Puppets at Large: Scenes and Subjects from Mr Punch's Show

Mrs. Tuberose (nettled). Really, dear Lady Dampier, if people see nothing to object in it here, I don't see why they should be more particular at the East-End!

Mrs. Flitt. Oh, no, – and as if it matters what the words are in the song. I daresay if one heard their songs – Now we want another song – something as different as possible.

Mr. Gardinier. Heard a capital song at the "Pav." the other night – something about a Cock-eyed Kipper. Just suit my voice. I could easily get the words and music, and do that for you – if you like.

Several Voices. A Cock-eyed Kipper! It sounds too killing! Oh, we must have that!

Lady Damp. Might I ask what kind of creature a – a "Cock-eyed Kipper" may be?

Mr. Gard. Oh, well, I suppose it's a sort of a dried herring – with a squint, don't you know.

Lady Damp. I see no humour in making light of a personal deformity, I must say.

Mr. Gard. Oh, don't you? They will – it'll go with a scream there!

Miss Diova Rose. Yes, poor dears – and we mustn't mind being just a little vulgar for once – to cheer them up.

Lady Honor. I have been to the Pavilion and the Tivoli myself, and I heard nothing to object to. I know I was much more amused than I ever am at theatres —they bore me to death.

Mr. Bagotrix. We might finish up with Mrs. Jarley's Waxworks, you know. Some of you can be the figures, and I'll come on in a bonnet and shawl as Mrs. Jarley, and wind you up and describe you. I've done it at lots of places in the country; brought in personal allusions and all that sort of thing, and made everybody roar.

Lady Damp. But will the East-Enders understand your personal allusions?

Mr. Bag. Well, you see, the people in the front rows will, which is all I want.

Lady Honor (suspiciously). Isn't Mrs. Jarley out of Pickwick, though? That's Dickens, surely!

Mr. Bag. (reassuringly). Nothing but the name, Lady Honor. I make up all the patter myself, so that'll be all right – just good-natured chaff, you know; if anybody's offended – as I've known them to be – it's no fault of mine.

Mrs. Flitt. Oh, I'm sure you will make it funny, – and about getting someone to preside – I suppose we ought to ask the Vicar of the nearest church?

Lady Honor. Wouldn't it be better to get somebody – a – more in Society, don't you know?

Mrs. Flitt. And he might offer to pay for hiring the Hall, and the other expenses. I never thought of that. I'll see whom I can get. Really I think it ought to be great fun, and we shall have the satisfaction of feeling we are doing real good, which is such a comfort!

BOOKMAKERS ON THE BEACH

A Sketch at a Sea-side Race Meeting

The Sands at Baymouth, where some pony and horse races are being run. By the Grand Stand, and under the wall of the esplanade, about a dozen bookmakers, perched on old packing-cases, are clamouring with their customary energy. The public, however, for some reason seems unusually deaf to their blandishments and disinclined for speculation, and the bookmakers, after shouting themselves hoarse with little or no result, are beginning to feel discouraged.

Bookmakers (antiphonally). Evens on the field! Three to one bar one! Five to one bar two! Six to one bar one! Even money Beeswing! Six to one Popgun! Come on 'ere. Two to one on the field! What do you want to do?

    [The public apparently want to look another way.

First Bookmaker (to Second Bookmaker). Not much 'ere to-day! Shawn't get no roast baked and biled this journey, eh?

Second B. (with deep disgust). They ain't got no money! Baymouth's going down. Why, this might be a bloomin' Sunday-school treat! Blest if I believe they know what we're 'ere for!

Third B. (after pausing to refresh himself, sardonically to Fourth Bookmaker). De-lightful weather, William!

William (in a similar tone of irony). What a glorious day, Percy! Sech a treat to see all the people enjoyin' theirselves without any o' the silly speculation yer do find sometimes on occasions like this! (He accepts the bottle his friend passes, and drinks.) 'Ere's better luck to all!

