modern cart-horse are a direct survival of the amulets which bedecked the horses of the time of Julius Cæsar. They are worn on the farthingale as charms against the Evil Eye."—Daily Paper.
You should see our Clydesdale in her crinoline.
AN UNPOPULAR REVIVAL.
Fritz. "THIS IS NO GOOD TO ME NOW. YOU WANT A SWELLED HEAD FOR THIS SORT OF THING."