The Makings-Up Of Nobby Clark-Vol. 2

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Twelve stories published in the weekly Ideas,
Hulton & Co., London, 06 Oct 1909-22 December 1909

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Roy Glashan's Library, 2025
Version Date: 2025-07-25

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BIBLIOGRAPHIC NOTE

Between 1904 and 1918 Edgar Wallace wrote over 200 mostly humorous sketches about life in the British Army relating the escapades and adventures of privates Smith (Smithy), Nobby Clark, Spud Murphy and their comrades-in-arms. A character called Smithy first appeared in articles which Wallace wrote for the Daily Mail as a war correspondent in South Africa during the Boer war. (See "Kitchener's The Bloke", "Christmas Day On The Veldt", "The Night Of The Drive", "Home Again", and "Back From The War—The Return of Smithy" in the collection Reports from the Boer War). The Smithy of these articles is presumably the prototype of the character in the later stories.

In his autobiography People Edgar Wallace describes the origin of of his first "Smithy" collection as follows: "What was in my mind... was to launch forth as a story-writer. I had written one or two short stories whilst I was in Cape Town, but they were not of any account. My best practice were my 'Smithy' articles in the Daily Mail, and the short history of the Russian Tsars (Red Pages from Tsardom, R.G.) which ran serially in the same paper. Collecting the 'Smithys', I sought for a publisher, but nobody seemed anxious to put his imprint upon my work, and in a moment of magnificent optimism I founded a little publishing business, which was called 'The Tallis Press.' It occupied one room in Temple Chambers, and from here I issued "Smithy" at 1 shilling and sold about 30,000 copies."

The present volume contains the last 12 stories in the 24-part series that Wallace wrote for the London weekly Ideas under the title The "Makings-Up" of Nobby Clark.

13. On Systems
14. Socialism
15. Family Pride
16. The Surprising Flight of Hoggy
17. Brothers
18. The Wanglers
19. One of the Boys
20. The Hypnotist
21. The Ghost of Heilbron Kopje
22. The Anchesters' Christmas Pudding
23. Winston Churchill and Monty
24. The Man Who Couldn't Speak the Truth

13. — ON SYSTEMS.

First published in Ideas, 06 Oct 1909

"Me father," said Nobby Clark, with a touch of pride," is one of the greatest card players of the age. He got quite a reputation for it. He played on a system. When he came into a game, the other people used to get up an' go away.

"'Yes,' one would say. 'I promised me wife I'd be home by 10.23. an' I can just do it.'

"'Very sorry,' sez another chap, 'but I hurt me hand hittin' a policeman, an' I've got writer's cramp—'

"'Oh, nothin',' sez the chap, careless, 'only I've noticed certain things, that's all.'

"'If you'd oblige me with the name of your solicitors,' sez me father, 'or if you've got a friend who'll hold your coat, we will settle this matter in two twinks!'

'If you'd oblige me with the name of your solicitors,' sez me father, 'or if you've
got a friend who'll hold your coat, we will settle this matter in two twinks!'

"With that, the feller would back out, sayin' that he didn't mean what father meant, an' as no offence was meant, no offence should be took.

"'Very well, then, sez father stern, 'you can prove your word by sittin' down again an' playin' a hand at nap.'

"'But I had the ace of spades, an' you had the ace of spades,' sez the feller, not to be put off.

"'Accidents will happen,' sez me father, very magnanimous, 'an' I don't harbour any suspicion against you. It's your deal; I dealt last time.'

"Then there'd be another long silence, broken only by the sound of father sayin' 'nap' an' gettin' it. Bimeby—

"'That's curious,' sez me father, puzzled, 'especially as I've got the king of hearts in me hand!'

"'It's a misdeal,' sez father very calm. 'It's your deal, Mr. What's-your-name—I dealt last time.'

"Then father would, perhaps, rake in two or three naps in succession, after which he'd get up.

"'Stop an' play another round,' sez the nasty man; 'don't sneak away as soon as you've packed up a parcel.'

"'No,' sez me father, very firm, 'I've promised me wife I wouldn't lose more than a sov—'

"Or, perhaps, things wouldn't come his way, an' then one of the other fellers who'd been winnin' would get up an' say he must be nippin'.

"'It's gettin' on,' sez the feller lookin' at his watch, 'why, it's half-past eleven!' he sez, very shocked.

"'You sit down,' sez me father, stern, 'you don't suppose I'm goin' to let you walk away with all that unearned increment, do you? Sit down, or I'll hand you a parcel of trouble*

"So the feller sits down, mutterin' an' grousin' an' lookin' at his watch all the time.

"But after father's pipped him twice on a nap call, an' after the money begins to flow steadily over to father's side of the table, he doesn't take any more interest in time, an' when father gets up from the table at 2 a.m an' gathers up his winnin's, the feller gets wild.

"'But I ain't,' sez me father, 'not so young as I was. Besides I've finished my system.'

"'That's what I moan,' sez me father, an' before the chap could recover his breath father would be homeward bound with a list to starboard—he always carried his winnin's in his right-hand trousers pocket.

"Now, the lesson I learnt from me father," said Nobby, "was this: Luck is nothin' more or less than the savvy to stop playin' when you're a winner, an' not to stop playin' until you are. An', moreover, he was the only chap I know who had a system that worked.

"Yatesey, that feller I was tellin' you about the other day, was one of them chaps who always take risks when they can't afford to, an' who always starts cuttin' their losses just as the profits come in sight.

"Naturally enough, he never made money. He was a 'G' Company man, an' I never saw him except at the canteen or in town, so that I never properly got to know him till he an' me was on detachment together at a place called Simonstown at the Cape.

"He was a rare chap for racin' an' for systems. He invented a system for winnin' money, an' went down to Kenilworth Races an' tried it.

"'It worked fine,' sez Yatesey when he came back, 'if I could have only lasted till the last race an' had £7,473 10s. 4d. on Butcher's Bride I'd have cleared all me expenses, an' made a sovereign besides—as it is, I've lost 12s.'

"Yatesey had the same opinion as me father, an' that was, that there was no such thing as luck.

"'It's information an' judgment,' sez Yatesey. 'All you've got to do to win money racin', is to read the newspapers very careful; peruse, if I may use the expression, the trainin' reports, an' there you are!

"Before a big race, he'd get the 'Cape Sportsman' to study it. Sometimes he'd read bits out to me.

"'Now listen to this,' sez Yatesey, 'here's what I call a clear an' clever summm'-up of the situation.'

KENILWORTH HANDICAP.

This great race is down for decision on Saturday, an' a spirited an' excitin' contest is promised. With a splendid service of trains an' good weather, an enjoyable afternoon's sport is certain The following' are the probable

STARTERS AN' JOCKEYS

Mr. Eustace Smile's Kitchen Garden by Racquet —Greens 3ys 8st 1lbs... Little Makery

With to so small an acceptance list it is possible to dismiss the race in a very few words.

Some doubt exists whether Lord Raspberry candidate can stay. Our own opinion is, that if he can he will. On the other hand, he may not; but, at any rate, he must he a danger.

Kitchen Garden has form to recommend him, an' on this easy course he will take a lot of beatin'.

Foolish Error is another that appeals to us, an' we quite anticipate his victory, for a difficult course like this will just suit the far-stridin' son of Censor. Considerin' all things, however, we can see nothin' that will beat POLEMIC

TRAINING REPORTS

EPSOMDORP (from our own correspondent). A glorious mornin'. Cabbage Patch cantered, an' although runnin' a little green, impressed all beholders. This handsome colt will about win the Kenilworth Handicap.

ASS VOGELFONTEIN (from our own correspondent). A rainy mornin'. Mr. Redfern's candidate. Foolish Error, has had a perfect preparation for the Kenilworth Handicap, an' I fully expect him to be returned a winner.

FREEZEFONTEIN (from our own correspondent). A nice mornin', but cold. Polemic had a capital gallop through the snow, an' pulled up as fresh as an ice floe. He is in capital fettle, an' will about win.

HARRICOTVLEI (from our own correspondent). A foggy mornin'. Kitchen Garden was given a windin'-up gallop. This remarkable three-year-old can hardly be beaten in the Kenilworth Handicap.

"Then Yatesey finished readin' he'd start all over again, as if he wasn't sure which horse to back. That was the rum thing about Yatesey; he did not know a tip when he saw one.

"He often used to invite me to go racin' with him, an' I offered to go, but when he told me that I'd have to pay my own expenses, I backed out.

"'There's a horse in the first race,' he sez, 'that's money for nothin',' he sez.

"But Yatesey ain't much of a humorist, an' my little joke didn't get the cocoanut.

"The great thing about racin', accordin' to Yatesey, at to know somebody in a stable. It didn't matter who it was, or what kind of stable it was, so long as you know him well enough to speak to.

"'That's where I've got an advantage,' he sez, 'over the public; it ain't fair to the bookmakers, I'll admit, but, after all, I can't consider bookmakers, can I?'

"'I'm goin' to work my owners for courses system to-day,' sez Yatesey, 'so I think we'll give the bookmaker a bit of a shakin' up.

"'We've got to look after ourselves,' sez Yatesey very firm, ' it's no good havin' a tender 'art when you go racin', is it?'

"I couldn't help feelin' sorry for the bookmakers. There they was shoutin' an' jokin' so light-heartedly, an' not one of 'em with any idea that Yatesey knew the first four winners, right off the reel. I pitied 'em—I did, upon me word. Nice, homely fellers, doin' their best to earn a little money to take 'em back to their dear ole homes in far-away Jerusalem.

"'We'll back "Do-Be-Careful" in this first race,' he sez; 'his owner likes to win here, an' besides, he's got a stone in hand.'

"'Which hand?' I sez, but Yatesey wouldn't let on. He wanted me to go shares with him in his bet, but I wouldn't—I was too sorry for the gentlemen in the loud suits.

"'They're off,' sez Yatesey; 'there's the horse we've backed—he's last now, but that's only the jockey's artfulness.'

"The jockey was so artful, that when the horses came past the post he was still last, only much more so.

"'That's very curious,' sez Yatesey, frownin' heavy; 'the lad in Bogey's stable said it was a stone pinch for Do-Be-Careful.'

