Page:Punch Vol 148.djvu/142

"Look here," exclaimed the latest subaltern, hurling himself at the remains of the breakfast, "those rotters have sent me a putrid sword!"

"A putrid sword, dear?" his mother repeated.

"Yes, confound them!"

I don't see why you want a sword at all," Dolly chipped in. "Captain Jones says the big guns are the only weapons that count."

"And how will Archie toast his crumpets?" retorted Henry.

"Oh, shut up, you kids! I say, do you mind having a look at it?" The latest subaltern was actually appealing to me. I stifled a blush, and thought I should like to, very much.

After breakfast Archibald and myself retired to the armoury.

"There!" he exclaimed indignantly. It was "What do you think of that?" It was lying on the bed with a black-and-gold hilt and a wonderful nickel scabbard with gilt blobs at the top. I looked at it.

"Well," I ventured, "it's a sword."

Archibald sniffed.

"And," I continued hastily, "it's very nice. Perhaps they've run out of the ordinary ones. Does it cut?"

He drew it, and I, assuming the air of a barber's assistant, felt its edge.

"Of course," I remarked, "I don't know much about it, but if there is anything left to cut when you go out I think it should be stropped a bit first."

Well," said the proud owner, "I ordered it at Slashers', and they ought to know. Suppose we rub it up on young Henry's emery wheel?"

"Wait a minuts," I cried; "I should like to see it on."

Archibald buckled on the scabbard, and I slapped the trusty blade home.

It certainly looked a bit odd. I surveyed it in profile.

"No!" I exclaimed, "there is something about it ... a Yussuf air ... that little bend at the tip is reminiscent of Turkestan."

We found Henry in the workshop.

"My fairy godmother," he shouted, "did you pinch it from the pantomime?"

We did not deign to reply. Gingerly, very gingerly, we applied Yussuf to the emery wheel... Little flakes came off him—just little flakes.

It was very distressing.

The gardener joined us and advised some oil; then the coachman brought us some polishing sand; bath-brick and whitening we got from the cook.

It was no good. Nothing could restore those little flakes. So we went indoors to have a look at the Encyclopædia. But there was nothing there to help us. Yussuf was suffering from an absolutely unknown disease.

We put him to bed again.

After lunch Archibald received the following letter:—

"Dear Sir,We learn with regret that, by an inadvertence, the wrong sword has been despatched to you. We now hasten to forward yours, trusting that the delay has not inconvenienced you. At the same time our representative will, with your permission, collect the sword now in your possession as it is of exceptional value, and also has to be inscribed immediately for presentation.

Your obedient Servants,

Slasher and Co.."

"For presentation," I repeated; "then it's not meant to cut with, and those blobs really are gold." I touched one respectfully.

The latest subaltern pulled himself together and rang the bell. "When a man calls here for a sword," he told the servant, "give him this"—pointing dramatically at Yussuf. "And Jenkins!"

"Yes, Sir."

"Tell him that I have just sailed for... er—for the Front."

Hallo! Hallo! Hallo! Polly-olly-wolly! Scratch a poll! It isn't that I shout the loudest, though I fancy I could keep my end up in the monkey-house if it came to that. Many a parrot wastes all his energy in wind. It's brains, not lungs, that make a full crop. Extend your vocabulary. Another thing—don't make yourself too cheap. The parrot that always gives his show free lives the whole of his life on official rations—and nothing else. Half-a-pint o' mild-an'-bitter! Pom! Pom!

I'm the oldest inhabitant, and I've the biggest waist measurement for my height in Regent's Park. That's my reward. I'll admit I've a bad memory; most parrots have, except the one that used to sing "Rule Britannia" and knew the name of every keeper in the Zoo—and he went into hospital with something-on-the-brain. But I've moved with the times. There aren't many catch-phrases I haven't caught. "Walker," "Who's Griffiths?" and drawing corks in the old "Champagne Charlie" days; and "You're another," and "Get your hair cut," "Does your mother know you're out?" "My word, if I catch you bending!" "After you with the cruet." But I've a bad memory. Have a banana? I don't think!...

I'm never quite sure of myself, and so just have to say what comes uppermost. Shun! Stanterteeze! Form-forz, you two! Half-a-pint o'...

I've found it doesn't do to repeat everything the sergeant says. We had a Naval parrot once ... Why, take for instance that young man with his greasy feathers brushed back like a parrakeet's. He looked good for a few grapes any day, but when, just to encourage him, I chortled, "Kitchener wants yer!" he frowned and walked away. I did good business later, though. Pulled up a bunch of Khaki people by just shouting "'Alt!" I admired their taste in oranges. Down with the Kaiser! By the way, I've shouted 'Down with" almost everybody in my time. Johnny, get your gun; Goobye, Tipperlairlee.

But the best is "Veeve la Fronce." Last week one of those foreign officers hoard me "veeving" softly to myself. In half a minute he'd collected a dozen of his friends and relatives, and I could see more coming in the distance. The excitement! My tail! Marie! Alphonse!" he shouted. "Regarday dong ce brave wozzo!" They gave me butterscotch; they gave me muscatels; they gave me a meringue, and lots of little sweet biscuits (I don't take monkey-nuts these days, thank you!) and they all talked at once. Then a lovely creature with a cockatoo's crest on her head bent forward and coaxed me in a voice like ripe bananas. And there was I sitting like a fool, my mouth crammed and my mind a blank! The crowd was growing every minute. The cockatoo girl ran to the kiosk and bought me French nougat; I ate it. Then I made a desperate effort—"Has anybody here seen Kelly?"

Bless the camel-keeper! At that very moment I heard him ringing the 'all-out" bell.

The Times says that the Blücher was the reply of the German Admiralty to the first British Dreadnought.

Admiral Sir David Beatty begs to state that he has forwarded this reply to the proper quarter.

We have pleasure in culling the following extract from the account of a wedding, as set forth in The Silver Leaf (published at Somerset West, Cape Province):—

"Whilst the register was being signed, Mme. Wortley, of Cape Town, sang 'Entreat me not to leave thee' with great feeling."

It seems perhaps a little early to discuss the question of marital separation.