Fifth B. (pathetically). Don't leave your little Freddy out! (They don't leave their little Freddy out.) Cheer up, William, there's 'appier days in store; there'll be Jersey comin' soon. We'll be orf to the sunny south! (To a stranger who comes up to him.) Why, Uncle, you don't say it's you! How well you're looking! Shake 'ands and 'ave a bit on, jest for ole sake's sake! (The stranger proceeds to introduce himself as the Secretary, and to demand a fee.) What! pay you five shillins for standin' 'ere wastin' my time and voice like this? Not me! Why, I ain't took two blessed sorcepans since I bin 'ere! (The Secretary remains firm.) I won't do it, my boy. Not on prinserple, I won't. I wouldn't give you five shillins not if your tongue was 'anging down on to your boots – so there! (The Secretary does not attempt so violent an appeal to his better nature, but calls a police-inspector.) 'Ere, I'd sooner git down and chuck the show altogether; jest to mark my contempt for such goings on! (He descends from his box; takes down his sign, unscrews his pole, folds up his professional triptych, and departs in a state of virtuous indignation only to be expressed by extreme profanity, while the Secretary proceeds unmoved to collect payments from the others; who eventually compromise the claims for half-a-crown.)

Mr. Sam Satchell ("from Southampton"). Now then, you gentlemen and aristocratic tradesmen, where are you all? Don't any o' you know anything? Come on 'ere. (He stops an elderly rustic.) You've got a fancy, I can see! (The rustic denies the impeachment, grinning.) Git along with yer, yer artful ole puss, then, and don't keep gentlemen away as wants to bet! (To a Yeomanry trooper.) Come along, my ole soldier-boy, give it a name! (His old soldier-boy declines to give it any name, and passes on.) Call yerself a warrior bold, and afraid o' riskin' 'alf-a-crown! Why, yer Queen and country orter be ashamed o' yer! (As a young farmer in riding-gaiters comes up, with the evidentintention of business.) Ah, you don't forget the old firm, I see… What, four to one not good enough for you? You won't get no better odds, go where you like! I suppose you expeck me to make you a present o' the money? (The farmer moves on.) I dunno what's come to 'em all. I never see nothing like it in all my life!

In the Grand Stand.

A Glib Person, in a tall hat (as he picks his way up and down the benches, the occupants of which treat him with intolerant indifference). I'm not a bookmaker, ladies and gentlemen; don't have that impression of me for a moment! I'm simply an amateur, and an independent gentleman o' means, like any of yourselves. You all know more than I do. I don't come 'ere with any intention o' winning your money – far from it. I'm wishful to settle and live among you. I may eventually put up as your member; and, if so, when I take my place in Parliament I shall be in a position to testify that the Baymouth people are extremely cautious as to the manner in which they invest their money on 'orse-racing'! Yes, I'm 'ere on beyarf of the Sporting League, just to prove how free a meeting like this is from the evils o' gambling. I don't come 'ere to rob yer. I want yer all to win. I like to see yer bright and shining faces around me; I like the friverolity and reckereation and the conviverality of the thing, that's all. I'll tell yer how it is. I've a rich ole aunt, and she puts fifty pound into my 'ands, and sez, "Jacky," she sez, "I love those dear Baymouth people, and I want you to take this 'ere money and lay it out among 'em in moieties, and make 'em rich and 'appy." You can see for yourselves. I've no tickets and no parryfernalia, excep' this little pocket-book, where I enter any bets you honour me with. Come, Miss win a pair o' those three-and-sixpenny gloves at Chickerell's, the ex-Mayor's, to oblige me! Did I tread on your corn, Sir? I assure you it was the last thing I intended… "You knew I'd do it afore I'd done?"… Well, Sir, if you've sech a gift o' seeing into futoority as that, why not make something out of it now? Three to one bar one. Kitty I'm barring. Thank you, Sir; 'alf-a-crown to seven and six on Sportsman. I tell you candidly – you've got the winner. The favourite won't win. Now, then, all you others, where's your Baymouth pluck? I orfered you thirty to one Beeswing last race; and you wouldn't take it. And Beeswing won, and you lost the chance o' making yer fortunes. Don't blame me if the same thing 'appens again. I'm on'y bettin', as I told you, for my own amusement, and to get rid o' the money! (&c., &c.)