"'We'll get back all we lost on this,' he sez. 'Mint Mania is, in a manner of speakin', a squinch. He'll win in a walk.'

"An' so he woold have," explained Nobby, "only the other horses didn't happen to he walkin', an' Mint Mania was passin' the winnin' post when the horses was goin' out for the next race.

"There wasn't any better luck for Yatesey in the third race, nor the fourth race either. But Yatesey wasn't what you might call depressed.

"'The beauty of bein' in the know,' he sez, 'is that you can always get out on the last race.'

"'What I mean to say is, you can always make money on the last race,' an' then he explained to me that public-spirited owners always kept a certainty for the last race to give the public a chance.

* * * * *

"Goin' home that night Yatesey was very silent, because Old Jim had only finished fourth. We'd waited a bit, hopin' that the other three would be disqualified (there was tour runners), but a feller, who was probably in league with the bookmakers, shouted 'All Ri-et!' an' we come away.

"'Nobby,' he sez, 'perhaps I've done the owners, in a manner of speakin', an injustice. Perhaps the owner of the winner was the public-spirited feller. Now I've got a bit of a theory which we'll try next week. I'll back the first favourite in the first race, the second favourite in the second race, the third—'

14. — SOCIALISM.

First published in Ideas, 13 Oct 1909

"NATURALLY enough," said Private Nobby Clark, "a feller owes a lot to his early trainin', an' a wise father makes an artful son, as Shakespeare says.

"Me father wasn't always wise; sometimes he was otherwise; but he was generally to be found hangin' round when things was bein' given away, an' if that ain't wisdom, it's good business.

"Me father was a great politician. Used to speak at all the public meetin's, an' be reported, too. Sometimes he wouldn't be there very long, but generally he used to get to a place where the stewards couldn't reach him. Father was what I might call 'a voice.' Suppose it was a Home Rule meetin', an' Mr. Balfour was talkin'. It'd go somethin' like this:

"'A Voice: What about the Isle of Dogs?" (Laughter an' uproar, durin' which the speaker was ejected.)

"Father hadn't what I might call any political convictions; he had other kinds, but not political, so that made it easy for him to take what he used to call an intelligent interest in politics. There was a time when he was the most run-after man in our neighbourhood.

"'You'll find him in the tennis court,' sez mother, and they'd go through the kitchen into the backyard to find father very busy paintin' the rabbit hutch with some paint he found outside the oil shop.

"'Now, Clark,' sez the political feller, 'we shall want you for a show to-night.'

"'I forget for the moment,' sez the political chap, 'the feller who's goin' to speak ain't made up his mind on the question—but all you've got to do is to put in a few well-chosen remarks, such as "You're a liar," "Fry your face," an' similar statements.'

"Father went: It was the last political meetin' he went to for a long time. It appears be went to the wrong meetin'—there was several bein' held that night—an' owin' to his political questions such as 'Why don't you marry the girl?' the assembly broke up in great confusion.

"When father went to draw his pay—five shilling —he found the political chap waitin' to pay him—with a coke-hammer.

He found the political chap waitin'
to pay him—with a coke-hammer.

"'An' my advice to you, Clark,' sez the feller when he called to see father in hospital, 'is to keep clear of politics. You ain't cut out for it: you haven't got the build, nor the constitution, nor,' he sez, 'the sense.'

"'I see your meanin', Mr. What-d'ye-call-it," sez me father, 'an' when I come out I'll chuck politics away from me.'

"An' so father did, in a highly dramatic way, wrappin' a brick in a bit of Lord Rosebery's speech an' droppin' it on the head of a political feller when he was passin' under our winder one night.

"I've always follered father's lead, an' given politics a rest, though that's no hard thing for a soldier to do, because in the Army politics ain't allowed—or wanted either.

"We had a political officer once, a chap who got seconded or somethin' for the Army, an' that was about the only time the regiment ever took politics seriously. Most of us were Conservative, the same as Captain Kinsley, but Spud Murphy, who had a down on the officer, went the other way about.

"'I'm a Socialist, I am,' sez Spud. 'I believe in dividin' the wealth, if I may call it so, of the world, an' lettin' every man have his fair share.'

"But when election day came round, an' the Captain was elected by 2, politics died down again, until a foolish young feller by the namr of Flank—Mr. Thos. Flank—started' a debatin' class at the Young Soldiers' Mutual Improvement Society in town.

"It didn't look like politics at first, because the things they used to talk about was such things as, 'Should Sunday be a day of rest?' or 'Is it better to be clever than beautiful?'

"Then some feller started a discussion, 'Should bicycles be taxed?' an' gradually we went on by easy stages until we'd got to 'Ought the House of Peers to be abolished?'

"There was a fine argument over this, nearly all the members of the Soldiers' Mutual Improvement Society takin' part, bein' under the impression that the 'House of Peers' was a public-house, an' we voted solid in consequence.

"But takin' one thing with another, politics always missed fire in the Anchesters, an' it wasn't till the year before the war that they ever filled what I might call the public eye in our battalion.

"The only chap that politics ever stuck to was Spud Murphy, who, havin' become a Socialist owin' to Captain Kinsley givin' him ten days' C.B. for absence from duty, was took bad with Socialism at the time of the election, an' remained in a critical state ever afterwards.

"Spud didn't know much about the game when he started Socialism', but it's wonderful what you can pick up, an' what with readin' one paper an' another, Spud got worse an' worse, till he'd sit for hours in the canteen—specially just before pay-day—an' argue that our beer was as much his as it was ours, an' callin' me an' Smithy all the capitalists he could lay his tongue to.

"'It ain't the beer,' he sez, bitterly, 'it's the bloomin' principle I'm after;' but me an' Smithy used to sit holdin' tight to our principles an' not leave go until we'd drank every drop of 'em.

"'What I want to point out is this,' sez Spud, 'is that bein' a true Socialist, I'm willin' to share my beer—can 1 say anythin' fairer than that?"

"When pay day came round, an' Spud was flush, we'd try to catch him out, but Spud was the artfullest chap in barracks.

"He could prove to you as plain as plain, from bits he'd read in the papers, that if he added his money to yours an' divided it, he'd still be a loser.

"'True Socialism,' he sez, 'is not to take money from people who need it, but to take a from people who don't want to part with it.'

"An' it took me an' Smithy an' Tiny White, an' Corporal Timms two days to work out what he meant.

"He explained a bit later that if he came into a fortune of a million pounds or so, he would keep the 'or so' an 'share' the rest amongst his sufferin' fellows, because what comes to you by luck ain't rightly yours.

"Anchester Fair an' Cattle Show was on, an' all the waste places round Anchester was filled with swing-boats, an' roundabouts, an' coconut shies, an' similar agricultural exhibits.

"I never saw the show part of it, nor nobody else either, but the whole blessed regiment used to turn out every night, an' go down to the show grounds. What with seein' movin' picture shows, an' playin' chuck-the-ring, an' tryin' to knock the pennies off the billiard ball, the regiment spent all the money it had—it was the beginnin' of the month, too—an' the only feller who did any good was Spud. There was a sort of cheap-jack who was rafflin' Stilton cheese, a penny a ticket, an' Spud was one of the last winners.

"It was the final day of the fair an' we were walkin' round the show ground, me an' Smithy, discussin' the amount of beer we could have bought with the stuff we'd wasted, an' wonderin' where the money was comin' from to buy extras[*], when we came flop upon Spud in the moment, as the poet sez, of his touchin'.

"It was a fine big cheese, as much as Spud could carry. There was enough cheese there to last the whole bloomin' company till next pay day, so I up an' congratulated Spud.

"'I'm glad,' I sez very hearty, 'to see you walkin' off with this what I might describe as unearned increment under your arm. Because,' I sez, 'knowin' your kind Socialistic heart, can see you dividin' it amongst your comrades.'

'I'm glad,' I sez very hearty, 'to see you walkin' off with this
what I might describe as unearned increment under your arm.'

"'If you can see that,' sez Spud, nasty, 'all that I can say is that you must have been drinkin'.'

"'I can see him,' I sez enthusiastic, 'callin' his true friends together—his brother Socialists, like me an' Smithy—'

"'It might as well be said first as last,' sez Spud, very firm, 'that this ain't a Socialist cheese; in a manner of speakin', it's a monopoly.'

"'Do you mean to tell me, comrade,' sez Smithy, 'that you're goin' to eat this cheese on your own?*

"Spud staggered home with his cheese, took it up to the room, opened his box an' put it in.

"Next mornin', when me an' the rest of the room was eatin' barrack rations, there was noble Spud with a whackin' bit o' prime Stilton, an' although me an' Smithy looked at Spud in a way that would have melted a heart of stone, we didn't melt any of the cheese from his plate to ours.

"It was fairly maddenin' to see him go to his box, open it, cut off a bit as big as a pavin' block, an' come calmly to the table to eat it.

"This went on for three or four days an' we got used to it, though I could never get used to seein' Spud sittin' down, an' talkin' with his mouth full of cheese, argue that the ruin of England was the selfishness of the upper classes.

"Then one day, the company officer, comin' in to make an inspection, stopped in the middle of the room an' started sniffin'.

Over came a barrack labourer an' started tinkerin' with the gas,, but after makin' various experiments he sez that the only gas that was escapin' was out of the officer's head.

"'Send for the medical officer,' sez the CO. 'there's somethin' radically wrong here.'

"Poor old Spud's face got longer an' longer while the officers stood waitin' for the M.O., an' what with all the other chaps in the room lookin' accusin'ly an' very stern at him, he began to tremble in his shoes.

"'It's a very curious smell,' sez the doctor when he arrived. 'I can't quite understand it.'

"The end of it was, they plastered disinfectants all round barracks—an' hoped for the best.

"'I can't make it out,' sez Spud, when they'd gone; 'it don't smell now, does it?'

"'Don't ask me,' I sez, very hasty, but Spud opened the box an' sniffed an' sniffed.

"'The best thing you can do,' I sez, 'is to get rid o' that cheese as quick as you can. Me an' Smithy will run the risk an' take a bit—won't we, Smithy?'

