Page:Punch Vol 148.djvu/338

I am one of the unhappiest of creatures, because I have been misunderstood. Nothing is worse than to mean well, and do all you can, and be misunderstood beyond any possibility of explanation. That is my tragedy just now, and it all comes of having four legs and no articulation when the people who control things have only two and can express themselves.

Sirius, how I ache! But let me tell you.

I am a performing dog―nothing more and nothing less. I belong to a man named―but perhaps I had better not give his name, as he might be still more cross with me, especially as he does not come too well out of this story. And when I say I belong to him I mean that I am one―the principal one―of his troupe; but of course I could leave at any moment if I wanted to, and it is extremely likely that I shall. I have merely to run off the stage, out of the door, and he would be done. I have not done so yet, because hitherto he has treated me quite decently, and I enjoy my performance. I like to see all the happy people in front, and watch their amazed faces as I go through my wonderful tricks. "Isn't it extraordinary?" they say to each other. "Almost human. Fancy a dog doing that!" It amuses me to hear things like that. We never say, we dogs, that clever human beings are almost canine. We know that to be absurd; they would never be within miles of being canine.

Anyway that is what I am―a very brilliant performing dog, with a number of quite remarkable tricks and the capacity to perform as many again if only my master would think it worth while to add to his list. But so long as there are so many music-halls where his present performance is always a novelty―and there are so many that he could be in a different one every week for the next ten years if he liked―why should he worry himself to do anything fresh? That is the argument he uses, not being a real artist and enthusiast, is I am, and as is one of my friends in the troupe too. She, however, does not come into this story.

I don't know whether you know anything about music-halls, but it is my privilege to be in one and perhaps two every day, entertaining tired people, and the custom now is, if any striking news of the War arrives during the evening, for one of the performers to announce it. Naturally, for human beings like being prominent and popular as much as dogs do, a performer is very glad when it falls to him to make the announcement. Applause is very sweet to the ear, even if it is provoked merely by stating the heroism of others, and it is not difficult for anyone accustomed to hear it to associate himself with the action that has called it forth. I feel that I am very rambling in my remarks, but their point must be clearly made, and that is that the privilege of telling the audience about a great deed just now is highly prized, and a performer who is foolish enough to miss the chance is stupid indeed.

I must now tell you that my master is not the most sensible of men. It was clever of him to become possessed of so able an animal as myself and to treat me so sensibly as to induce me to stay with him and work for him; but his cleverness stops there. In private life he is really very silly, spending all his time in talking and drinking with other professionals (as they call themselves), and boasting of the success he has had at Wigan and Plymouth and Perth and places like that, instead of learning new jokes and allowing me to do new tricks, as I should love to, for I am tired of my present repertory and only too conscious of my great powers.

It was on March 25th and we were performing at a popular London hall; and just as we were going on someone brought the news of the sinking of the U 29. I heard it distinctly, but my master was so muzzy and preoccupied that, though he pulled himself together sufficiently to say "Good business!" in reply, he did nothing else. He failed to realise what a chance it was for him to make a hit for himself.

Look at the situation. On the one hand the audience longing to be cheered up by such a piece of news, and on the other a stupid performer too fresh from a neighbouring bar to be able to impart it or appreciate his luck in having the opportunity of imparting it and bringing down the house. And not only that. On the other hand there was a keen patriotic British dog longing to tell the news, but unable to make all these blockheads understand, because with all their boasted human knowledge and brains they haven't yet learned to know what dogs are talking about. Would you believe it, my master began his ancient patter just is if nothing had happened? I tweaked his leg, but all in vain. I snapped at him, I snarled at him, to bring him to his senses; but all in vain.

Then I took the thing into my own paws. I ceased to pay him any attention. All I did was to stand at the footlights facing the house and shout at to the audience again and again, "The U 29 has been sunk with all hands!" Come here, you devil," said my master under his breath, "and behave, or I'll give you the biggest thrashing you ever had." But I didn't care. I remained by the footlights, screaming out, "The U 29 has been sunk with all hands!" "Mercy, how the dog barks!" a lady in a box exclaimed. Bark! I wasn't barking. I was disseminating the glad tidings.

"Silence, you brute!" my master cried, and brought down his little whip on my back. But I still kept on. "They must know it, they must be told!" I said to myself, and on I went with the news until at last the stage-manager rang down the curtain and our turn was called off. But a second later he was on the stage himself, apologising for my conduct and telling the audience about the U 29, and in their excitement they forgot all about their disappointment at not seeing me perform. Their applause was terrific.

"See what you missed by your folly," I said to my master. But he paid no attention, he merely set about giving me the thrashing of my life.

Sirius, how I ache!

["Colour has a wonderfully beneficial effect on criminals and lunatics. But of course the colours must be blended with scientific exactness till they harmonise absolutely with the temperament of the patient. Some colours, used alone, are absolutely poisonous."

Extract from a letter to The The Royal Cornish Gazette:―

"The Hun pirates have begun their deadly work. Cannot our English men-of-war be on the look-out for them?"

We have much pleasure in bringing his valuable suggestion to the attention if Mr. Churchill and Lord Fisher.