Page:Punch Vol 148.djvu/450

"This world," sighed Francesca, "might be a happy place if it were not for its committees."

"That," I said, "has all the appearance of an apophthegm. Francesca, do you know what an apophthegm is?"

"Of course I do," said Francesca. "What I said was an apophthegm. I didn't know it when I said it, but I know it now, for one who is wise above ordinary mortals has told me so. I can do lots more at the same price and all equally good. 'God helps them that help themselves.' 'Virtue is its own reward.' 'Misfortunes never come singly.' 'Still waters run deep.' I could go on for ever."

"Yes," I said, "I'm sure you could, but they're not all apophthegms. Some of them are proverbs, and ———"

"Surely at this time of day you're not going to tell me what a proverb is. It's the wisdom of many and the wit of one—there, I got it out first."

"I was not," I said, "competing with you; but I insist on telling you that an apophthegm is a pithy saying and you don't know how to spell it."

"P-i-t-h-y," said Francesca. "Next, please."

"I did not refer to the paltry word 'pithy.' I referred———"

"Well, anyhow, I warn you that I once got a prize for spelling at school. It was called a literary outfit—a penholder, two gilt nibs, two lead pencils and an ink-eraser, all in a pretty cardboard case with a picture of St. Michael's Mount on the lid. Cost, probably, sixpence, but I never inquired, because you mustn't look a gift box in the price, must you? There's another apo-what-you-may-call-it. I'm simply pouring them out to-day. Oh, yes, I know that 'embarrass' has got two r's, and 'harass,' poor thing, has got only one, and I know any amount of other perfectly wonderful tricks. I'll outspell you any day of the week, and you can have the children to help you."

"Francesca," I said, "your breathless, babble shall not avail you. I've got you, and I mean to pin you down. How do you———"

"Stop stop!" she cried. "You can't mean that you're going—no, a man can't be as wicked as that."

"Wicked or not," I said, "I'm going to ask you to spell apophthegm."

"Yes, but don't actually do it. Keep on going to do it as much as you like. Let it be always in the future and never in the present."

"Francesca," I said, "how do you spell apophthegm?"

"I never do," she said; "I should scorn the action."

"Don't niggle," I said. "How does one spell the word?"

"One doesn't," she said. "It takes six people at least to do it; but I'll ring for the maids, if you like, and call the children in, and then we'll all have a go at it together."

"Thank you, I can do it alone." Thereupon I did it.

"Yes," she said, "that's it. You can go up one. It's a funny word, isn't it? There's a sort of Cholmondeley-Marjoribanks feeling about it. And to think that I should be able to make a thing like that without any conscious effort. It's really rather clever of me. You can spell it, but I can spell it and make it too. Good old apoffthegum."

"And now," I said, "you can tell me about these committees that are depressing you so much."

"Oh, but I'm not depressed now. I'm quite gay and light-hearted since I found how beautifully you could spell———"

"We will not mention that word again, please."

All right, we won't; but remember, I didn't begin it. You tried to crush me with it, you know, and I wasn't taking any crushing, was I?"

"Francesca," I said, "your language is deteriorating."

"How well you pronounce," she said. call that deteriating."

"Most people Never mind what they call it. Tell me about your committees."

"It's only that there are such a frightful lot. There were plenty before, and the war has brought hundreds more into existence."

"Well, what of that? The men who are too old or too infirm to go to the front must do something to help, and———"

"There you go again," said Francesca scornfully. "Men! Men belong to these War Committees. Their names are on the lists, but it's the women who do all the work."

"And get all the praise," I said enthusiastically. "There's scarcely a Committee Meeting at which votes of thanks to the Ladies' Sub-Committees aren't passed. Still, there are a lot of Committees. They do seem to grow on you, don't they?"

"Yes," she said. "It's like keeping dogs. You begin with a small Committee, a sort of Pekinese, and you get a reputation for heing fond of Committees, and in a few months you find you've got a Committee on every sofa and armchair in the house—St. Bernards, retrievers, spaniels, and all sending out notices and requiring you to attend."

"Your metaphor," I said, "is getting a little out of hand, but I know what you mean."

"Thank you, oh, thank you. And then there's old Mrs. Wilson who has eight children and a husband who ought to have followed the King's example, only ten times more so, and hasn't done anything of the sort. She requires about a whole Committee all to herself, and she isn't the only one."

"The fact is," I said, "that if Committees didn't exist you'd have to invent them."

"But they do exist," she said, "and we keep on inventing them. We're going to invent a new one to-night—the chocolate and tobacco Committee for the county regiment. We have to co-ordinate things."

"All Committees have to do that," I said. "Co-ordination is the badge of all their tribe."

"Is that an apophthegm?" she said.

"No," I said, "it's almost a quotation."