"'Not me!' sez Spud; 'it's a plot—a bloomin' capitalist plot to rob the poor.'

"'Very well' I sez sorrerful, 'keep it. Tomorrer, when the officer comes, I'll tell him. I'm not goin' to be poisoned.'

"That night me an' Smithy was in town buyin' some more of that smelly stuff that you get from the chemists. I forget what it's called, but it smells like bad onions, an' Gus Ward, the medial staff feller, put us up to the dodge.

"'What we must do,' I sez to Smithy, 'is to spill a little more than usual round Spud's cot; nothin's too bad for a Socialist that won't share an' share alike.

"The very next day, just before company officers' inspection, I slipped the bottle into me pocket an' goes over to Spud.

"'What the devil?' he sez, an' just then I felt somethin' cold against the leg of me trousis—the cork had come out of the bottle!

* * * * *

"I got seven days' cells for creatin' alarm an' despondency amongst His Majesty's forces, also for an act contrary to good order an' military discipline—but there's compensation for everythin'. When I came out, Spud was in hospital with ptomaine poisonin'.

"I went to see him in hospital, an' after a few personal remarks on both sides, he sez:

"'Nobby, I've been thinkin' about that cheese; it's what I call an illustration of Socialism. You tried to prove it was bad by makin' it smell; I tried to prove it was good by eatin' it. You got time because you wanted it; I'm nearly dead because I had it.'

"'It's gone back to the land,' sez Spud. "The colonel's got it; it's in his garden, partly to scare away the birds an' partly to fertilise the cabbages.'"

15. — FAMILY PRIDE.

First published in Ideas, 20 Oct 1909

"If anybody said anythin' against the Clarks, up would go father's quart pot an' bang it would come on the feller's head, an' the landlord of the Crown an' Anchor had to put up a notice. There was three notices in the bar. One was: As a bird at known, by his note, to is the man by his conversation'; another: 'Bettin' not allowed. No ladies served in the private bar, unless they wear boots an' stockin's'; an' the third: 'Visitors arc requested not to talk about Clark's family.'

"Father was very proud of the family. There was Octavio Clark, the great writer, an' Dick Clark alias One-Eyed Dick, the famous pirate, an' often father used to take me through the Chamber of Horrors at Madame Tussaud's an' point out various members of the family who was celebrated, one may or another.

He never forgave a dear friend of his for writin' him a letter which begun 'Dear Klark.' Next time father saw him in the street, he walked to the other side of the road. Father would go miles out of his way to avoid that feller, an' when he used to call at our house, it was always 'not at home, Mr. So-and-So.'

"As far as Ì remember, this feller's name was Bosey, an' the way he used to run after father was scandalous. Father owed him money. One day, when father was returnin' from a stroll in the park, this Bosey feller, who was in a manner at speakin' lyin' in wait, jumped out an' seized on to the. old man.

"'Three half-crowns,' sez Bosey, 'what you borrered, an' what I've been writin' about for munse and munse.'

"'I've had no communication from you, me good man,' sez father, 'nor do I desire same. I have never met you before, an' unless you take your vile paw from me coat, I shall, perforce, have nought else to do than to hand you into custody.'

"Father was a well educated man, as you can see, an' Booty was a trifle staggered.

"'That's nice kind of language to use," he sez, very indignant, 'an' after lendin' you that money, an' writin' regular—'

"'Ok,' sez me father, suddenly, as if a light was dawnin' on him, 'oh,' he sez, 'are you the cad that spelt me name with a K?'

"'Hence!' sez father, haughtier than ever, 'hence, low hound, ere I put the weight of me strong right hand across your funny face.'

'Hence, low hound, ere I put the weight of
me strong right hand across your funny face.'

"'Nobby.' be sez to me, 'let this be a solemn warnin' to you. Never borrer money from your social inferiors. They want it back. If you must borrer, do it with people of your own rank,' an' with that he gave me a long lecture on who to borrer money from. Accordin' to father the best people are chaps who are goin' away on a long sea voyage—their money brings luck. Another good kind are chaps who ain't quite right in their heads.

"I'm inclined to think," mused Nobby, "that anybody who lent money to me father, an' expected it back again must have been a bit potty; at any rate, they began to look like it when they called to collect.

"It was an art collectin' from father, an' most of the chaps who'd lent him a bit durin' the week used to wait till our garden party was on.

"We always had a garden party every Saturday evenin' in the summer. You brought your own beer, an' you sat round an' watched father feed the rabbits.

"'Oh, by the way, Mr. Clark,' one chap would say, 'didn't I lend you two shillin's on Monday?'

"'But,' sez the chap, 'don't you remember? You was standin' at the corner of the street an' I was comin' along, an' you sez to me—'

"After the feller had described how father was dressed. what sort of tie he was wearin', an' whether he was shaded or not, father would turn to the other chaps with a very significant look.

"Father was so respected in the neighbourhood that nobody thought of doubtin' his word, but if anybody did, then father's family pride would spring up all of a sudden, an' there was a half-arm hook in the jaw waitin' for anybody who wanted it.

"'It ain't the reflection on me, that I mind,' he used to soy. 'It's the Slur on me ancestors, Uncle Tom an' Uncle Dick'—it's family pride, Nobby, an' a very useful thing to have.'

"I've never tried, the same racket myself because the chaps you meet in the Army haven't much respect for a feller's family. They've had too much trouble with their own.

"Spud Murphy an' Tiny White were rather heavy on the family line, especially Spud when he had a little too much drink. He'd sit on his bed cot an' cry about the way he'd disgraced his family by joinin' the Army, but the only time Spud's rich brother-in-law came to call on him, he was arrested by the sergeant on for attemptin' to steal a barrack-room poker. Spud's rich brother-in-law had it stuffed down the leg of his trousis. After that, when Spud talked about his relations an' the money they had, we said nothin', but Smithy used to get up an' poke the fire thoughtfully.

"Tony Gerrard was the only feller who ever stuck to it through thick an' thin that he was well-connected. He wasn't quite certain how well connected he was. because he'd never been properly christened, an' that," explained Nobby luminously, "makes all the difference.

"Smithy used to say he got his name out of a telephone book, but Antony Gerrard. Esq.—that's how he used to sign his name before he enlisted—said he scorned Smithy.

"There's a certain Lord X," sez Tony one night in the canteen; 'I won't give you his came. But suppose I walked up to him an' offered him me hand—what do you suppose he'd do?'

"'No,' sez Tony, smilin' pityin'ly, 'he'd stagger back an' say "Good heavens—is it J—?"'

"'I don't mind admittin', he sez, 'that me real name's not Gerrard—that's only part of me name. If you knew me name, you'd recognise it at once as belongin' to one of the greatest families in England.'

" So long as a feller doesn't commit the error of givin' particulars, he can go on makin' impressions, an' givin' you the idea that he's in the brightest an' beat class, an' that's what Tony did.

"It was a bit sickenin', because when Tony was around you couldn't talk about anybody.

"If somebody started 'They tell me that the Duke of Claremarket—' Tony would cough warnin'ly.

"'There's certain reasons.' he'd say. 'why I'd rather you didn't mention Mr. B. Certain family reasons.' An naturally that would dry us up.

"Smithy was arguin' once about Napoleon Bonaparte. Not exactly arguin', but tellin' a feller that if he said so-and-so he was liar. Smithy knows a lot about Napoleon, owing to havin' read a book called 'The Heroic Drummer Boy,' or 'How England Was Saved: A Tale of the Peninsular War.'

"Smithy was in the act of tellin' the chaps how Napoleon used to go round pinchin' people's ears, an' anythin' else he could lay hand on, when Tony, who was drinkin' solitary at the bar an' listenin' with a very moody face, steps is.

"'Smithy,' he sez in a pained voice, 'don't think me foolish, but for certain reasons I'd rather you didn't mention N.B.'

"'I can't explain,' sez Tony, sorrerful. would mean givin' away certain secrets that have been in the family for years. All that I'll say,' he sez 'is this: Do you notice anythin' strange about me face?'

"'I don't mean that,' sez Tony, hasty, 'but do you see a certain resemblance to anybody you've heard about?'

"'You needn't be offensive,' sez Tony, 'amongst gentlemen there's no need to be rude an' personal. I asked you a civil question. Don't I remind you in some ways of N.B.?'

"'Well,' sez Tony, drinkin' up his beer, 'we won't go into the question, but it's very painful for me to stand here an' listen to certain things about certain people.' An' with that he walks out.

"It was about this time that Tony began to take up his family as a serious hobby. Previous to this, he'd only dropped hints at one time an' another, but now he began to work overtime on the job- He got gloomier an' gloomier; didn't talk much; used to sit in a corner of the canteen nursin' an unsociable pint of beer, an' broodin'.

Tony used to sit in a corner of the can-
teen nursin' an unsociable pint of beer

"It got to be the talk of the camp. Fellers from other regiments used to come over to our canteen to have a look at him. It got about that he was a German Prince who'd been disappointed in love. Somebody told Tony this an' he denied it.

"'I don't mind admittin',' he sez, 'that I'm not a German Prince. Not German,' he sez, 'at any rate.'

"Be didn't take the trouble to explain what be really was, an' so, in order to spare his feelin's, we had to wait until he'd left the canteen before we started an argument about any feller.

"If he happened to be present one of the chaps would go up to him an' say: 'Excuse me, Tony, have you any objection to us discussin' Paul Kroojer—or Richard Cure de Lions, as the case might be.

"Sometimes Tony would say 'yes,' but more often—especially the day we was arguin' about Moses an' Bulrushes, an' how Moses got there—he said 'no,' he'd rather we didn't.

"Now, all this went on for months. We was shifted from Aldershot to Chatham, an' back again to Aldershot, an' as far as me an' Smithy was concerned, we got a bit fed Up with Tony an' his family pride.

"One day me an' Smithy were sittin' havin' a friendly talk about Tom Sayers an' Heenan, when Tony pushed his way into the conversation.

"'Pardon me,' sez Tony, 'but when you are speakin' of Tom Sayers will you kindly remember that for reasons that I can't give I'd be obliged if you'd say nothin' likely to injure his reputation.'