Mr. Sam Satchell (whom the apathy of the public has apparently reduced to a state of defiant buffoonery). Even money Daredevil, you rascals! And why the blazes don't ye take it? Come on. I'll take two little bits o' twos that Kitty don't win! Four to one against ole bread-and-butter Tommy, over there in the corner! Eleven and a 'alf to three quarters to two against Kitty. "What har the Wild Waves say-hay-ing?" Two Kitties to three Daredevils against a bloomin' goat-chaise? On the Baymouth Durby I'm bettin'!

At the Close of the Last Race – Three horses have started; the favourite has led to the turn and then bolted up the shingle, but, as the tide has come in and almost covered the course, and the other two horses by declining to face the water have let him in again, he wins after an exciting finish, up to the girths in sea-water; and such bookmakers as have succeeded in obtaining patronage are paying up with as much cheerfulness as they can command.

First Bookmaker (to eager backer). "Wait a bit, my boy, wait a bit, the number hasn't gone up yet, my son. Where's your ticket – forty-two? (His Clerk refers to book.) That's Squibbs. I pay over winners– not losers. (To the public.) Come along and fetch your money, the bullion's 'ere! (To another backer.) What was yours – threes? ("Fours I've got," from his Clerk.) Why don't yer arst for what you're entitled to, instead o' makin' me arst my clurk what your bet was? There's your money – take it and go."

    [The backer departs wealthier but abashed.

Second B. I'm payin' over that 'ard-run race, gentlemen, men and 'orses exhorsted! I'm payin' over Susan– dear ole Susey-hanner! who wants their money? The Bank o' England's 'ere, gentlemen, Mr. Frankie Fairprice and his ole friend, who's always by his side and never looses 'im!

Third B. (who has had to borrow largely from his brethren to meet his engagements). Are you all done now? (To the crowd.) Then I'll wish yer good afternoon, thank ye all for yer comp'ny, but you've bin bloomin' bad fun to-day, and you don't ketch me playin' Patience on a monument at any more o' yer blanky sand 'oppin' 'andicaps, that's all!

    [However, the local newspapers report next day that "A number of the sporting fraternity were in attendance to do business and apparently carried on a brisk and profitable trade" – which only shows how difficult it is for the casual observer to form an accurate opinion.

'IGHER UP!

(A Sketch Outside an Omnibus.)

The Omnibus is on its progress from Piccadilly to the Bank; the weather is raw and unpleasant, and the occupants of the garden-seats on the roof of the vehicle are – for once in a way – mostly men.

First Passenger (to Second, an acquaintance). I see young Bashaway the other day. (Significantly.) Jest been to see his father, so he told me.

Second Passenger (with interest). 'Ad he though? And 'ow did he find him?

First P. Fustrate, young Jim said; didn't know when he'd seen him lookin' better – (with sentiment) – quite like his old self!

Second P. (heartily). That is good 'earin', that is! (Reflectively.) Seems rum, though, come to think of it.

First P. 'Ow d'yer mean– rum? It's no more than what yer'd expect, bein' where he is. Look at the air o' the place – there ain't a 'elthier situation all round London, to my mind!

Second P. No, that's right enough; and, from all I 'ear, the food's well cooked and served reg'lar, if it is plain.

First P. Ah, and Bill enjoys his meals now, he does – the work gives him a appetite, and it's years, to my certain knowledge, since he done a stroke, and o' course he ain't allowed no drink —

Second P. And that's enough, of itself, to be the savin' of 'im, the way he was!

First P. Then, yer see, there's the reg'lar hours, and the freedom from worry, and the like, and nothink on his mind, and the place with every sanitary improvement and that – why, he owns his own self it's bin the makin' of 'im. And from what young Jim was a tellin' me, it appears that if Bill goes on gittin' good-conduck marks at the rate he's doin', there'll be a nice little sum doo to 'im when he's done his time at Wormwood Scrubs.