"'Tony,' I sez, me an' Smithy would be obliged to you, if you'd give that family of yours a rest.'

"It was what I might call the first serious opposition Tony had ever had, an' it made him broodier than ever.

"Smithy an' me went on leave to London, an' the night after we came back, we was sittin' in the library, so called because it's the only place you can get a cup of coffee, tellin' the other fellers all about our adventures, when in walks Tony, an' I could see the light of battle in his eye, to use a poetical expression.

"I was just in the middle of tellin' the fellers about a certain party me an' Smithy had seen—'The Little Gent' he was called, when in rushed Tony where a good many other fellers wouldn't have dared trod.

"'Pardon me,' he sez, 'the party you mentioned as I come in is on the stage ain't he?'

"'Well,' sez Tony, 'all I can say is that when a member of a certain family disgraces hisself by goin' on the stage, it don't seem to me that it's a very friendly thing to chuck it in the teeth of another member of the same family.'

"'Yes,' sez Tony, as bold as brass, 'if you're cad enough to make me confess it, yes!'

"'He's a cousin', sez Tony, 'an' all our family's very much upset about his goin' on the stage. I've done me best to persuade him not to,' sez Tony despairin'ly. 'I've argued with him and talked to him. "Think o' the family," I sez, but he took no notice.'

"'I shouldn't think he would,' I sez, 'because the party me an' Smithy was talkin' about is the Educated Chimpanzee at the Palace,' I sez,"

16. — THE SURPRISING FLIGHT OF HOGGY.

First published in Ideas, 27 Oct 1909

"IT'S one great thing—to have a good memory," reflected Private Clark, "an' another to know how to use it.

"Me father had one of the best memories goin'. He'd remember things that nobody else remembered—or wanted to, An' at the same time he could forget quicker an' better than any man I know.

"That was what he called his forte, but what other people called his dashed artfullness. He'd recall to the very hour when it was that people wanted to borrow money from him, but, bein' delicate-minded, he never remembered or tried to remember when they actually borrowed—an' nobody else remembered it either.

"If a detective called at our house an' sez, 'Mr. Clark, where was you on the night of the twentieth ultimo?' father could remember everythin'—where he was, who he was talkin' to, what he had for supper, etcetera. An', strange to say. he was always in the very place where the detective didn't want him to be.

"Father remembered lots of things about people who got on in the world, things they'd forgotten themselves, an' hoped everybody else had forgotten.

"There was some people named Winks, who used to live in our street, who come into a bit of money, which was left 'em by an uncle in Australia who wasn't quite right in his head. As soon as the Winkses got the stuff they moved. Took a home in Lilac Avenue, had white curtains, an' washed themselves regular—an' indulged in other unnatural habits.

"The two Miss Winkses went to a private school, an' Master Winks started for the University of Bow. At first they still kept on friendly terms with our street, but after a while they began to get a bit frosty-faced, an' instead of stoppin' you in the street to ask you how the fowls was layin', or where you got that black eye, they'd pass with a nod. An' after a time they didn't even nod. Then old Winks stood for the Borough Council, an' that made him a trifle more affable.

He came round canvassin', an' called
at our house with a lady friend.

"'Ho, Clark!' he sez, shakin' hands with father, 'an' how's the world treatin' you?'

"'Yes,' sez Mr. Winks, short. 'Fact of it is. Clark,' he sez, I've got a handle to me name.'

"'I know the time,' sez me father, 'when you hadn't got a handle to your beer jug.'

"'I mind the time,' sez me father, thoughtfully, 'when you borrered a shirt off me to go to Epsom.'

"'Do you remember that day—fifth of November it was—when you got mixed up in a Guy Fox procession, an' people thought you was the guy?' sez father.

"'The question is,' sez old Winks, desperate, 'are you goin' to vote for me, or are you not?'

"'I ain't got a vote,' sez father, 'owin' to havin' just come out of prison—do you remember that warder at Wormwood Scrubbs, him with the red nose—?'

"Old Winks didn't wait to hear any more. Father said that Winks wasn't satisfied with movin' with the times—he wonted to get ahead of 'em.

"There's a feller I know in' the Anchester Regiment who's one of the finest time-movers that ever was, His name is Hoggy, an' I daresay you've read about him in the papers.

"Hoggy was a feller who'd saved a bit, an' made a bit. A nice young feller, with a curly head of hair, who was always doin' things that brought him in money. There wasn't a dodge that Hoggy didn't know about, from horse-racin' to stamp collectin'. He used to have an advertisement in the 'Bazaar' every week. One week he'd be offerin' to exchange a pair of boots an' twelve bound volumes of the Quiver for a free-wheel bicycle or-what-offers? The next week he'd be offerin' the bicycle for a gramophone or-what-offers, an' the next week he'd be sellin' the gramophone for two pounds an' an encyclopedia or-what-offers? He was such a clever feller at this sort of thing that if he started by advertisin' a pair of dumb-bells, at the end of a couple of months he'd turn them dumb-bells into a horse an' cart.

"That was his hobby swoppin'. I don't know what he did with the things he got, or where he stored 'em, or whether he ever saw 'em. My own idea is that as soon as he'd arranged the swop he'd hand 'em on to the next unfortunate feller.

"He was rather a friend of mine—not exactly a friend, but the sort of man I borrered money from—an' one day he come to me with a long face.

"'I've been had,' he sez. 'I've just swopped a Persian cat for a motor engine, an' I can't get anybody to take the bloomin' thing off me hands.'

"He'd got this motor engine in a shed in town, an' although he advertised an' advertised, nobody seemed to want to take it off his hands.

"He offered to exchange it for a beer-engine or anythin' useful, for a kitchen range or gas stove, but somehow just then motor engines was a drag on the market. I used to think his advertisement wasn't all it might have been, especially the one that went:

"Just now all the army is crazy on 'Should Soldiers Learn Trades?' an' after Hoggy had paid three weeks' rent for storin' this machine, he paraded before the C.O. an' asked if he couldn't have it in barracks because he wanted to learn motor-engineerin'.

"It would have probably rusted itself to bits only just then—it was only a month or two back—the Anchester Town Council thought they'd have a Flyin' Week. It was a new an' original idea. Nobody else had thought of it, except Blackpool, Doncaster, Folkestone, the Isle of Dogs, an' the White City.

"I tell you it created a bit of excitement especially amongst flyin' people, when the prize list came out.

"There was a prize of £5 for the best all-British aeryoplane, an' £3 10s. for a flight of two miles, an' a prize of 10s. an' a round of beef for the chap who went up highest,

"For three days the letter box at Anchester Town Hall was full of letters from Latham an' Veryhot, an' Farmer sayin' that, owin' to a recent bereavement in the family, they wouldn't be able to compete for the prizes.

"We was readin' about this in a special edition of the 'Anchester Gazette' when in come Hoggy in a state of excitement,

"It was an idea after me own heart, an' me an' Smithy an' almost every feller in barracks helped.

"The armourer-sergeant made the wings, an' the carpenter made the propeller, an' me an' Smithy bought the calico to tack over the framework. Hoggy got his idea out of a book, 'How to Build an Aeroplane, 1s.'

"'I've entered me name,' he sez, the night before the aeryoplane was finished, 'for the Grand Prix de Anchester—from the soap works to the gas house an' once round the steam laundry.'

"The account of Hoggy's machine was in all the papers, an' the War Office sent a feller down to inspect it.

"It looked a perfect picture standin' in the back field, with its white wings an' its bicycle wheels (Hoggy swopped a pair of fish knives an' the life of Sir Walter Scott for 'em), an' the War Office chap was impressed. He walked round it, an' touched it, an' smelt it.

"'I'd rather not just now,' sez Hoggy, who hadn't any more idea of how the engines ought to be started than he had of flyin'.

"To cut n long story short, the War Office feller got so interested in Hoggy's aeryoplane that he started messing about with the engine—unscrewed it, an' laced it up; buttoned it, an' took a piece out of it. Then he put some petrol in it, an' started the propeller.

"'There!' he sez, 'if I hadn't seen the seen the machine you'd never have got that engine to work.'

* * * * *

"'I've got th© "Flyin' Dutchman" down to the what-d'ye-call-it grounds,' he sez, 'an' it's the only aeryoplane there.'

"'I think not,' sez Hoggy, thoughtful, 'but I'm open to sell that aeryoplane to the highest bidder, an one or two people in town are nibblin'.

"'It looks as if it could fly,' he sez. 'An' when I sit there with the levers in me hand, an' the mad music of the propeller threshin' the air, an' the wind whistlin' through me teeth, soarin' upward, upward, upward, people will he fallin' over one another to buy it. I got that bit about "mad music" out of the "Anchester Gazette"', he sez.

"I must say that the Anchester Town-Council owed somethin' to Hoggy. He was the only aviator who turned up. Two or three fellers came with kites, an' one chap brought a few pigeons, but the flyin' man part of it was done by Hoggy.

"There was thousands on the ground when we got there. Hoggy was talkin' with the War Office chap.

"I don't think it's a good day for flyin',' he sez, 'there's a nine-metre wind.'

"'The fact of it is," sez poor Hoggy, !I thought of sellin' this machine an' buildin' another.'

"'Get up,' sez the War Office chap, an' we hoisted Hoggy into the driver's seat.

"'Suppose the bloomin' engine busts?' sez Hoggy, 'or that propeller comes off an' catches me a whack on the head? It's only fastened with glue.'

"It was a great business gettin' Hoggy to start the engine. In the first place, he didn't know how, an' in the second place he didn't want to know.

"Whar-r-r-r! went the engine, an' Hoggy's eyes nearly started out of his head with fright.

"Let go,' sez the War Office feller, an' the machine started runnin' along the ground like a scared chicken.

The machine started runnin' along the ground like a scared chicken.

"To this day," said Private Nobby Clark, solemnly, "I don't know how it happened. I saw the aeryoplane runnin' over the ground, gettin' faster an' faster an' faster.

"Then suddenly it tilted to the right, an' slowly rose in the air. You could have knocked me down with a brick.

"I don't know what discovery we'd made when we was makin' that machine, but there it was—it was flyin', goin' higher an' higher an' higher.

"The people cheered like mad and the War Office feller was dancin' about mad with excitement.

"'I did,' he sez. 'I showed him how to start it, an' how to tilt the wings so as to go up.

"'Yes, sir,' I sez; 'but did you show him how to stop it, an' tilt the wings to come down?

"'I taught him how to use the rudder', sez the officer, after a bit, 'an' he's usin' it'—which wan true, for Hoggy was goin' round an' round in circles gettin' smaller an' smaller."

"Sometimes," be said, pensively, "when I'm on sentry go, in the middle of the night, an' watchin' the stars, I see one twinklin' star brighter than the others, a-winkin' an' a-winkin' most furious. An' when that star begins winkin' all the other stars wink back, an' I know that somewhere in the sky Hoggy is offerin' to exchange a patent aeryoplane for a comet or-what-offers!"

17. — BROTHERS.

First published in Ideas, 03 Nov 1909

(This story it based upon one of the most remarkable happening in the Boer War. —Ed., Ideas)

I MYSELF would be the last man in the world to suspect Nobby Clark of justifying or attempting to justify the questionable conduct of his father. He had a clear appreciation both of his parrot's genius and shortcomings, and valued both., at their worth. That is how I read his attitude of mind. I think Private Clark is possessed of a large charity of mind. I imagine that he is generous and lenient in some degree when he finds himself reviewing his father's acts, but if, in his filial respect, he cannot condemn, there is a certain irony in his tone when he tells these stories which makes it quite apparent that he does not condone.

"Me father was highly respected by his family," explained Nobby once. "Uncle Jim, Uncle George, an' Uncle Alf couldn't say enough about father an' the way he was looked up to by all his relations.

"Uncle Alf wouldn't have anybody but father to bail him out, an' the way Uncle Jim's family used to come, an' live with us when Uncle Jim was doin' four mouths for jumpin' on a policeman, was very touchin'.

"Then in the summer time, when there was no unemployed work goin' on, Uncle George used to come an'pay us a visit, an' once I remember all three uncles with their families came at once.

"'You're a true brother,' sez Uncle George; 'an' if you can ever make a bit out of me or Alf or Jim, you're free to do so.'

"Father kept the advice in his mind, an' the first time there was a reward offered for Uncle Jim ('believed to be concerned with others in breakin' an enterin'') father stepped in an' took the prize.

"'It ain't much that I can do to get back the money they've cost me,' sez me father; 'but what I can do I will do with a cheerful heart.

"Relations are best apart, especially poor relations, if you don't happen to be so poor as them, an' I've never known, so far as the army goes, any brothers who lived together in harmony longer than four months.

"It stands to reason, in a way, that brothers get on badly. They know each other too well, an' half the secret of keepin' friends with another fellor is not to know auythin' about him, except the side he cares to show.

"Brothers are fairly common in the army, because soldierin' runs in some families like measles, an' crooked noses, but the two strangest brothers I ever know'd was the Joneses— B. Jones an' H. Jones. It was a long time before we knew they was brothers, because one of 'em was in 'B' Company an' the other in 'H'—that's how they got their initials.

"The first time I ever thought they was brothers was when H. Jones came into B. Jones', room an' borrowed his blackin" brushes without askin'. That was a pretty sure sign they were related. They never walked out in town together, never drank together, an' one took as much notice of the other as if he'd been a fly on the wall.

"'You're a funny sort of feller,' sez I, 'not to have anytbin' to do with your own brother—it don't seem natural.'

"'What don't seem natural to me.' he sez, politely, 'is for you to see anybody else's business goin' on without wantin' to stick your long ugly nose in'

"'B. Jones,' I sez, sternly, 'I'm actin' the best, as man to man, for the sake of peace an' harmony, an' for two pins I'd swipe the head off you.'

"I left 'em alone' after that, but me an the other cbaps used to wonder what it was that'd, so to speak, come between two brotherly hearts.

"'I shouldn't be surprised,' sez Spud Murphy if one of 'em hasn't done the other out of family property ; I've read cases like it in books.'

"'Perhaps B's the real heir to the property an' H is a changeling,' he sez; 'perhaÃ¼s the wicked earl done 'em both out—'

"'To be continued in our next,' sez Smithy very nasty; 'perhaps they're only ordinary brothers who are fed up with one another, just as me an' Nobby are fed up with you.'

"It wasn't long after this that Mr. Krujer began pilin' up his burjers on the border, an' the Anchester Regiment, bein'—though I say it as shouldn't—one of the best regiments in the army, was sent out.

"It was tough work in South Africa, the toughest work that most soldiers have done, for somehow the Anchesters always got in the hot an' hungry places.

"We hadn't been in the country three months before we had a casualty list as long as the Rowley Mile, an' what with the closin' up of the ranks an' the reconstruction of companies. B. Jones and H. Jones got into the same company.

"Considerin' we was fightin' every day, an' livin' on half rations most of the time, you'd have thought that these two chaps would have shown a more companionable spirit, but not they. Somehow war, an' the dangers of war, made no difference. They was on noddin' terms, borrered little things from one another, but each went his own way.

"If they'd been people in books they'd have fallin' on one another's necks' after every fight, but they was just ordinary folks an' said nothin'.

"This went on all through the war, an' towards the end our battalion was ordered out to march with a convoy through thy Western Transvaal.

"We'd hardly got ten miles out of Klerksdorp when Dela Roy come down on us, an' it took us four hours to fight his commando off. Next day De Wet, who was in that neighbourhood, saw us an' came along to pick us up. But it was our early closin' day, an' De Wet went away sick an' sorry. Then when we was half-way on our journey, three commandoes combined to settle us for good, an' at dawn one mornin' began a fight which lasted till sunset. We held a little hill to the right of the convoy, an' this poisition bore the whole of the attack.

"It was the only time durin' the war that I ever saw the Boers charge a position, an' twice that day we had to give way before their attacks. When night came, one out of every four men had been hit.

"We posted strong guards that night, ecpectin' an attaek. an' we got all we expected.

"Firin' began before sun-up. Some of the Boers took up a position on a ridge, where they could shoot from good cover, an' two companies were ordered to clear the ridge. A. and B. companies went an' did it. We took the position with the bayonet, an' then found that it wasn't worth holdin'.

"We got the order to retire on our main post, an' started to march away. Half-way down the slope lay a wounded Boer. He wasn't a real Boer, bein' a half-breed nigger, but as we passed be raised himself up an' shouted 'Water!'

"What happened exactly I don't know. We went marchin' on, leavin' Jones behind, an' suddenly I heard the crack of a rifle, an' looked round. The half-breed was runnin' like mad toward the Boer lines, a rifle in his hand, an' poor B. Jones lay very quiet on the hillside.

The half-breed was runnin' like mad toward the Boer lines, a
rifle in his hand, an' poor B. Jones lay very quiet on the hillside.

"'Shoot that man!' shouts the officer, an' a dozen men dropped on their knees an' fired at the flyin' murderer, but he dropped over the crest of the rise as quick as a flash.

"We doubled back an' carried the poor chap into camp, but it was all up with him, we could see that much. He was shot through the chest, an' we carried him carefully to the rear,

Soon after this, the Boers returned to the attack, an' we was so busily engaged wonderin' when we'd be wounded ourselves that we had no time to think of B. Jones.

"At one o'clock that afternoon the Boer firin' went suddenly quiet, an' half an hour later we heard a far away pom-pom come into action, an' knew a relief force was on its way.

"Methuen it was, with his column, an' most of as were very glad to see him. We had time now to count heads, an' see who was up an' who was down.

"That," said Bobbv sadly, "is always the worst part of war. It's the part where a corporal an' twelve men go off with spades, an' another party sews men up in blankets—men you spoke to that mornin'; men you've larked with, an drank with.

"As well as I could I described him. He was easy to describe, because he had a big yeller face an' a crop of woolly hair.

"'Come along,' he sez after a bit, 'an' see me brother—he's a pal of yours, ain't he.'

"We found poor B. lyin' on the ground, on the shady side of an ox-wagon. The doctor was then, an' when he saw H. he look him aside-

"'I suppose vou know your brother is dyin'? he sez, an' H. nodded, then turned to his brother.

"'So they was tellin' me,' sez H. 'Well, we've all got to go through it, sooner or later.'

"'Got any message to mother?' sez H., an the poor chap on the ground nodded agaiin.

"It seemed strange to me," said Nohby, thoughtfully, "that these two brothers, one of them dyin', should talk so calm one with the other, an' I never realised till then how little a feller like me knows about the big things of life, an' death.

"Poor old B. died no hour later, an' his brother was with him to the last. After it was all over he came to me.

"As it happened I'd heard one of Methuen's staff officers describin' the line of march the Boers were takin' so I was able to tell him.

"What happened afterwards I heard from a Doer prisoner who told one of our sergeants.

"H. Jones left the camp soon after midnight, an' dodgin' the sentries, an' the outposts, he made his way in the direction of the Boers. For two days he tramped, sleepin' at night on the open veldt an' with nothin' to eat but a biscuit he took away with him.

"He was found by a Boer patrol, an' as luck wou!d have it, was taken to the very commando that held the ridge.

"By all accounts, the chap in charge was a young lawyer who'd been educated in England an' spoke English better than H. Jones ever could hope to speak it.

"'Hullo!' he sez, when H. was marched before him, an' what the devil do you want?'

"'I'm afraid,' he sez very gently, 'there are many people in this unfortunate country who are lookin' for the man who killed their brothers."

"'I don't believe any of me men would have done such a thing,' he sez, ' What sort of a man was he?'

"'Bring Van Huis here,' he sez to a Boer, an' by an' bye the man he sent for came—a half-bred Dutchman with a dash of Hottentot in him.

'"'Oh, Van Huis,' sez the Commandant careless, ' they tell me you killed an English soldier at Valtspruit the other day?'

"'Tell me how you did it,' szz the Commandant, pickin' his teeth with a splinter of wood.

"'That was very clever,' he sez, 'so clever that I am goin' to hang you to that tree, an' this soldier shall be your executioner.'

'That was very clever,' he sez, 'so clever that I am goin' to hang
you to that tree, an' this soldier shall be your executioner.'

* * * * *

"H. Jones came back with an escort of Boers, an' was placed under arrest, until the CO read the letter that the Boer Commaudant sent; then he was released.

"'What I don't understand,' sez Smithv to me afterwards, 'is how is it that these two chaps, who never took any notice of one another—'

"'Friends are friends,' I sez, 'an' brothers are brothers—' then I stopped too, for what more can you say than that?"

18. — THE WANGLERS.

First published in Ideas, 10 Nov 1909

"ME father?" mused Nobby Clark. No, I wouldn't call him a genius. Have I? Well, I might have done, because I'm a bit exaggeratious at times.

"But if father wasn't a genius he was somethin' very near it. He was a feller with large ideas. He was a born wangler.

"A wangler, by me way of lookin', is a chap who can wangle things, especially money. Father was the first man that ever found out the way of openin' the penny-in-the-slot gas-meter with a hairpin.

"Like all them discoveries you read about, he found it out by accident. He was tryin' to open it with a knife, an' it was mother who was watchin' his earnest labours that suggested the hairpin.

"When the gasman came round to collect his ill-gotten gains, he found tuppence in the box.

"'Hullo!' he said suspicious; 'this won't do at all. Ain't you been burnin' gas?'

"There was other things that father done, but his best bit of wanglin' was what be carried out with a chap named Hoppy Tailor.

"They was at the seaside for the season, an' was broke to the world. They had a tanner between 'em an' no way of gettin' home.

"'This is very sad, Hoppy,' sez me father. 'Have you tried to borrer the money?'

"'He must have mistook you for me,' sez me father, thoughtful. 'Well, there's only one thing to be done: you must go into a bathin'-machine an' give me your trousis through the winder.'

"So they went down to the beach, an' Hoppy, havin' got into the bathin'-machine, handed his trousis through the little winder to me father.

Hoppy, havin' got into the bathin'-machine, handed
his trousis through the little winder to me father.

"First of all he visits the gentleman who lends money, an' hands the trousis over the counter.

"'Did you come by these valuable goods honestly?' sez the pawnbroker. 'If you did, I'll let you have eighteen pence on 'em.'

"'Make it half-a-crown, an' I'll laugh at your jokes,' sez father, an' after a lot of hagglin' an' a great deal of personal remarks on both sides, he got his two-an'-six.

"'I'll get 'em out again soon,' sez father; 'an' now I come to think of it, you bein' so obligin' an' polite, I've got somethin' else I'd like to pawn,'

"Father went out jinglin' his money, walked along the High-street till he came to a place where they sell them little organs that you put rolls of paper in, an' music comes out. Father goes in.

"'Good-mornin',' sez father; 'I'm thinkin' of buyin' one of them organs of yours.'

"'I'll take this,' sez father, 'on the instalment system; the same as it sez in the winder.'

"So he paid his half-crown, an' signed a form promisin' to pay 2s. 6d, a month for ever. He gave his name as Captain Clark, an' his address at the Hotel Wunki, Hong-Kong an' Elsewhere, an' walked off with the organ under his arm.

"'If I let you have more than 14s. I should be robbin' me family,' sez the pawnbroker.

"'Chuck in them trousis I pawned,' sez father, an' after much bitter talk on both sides, the bargain was struck.

"Back to the bathin'-machine goes father, an' shoves the trousis in to Hoppy, an' two hours later you might have seen 'em both on their way back to the Smoke.*

"We had a chap in our regiment named Inkey. Next to me father, he was the greatest wangler I've ever met. If he'd have been a company promoter he'd have been in prison years ago, because he was so clever.

"His great line was organisin'. He organised the regimental sports, an' the sergeants' mess dance. He only organised that once, because, the contractor lost so many spoons on' things that he said it did not pay. He organised a 'break' excursion out into the country once, an' overdid his wanglin', because, owin' to the fact that he wangled the coachman out of his beer, an' wangled the horses out of their corn, we nearly didn't get home that night.

"Inkey was the feller who was asked by the Anchester Town Council to fix up a Guy for their annual Guy Fawkes celebration.

"'We've got all the other arrangements fixed,' he sez, when Inkey offered to organise the whole show, 'but we haven't got a good Guy made. You bein' an ingenious sort... Now, what we want is a life-like Guy."

"'We've had one made,' sez the Chairman, 'but it wasn't satisfactory. We want a Guy made like Lloyd George.

"'Somethin' like that,' sez the Chairman. 'We'll allow three pounds and provide the clothes.'

"I think," mused Nobby, "that Inkey must had had a bit of trouble with that Guy. He used to come back to barracks at night—he was doin' his stuffin' at the Corporation yard—lookin' very worried.

"So then he put the case before me. He wanted a human Guy. A feller who'd dress himself up an' wear a mask.

"'Nobody would tell the difference,' he sez; 'all you've got to do is to sit still on a cart in the procession, an' after it's all over, we drive you back to the shed, you change, and there's your sovereign—is it a go?'

"'No,' I sez sternly, 'me pride won't allow it. Besides, a pound ain't enough—make it three.'

"'Not,' sez Inkey, very firm, 'if you was starvin' I wouldn't give you three pounds.'

"I don't know who else Inkey saw, but the next afternoon I saw Spud Murphy changin' half a sovereign.

"'As a sort of artist's model,' he sez, an it was such a nice way of puttin' it, that I didn't let on.

"The day before the celebrations, Spud Murphy paraded before his company officer an' got leave of absence. He went out of barracks, sayin' he was goin' to London, but as I saw him an' Inkey goin' out of barracks together, I put two an' two together, an' made it six.

"The Fifth of November broke bright an' fair," Nobby resumed poetically, "an' after the C.O.'s parade, most of us began to get dressed in our walkin'-out kit, in readiness for goin' down town.

"The streets were decorated beautifully. Outside Sloggs, the oil shop, was a Union Jack an' a patriotic inscription which said, 'No Popery—Go to Sloggs for Your Soap,' an' another that said, 'Long Live the Empire—Sloggs for Ironware.' At the corner of Market-street was a string of flags of all nations, an' a stirrin' message to the people of England about Doncups Tyres.

"There was thousands in the streets. Me an' Smithy counted twenty without reckonin' ourselves, an' everywhere there was signs of animation an' drink.

"We got a good place near the mayor's grandstand, an' at 3.30, an hour after the procession was supposed to have started, an' when the crowd an' the language was gettin' a bit thick, we heard, as the poet sez, the distant chimes of music.

"It was a wonderful sight, the Anchester Guy Fawkes procession. First came a policeman on horseback, lookin' very noble in his new white cotton gloves. Then came the Anchester Town Band playin' a piece, that anybody with a musical ear could recognise as 'Rule Britannia.' Then came the Amalgamated Bird Frighteners' Association with their banner, then the Royal United Society of Bird Limers an' Allied Agricultural Pursuits with their banner; then came the Temperate Sons of Water with a banner inscribed, 'We Drink What Other Beasts of the Field Drink.' Then came the nugget of the show: Guy Fawkes hisself. He was on a trolley drawn by four prancin' horses—with a feller walkin' alongside each horse to give him a dig in the ribs every time he forgot to prance.

"The Guy was wonderful life-like. He sat by a big table with a clay pipe, an' a notice over his head 'This is Lloyd-George,' in case nobody recognised him. There was all sorts of notices stuck on the car. such as 'This Car was Lent by the Anchester Brewery Company,' an' 'Horses Supplied by the Electric Tramway Reserve Stable,' an' the people cheered themselves hoarse.

"It was a great affair. The mayor made a speech about England an' how proud we all ought to be at the opportunity of burnin' Guy Fawkes.

"'Tonight,' he sez, pointin' his finger at the Guy Fawkes, 'to-night we shall see this creature consoomed in flames.'

"'To-night,' sez the mayor, 'in this effigy we'll burn the old bigoted superstitions, an' show the world that we're enlightened an' tolerant.'

"All the time Inkey, who was standin' by the van, was lookin' very nervous. He was relieved when the mayor said he'd put the burnin' off, more relieved still when the procession started movin' on—an' then somethin' happened.

"Who it was threw the cracker at Lloyd-George I don't know," said Nobby solemnly; "some people sez it was me, some sez it was Smithy. They're probably right. Suddenly—

"Who it was threw the cracker at Lloyd-
George I don't know," said Nobby solemnly

"I saw Lloyd-George jump up with a yell an' go runnin' down Market-street follered by the Associated Bird Frighteners an' the Sons of Water. I heard yells an' screams an' encouragin' cries of 'Kill him—it's Lloyd George,' but didn't see Spud till the next day.

"'Pity.' I sez, 'but you didn't miss much—they didn't burn the Guy last night.'

19. — ONE OF THE BOYS.

First published in Ideas, 17 Nov 1909

THERE can be no doubt whatever that much of pathos underlies the humour of Nobby Clark. I doubt not that from the full storehouse of his varied experience, he is careful to abstract only the more pleasing of his stock for my satisfaction.

But sometimes, in a wisp of fun, you find a strain of tragedy. How it got there one does not trouble to speculate upon: its intrinsic value is infinitesimal, but for the hint it gives of the presence of that tragedy, so carefully hidden and stored away in dark mind cupboards.

Once, only once, I remember Nobby discussing that wonderful father of his seriously. Usually there was something of irony, something of pride, much of flippancy. But this time Nobby was quite serious.

"I've never properly tried to understand me father," he said, shaking his head. "In many ways he was like Mr. Cody's flyin' machine—his engines never acted twice alike.

"Sometimes, in a manner of speakin', he'd fly an' carry passengers, sometimes he'd only hop along the ground. Sometimes, when it looked as if only an hydraulic crane could lift him, up he'd go, soarin' an' soarin, like a bloomin' skylark.

"What father did never used to worry me, an' I never troubled to understand him. I believe it's a wise child that knows his own father, an' nobody knew mine, for he was as wide as Birdcage Walk.

"Some oF the widest people in England tried to get upsides with him. Once on a time, goin' down to Kempton Park to improve, the breed of racehorses, he got in a carriage with some card-sharpers, an' they tried to wangle him out of the rent money.

"But all that father did was to produce a pack of cards an' teach these fellers a new game called 'Slippery Sam,' an' before they got to Kempton the poor fellers were broke, an' had to pinch a gentleman's watch an' sovereign purse before they could get back to town.

"Our neighbourhood wasn't exactly a quiet one. It was the sort of neighbourhood where the landlord called for his rent with two policemen, an' the most innercent neighbour we had wus an old feller who got a livin' by meetin' children who were sent out on errands an' takin' their money away from them.

"But nobody ever interfered with father, partly because he didn't give 'em many chances, an' partly because he had a right-handed hook, that was a sort of combination of half-Nelson an' knock-out.

"It wasn't a good trainin' ground for a feller who was hopin' sooner or later to be a bright, young British soldier, but the first time I ever attempted to stray from the straight an' narrer path that leadeth to old age pensions father took me in hand an' made me sorry I was born.

"There was a feller in our neighbourhood name 'Pank,' who was one of them highly respectable fellers that always went away into the country every year.

"I don't know what part of the country he went to, but it was a bad place for the hair. He used to come back with his head shaved.

"He took a fancy to me, an' what with hints he dropped, an' practical lessons he gave me, I was on the right road to becomin' a handy little 'hook,' till one night, when he took me into an election crowd to show me how careless people was with their money, father spotted me.

"He didn't say much at the time, but he took Pank into a quiet street, an' the next time I saw Pank he was bein' wheeled about in a bath chair, With bandages all over his head....

"When father had finished with me the nest day he gave me a few words of advice.

"'I'm tryin' to bring you up respectable,' he sez. 'One thief is enough in one family, an' what with me an' your mother's relations we've got a few too roam in ours*'

"That, an' the lickin' I got, helped to put me square, an' although I've made money in me life that I'm not entitled to yet it's only been in the way of business.

"But the trainin' I got, an' the things I saw, helped me to understand people, an' helped me to get on in the army. The man it helped me with most was Tagger Burt.

"I don't know what Tagger Burt was before he enlisted, but me an' the other fellers, puttin' what you might call a charitable construction on it, put him down as one of the ' boys.'

"He knew all the racecourses in England, an' could show you how to 'find the lady,' so that you'd never find it in a thousand years owin' to its not bein' there.

"He was one of those big, strong, square-jawed chaps who said very little, but when he did speak it was all x x ! ! x x ! ! an' — ! — ! an' a sort of thin blue haze surrounded him.

"It wasn't that he was bad, but it was the only way he had of expressin' hisself. It was forcibleness.

"We never took much notice of him, for our talk was new talk to him; he didn't understand it. He'd sit an' listen frownin', but sayin' nothin'.

"'Clark,' he sez, 'you chaps don't seem to have much to talk about bar girls, an' things like that; don't you have any intellectual talk about racehorses?"

"A little time after that he told me he'd enlisted because he'd got into trouble over a slight argument he'd had with another feller in the train.

"'He called me a liar,' he sez, very simple, 'so I chucked him out of the carriage winder.'

"'I'm blest if I know,' he sez, thoughtful. 'What I got pinched for was for 'damagin' the permanent way.'

"I always knew Tagger was a wrong 'un, an' so did the other chaps, an' we was only actin' accordin' to our instincts when we shunned him. Be didn't resent it. He'd sit by himself in the canteen, dumb an' watchful—he'd the queerest eyes you ever saw in a man, an' when the canteen closed he'd go over to his room, undress, an' go to bed.

"He never gave no trouble, was a clean soldier, an' after he'd got over the thick-headed part of his recruit's drill, a smart man on parade.

"'I'm only in the army till things quiet down outside,' he sez. 'When they've settled, I'll desert.'

"'What's the matter with the army`' I sez, an' the question seemed to stagger him.

"'I'm blessed if I know,' he sez, in a wonderin' kind of way, 'but I didn't come into the army be a soldier."

"The officers didn't trust him. I heard Umfreville, the adjutant, tellin' the colour-sergeant to keep an eye on him.

"Tagger had the strength of ten men. He was far an' away the strongest man I've ever seen. He could pick up his bed cot an' carry it under his arm, an' the day I was ordered in to take him to the guardroom for usin' unproper language to a corporal, I said good-bye to all me friends, in a manner of speakin'.

"But he went surprisin'ly quiet, bein' very much astonished that he'd done anythin' wrong.

"'If you can't call a blankey corporal a sulpherated fool,' he sez, very much hurt, 'what can you call him? Why, I thought I was bein' perlite.'

"He got a reprimand, an' was none the worse for it. We were stationed at Belford in the colliery district, about this time, an' the first time old Tagger ever came properly into the limelight was there.

"It was at the time of the Belford Races, an' as they came nearer an' nearer Tagger got quieter an' quieter. He used to talk about the races to me in wistful kind of way.

"Belford Races in them days was celebrated for the class of 'nuts' it attracted. If you found yourself unexpected in the shillin' ring, you wouldn't be sure whether you was on a racecourse or in the exercise yard at Pentonville, only it was a bit noisier. Me an' Smithy an' Tagger went together. Tagger sort of fastened himself onto us, an' we didn't like to give him the push.

"For one thing he was such a lonely chap, an' for another thing—well, a punch on the jaw from Tagger would do you as much good as an attack of delirium tremens.

"We spotted our officers in a bunch goin' through the crowd to the paddock, an' what Tagger saw seemed to interest him, for he pushed through the crowd after 'em.

"'Beg pardon, sir,' he sez to Captain Windham, one of the officers, 'have you lost anythin'?'

"'Here it is, sir,' sez Tagger. 'Choose which one you like.' An' he held out three.

'Choose which one you like,' sez Tagger. An' he held out three.

"It appears he'd seen the pickpocket workin' the crowd, had watched him rob the officers, then when the thief was busy tryin' to get at another pocket Tagger went all over him very skilful, an' took everythin' he had.

"It was a facer for the officers, but it made Tagger very popular amongst the chaps.

"I don't suppose he'd ever been popular before in his life, an' it was a strange experience for him.

"Like many another chap, he tried to clinch in popularity by goin' in for all sorts o' things, such as football an' singin' in the canteen, but it didn't help him much.

"It's no good,' he sez to me; 'thievin's my game. It's the only game I can play better than anybody else. I'll have to chuck the army soon.'

"But he sort of lingered on, an' lingered on. The army was gettin' a sort of hold on him, an' he got further an' further away from his old life.

"'We were well into the middle of winter when the thing that made Tagger happened.

"'Belford, as you know, is up in the north, an' the story I'm tellin' you happened in the year of the big strike. I don't know what the strike was about, because I don't take much interest in these things, but all I know is that suddenly all the pits closed down, an' twenty thousand men were thrown idle.

"Only, fellers who have seen a strike in a coal district know what it means," said Nobby, seriously, "but it seemed to me every time I walked out into the town that the women's faces were thinner, an' the men more haggard. It got so bad that me an' Smithy decided we wouldn't go into town any more till the strike was over, an' just as we'd got to that state the colonel saved us the trouble by confinin' the regiment in barracks, an' that was a very serious thing to de, for it meant trouble.

"There had been riotin' in the district, an' somebody had tried to set fire to an engine-house, an' the police had been stoned, an' generally things went from bad to worse.

"The magistrate who had most to do with dealin' with the rioters was one of those fussy little fellers who was all nerves an' jumps.

"When matters got a bit out of hand he used to send regularly to barracks every hour, askin' the colonel to send men.

"On one excuse an' another our old man put him off, for a soldier hates that kind of duty, but at last the magistrate sent a written order, an' 'B' and 'C' company fell in with twenty rounds of ammunition—three rounds bein' blank.

"We marched out to a place called Pit Collum, an' came up just as the police were bein' beaten back.

"There was the little magistrate, prancin' about on horseback, off his head with excitement.

"The rioters were gathered at one end of the village street, an' they hooted an' cursed us as we formed up in two lines across the road,

"'Shoot! Shoot!' screamed the magistrate, as the stones began to fly, but the colonel, who was in charge, shook his head.

"We stood under a fire of stones an' broken bottles for twenty minutes, an' the situation got worse an' worse. The magistrate got off his horse owin' to havin' been struck by a stone, an' came up to the colonel.

'"Give me two minutes,' sez the colonel, an' as the magistrate walked away, our old man looked round,

"'Burt,' sez the colonel, quick, 'you're the man that found the watches aren't you?'

"'That gentleman,' sez the colonel, pointin' to the magistrate walkin' away, 'has got a paper in his pocket; get it for me an' I'll give you twenty pounds.'

"I saw Tagger walk over careless near the magistrate. I saw him tumble against him, an' heard the magistrate call him a blunderin' fool. Then Tagger walked back careless, an' handed a crumpled paper to the colonel.

"'Pardon me,' sez the colonel, 'I cannot order my men to fire until you have read the Riot Act.

"'No Riot Act, no shootin', sez the colonel firmly; an' ravin' like a lunatic the magistrate jumped on his horse an' went gallopin' back to get another copy.

"Then Tagger did his great act. He walks up to the colonel. 'Beg pardon, sir,' he sez, 'we're not goin' to shoot, are we?'

"'There ain't any necessity to shoot,' sez Tagger. 'I know them North Country chaps; they're good sports. Let me go forward an' talk.'

"'Friends an' Englishmen all,' he sez, 'I'd like to ask any gentleman who's been chuckin' half-bricks at me an' my pals, if he's game to stand out an' fight me, or wrestle me. Cumberland, Greco-Roman, or Catch-as-catch-can, because if there is—'

'Friends an' Englishmen all,' he sez, 'I'd like to ask any gentleman who's been
chuckin' half-bricks at me an' my pals, if he's game to stand out an' fight me.

"When Tagger had settled him another feller came out, an' after lovin' friends had assisted him back, another came. They didn't want to riot when there was a chance of seein' a real fight, an' if they saw one they saw n dozen.

"'You'd better read it to Private Burt,' sez the colonel; 'he's the only feller that's doin' any riotin' at the present moment. An' when I say Private Burt,' sez the colonel correctin' hisself, 'I mean Corporal Burt, whose been promoted since you was here last.'"

20. — THE HYPNOTIST

First published in Ideas, 24 Nov 1909

"NOBODY who ever knew me father," claimed Nobby Clark, "could have any doubt about his bein' a highly educated man. Not that ho was in the habit of usin' long words, or showin' off in any way. It was his all-round knowledge that was the wonderful thing. It used to impress the people who lived in our neighbourhood so much that mother got tired of answerin' the door to callers.

"'If you please, will Mr, Clark tell father what year Charlie Peace was hung?' or 'Mother wants to know what was the name of the Borough murderer.'

"I dessay father could have given 'em information on any other subject, but the people in our street didn't want to know about anythin' except famous crimes.

"There was a great friend of father's named Mr. Ogg, who was in the theatrical line of business, an' Mr. Ogg was very much took up with father.

"'What's that?' sez father, an' Mr. Ogg explained that Datas was a feller who stood on the stage an' answered any question that was put to him. Suppose you wanted to know who won the boat race in 1425, or when was carrots introduced into England, or required any sim'lar improvement to your mind, you just nipped along an' asked Datas.

"Me father was taken with the idea, an' when Ogg offered him an engagement at a little Bayswater hall called the Philo-Harmonic, father jumped at it.

"I don't think his turn 'went' somehow, though I've never got the right hang of the story. It appears, from some accounts, that father answered all the questions prompt enough, but not accurate enough.

"'Pardon me,' sez me father, very firm, 'if you make inquiries at the Tower you'll find I'm right.'

"'Then,' sez the chap in the audience, very indignant, 'why isn't there somethin' about it in the History of the Tower?'

"'Because,' sez me father very stern, 'the Tower people wanted it kept quiet, an' I think you ought to know better than rake the matter up.'

"'The mighty Ormonde,' sez father glibly, 'by Bayardo an' Laomedia, by St. Frusquin an' Adversary, by Boulter's Lock—am I right, sir?'

"But father was a failure. One night somethin' happened. It appears that father was so popular with the audience that some of the other performers got jealous. People used to send father presents—oranges, eggs, an' bits of cabbage stalk. They were what father called 'humble tributes to genius,' an' some of 'em was very touchin'—but he missed most of 'em, bein' very nimble on his feet.

People used to send father presents—
oranges, eggs, an' bits of cabbage stalk.

"The chap who hated father most was Dr. Hopoke, M.D., M.S.S,, O.K., the celebrated hypnotic healer from America. Dr- Hopoke was the Electrical Marvel, an' what he didn't know about electricity would have filled a book.:

"Father was doin' so well that the Doctor was naturally wild. He kept on complainin' that after father left the stage it wasn't safe to go on, owin' to the cabbage leaves an' bits of brick that admirin' friends had chucked. An' in the end Mr. Ogg finished father's contract.

"Father used to foller him round to his various shows, an' when the doctor was puttin' a chap in a trance, an' all the audience was holdin' their breath for fear of messin' up the operator, a voice would say, 'Fake!'—an' that voice was father's. Then one night father want up on to the platform an' dared the doctor to mesmerise him.

"The doctor tried without any success, an' then said that he couldn't mesmerise father because he wasn't intelligent enough.

"Father got six weeks in the Second Division for assault, an' ever after that, when he had nothin' to do in the evenin's, he'd nip round to one of the Doctor's shows an' upset it.

"It was a sort of feud, like you read about in Italy, an' it went on for years an' years. All the time I was a boy, in fact as long as I remember, father was always goin' on about Professor Hopoke.

"It's rum," reflected Private Clark, "how a feller can get an idea into his bead as a kid, an' never get it out. One of the ideas I always had was that old Hopoke was a sort of bogey-man.

"About two years ago, after we came home from foreign service, we went to Anchester, an' one of the first things I saw in England was the bills plastered all over Anchester: 'Dr. Hopoke is Coming.' They seemed like old friends, them bills.

"I don't suppose 1 should have ever gone to his show, only one day Spud Murphy come to me very mysterious an' asked me if I'd like to earn half-a-sovereign,

"'What?' he sez, in horror, 'not like to earn half-a-sovereign!' An' be looked at me as if I was mad.

"'He's goin' to have a grand military night,' he sez, 'an' he wants a few subjects.'

"The end of it was that me an' Smithy an' a few other young military gentlemen went an' called on the Professor.

"'What I want you chaps to do,' he sez, 'when I wave me hands an' put the fluence on you, to go off into a sort of trance.'

"'I see,' I sez.' Then I'll give you a candle to eat—it won't be a real candle, but one made of coconut—-'

"Somehow, when he started laffin', an' I saw the fake he was, I thought of me father.

"'There's one trick,' sez the Doctor, 'that I'm very particular about. I have to "will" one of you to go into the box office, collect a bag money that's on the table, walk round the buildin', an' hand it to my manager, who'll be waitin' on the other side—it's called the Hypnotic Confidence Trick, an' it's always very successful if it's well done.'

"The grand military night was advertised all over Anchester. There was one bill stuck up everywhere:—

THE WORLD-WIDE FAMOUS HYPNOTIST
WILL PUT THREE SOLDIERS TO SLEEP
IN FULL VIEW OF THE AUDIENCE.

"We had a long talk about it, me an' Smithy an' Spud Murphy—who ain't a bad sort of feller at heart—an the only jar we got was when Captain Slayne-White, the R.A.M.C.* officer, sent for us.

"He was one of those dry sort of chaps, who can pull your leg without your bein' any the wiser.

"'Hello,' he sez, when we turned up at the hospital, 'are you the three men who are goin' to be hypnotised?'

"'All right,' he sez, careless, 'only I think I ought to warn you that I shall be in the audience.'

"'An' it's likely,' he sez, more careless than ever, 'that I shall step up on the platform an' apply a few tests—such as stickin' a lancet your leg.'

"We went away feelin' a bit agitated. Spud would have backed out, but me an' Smithy bucked him up. I wrote a letter to me father tellin' him what was goin' to happen, an' I think he must have been interested.

"There was a tremendous crowd at the hall on the night of the show, an' after the Professor had done a few tricks, such as makin' a young lady go off into a trance an' suspendin' her the air, he went to the front of the stage an' announced the big show of the evenin'.

"'Ladies an' gentlemen,' he sez, 'before I speak I should lie to say somethin'. It was intended to mesmerise three soldiers to-night, but two of 'em haven't turned up ' (that was true, Smithy an' Spud funkin' the business at the last moment). 'However,' sez the Doctor, 'I will perform one of the miracles for which I am justly celebrated. I will proceed to hypnotise the gallant hero on me left' (me bein' the gallant hero).

"'I hare practised,' sez the Professor, 'for many years before the crowned heads of Europe, an' only once, when a low thief struck me when I wasn't lookin'—for which he suffered imprisonment—has the bonney fidey character of me experiments been questioned.

When the applause stopped, he led me to a chair, waved his hands all over me face, an' off I went into one of the nicest fake trances you ever saw.

"'He is now,' sez the Professor, 'entirely under me fluence. If I say sing, he'll sing; if I say dance, he'll dance.' (Applause.) 'Now, I'm goin' to do a wonderful thing—I'm goin' to send him into the box office.' He made a pass over me face, an' very slowly, an' starin' ahead as though I was walkin' in my sleep, I passed through the audience.

"Smithy told ms afterwards I was the most natural-lookin' mesmerised feller he'd ever seen, an' that it gave him the creeps to look at me.

"'I will put certain things in his mind,' sez the Professor, as I made me way out; 'I will "will" him to collect all the money in the box office, take it outside an' hand it to one of me assistants, who will be waitin', an' I may tell too, ladies an' gentlemen, that when he comes back to the platform he'll have no recollection of havin' touched the money.'

"Sure enough, after bein' out of the room three minutes, back I came, an' walked very slow up to the platform.

"'Now, sez the doctor, 'in order to prove that he has carried out me suggestion, I will now produce the money'—he turns to a chap by the side of the platform—'tell Mr. Timmer he can come in.'

"'Mr. Timmer,' sez the Doctor, 'you will now produce the bag of money handed to you by this soldier.'

"'He ain't handed me any yet, Doctor,' sez Mr. Timmer, an' you could have heard a pin drop.

"'What!' sez the Doctor, goin' white, 'didn't he take the money from the box office?'

"'He did,' sez Mr. Timmer, 'but he didn't come to my side of the buildin'—I never saw him.'

'Young man,' he sez, in a holler voice, 'Where's that brass?'

"I don't recollect nothin',' I sez. 'I must have been mesmerised, an' for what I do when I'm mesmerised I ain't responsible.'

* * * * *

There was an awful row, but Captain Slayne-White was in the audience, an' he put the matter right in two twinks.

"'If this man was hypnotised,' he sez, 'he can't be accountable for what he did; if be wasn't hypnotised you're a swindler an' deserve all you've got.'

"'Clark?' sez the Professor; 'I seem to know that name. Any relation to Clarence Clark, of High Street, Bow?'

"'Oh,' sez the Professor, thoughtful, 'now I understand how you came to hand the money to the wrong man, an' likewise,* he sez, 'who the wrong man happened to be.'"

21. — THE GHOST OF HEILBRON KOPJE.

First published in Ideas, 01 Dec 1909

NOBBY CLARK, by all showing, is a man of great humanity. I have known him to do things that would make him very angry did he know I knew.

I have seen him, on a certain march—which lasted some six weeks, and was the most fatuous, futile, and wicked operation of the whole war—share his scanty rations with a man he hated. 1 have seen him by sick beds as tender as a woman. It is said that in a certain fight on tho Vaal River where the grass caught fire, and the wounded lay helplessly sizzling in the flames, he and Private Smith went again and again into this perfect hell of torment to carry their wounded fellows to safety.

It is said too, and, I do not doubt, with truth, that they lied their way out of a Victoria Cross, stoutly affirming that they took no part in tho rescue, and persisting in the statement that those who thought they saw them were suffering from hallucinations, or, as Nobby put it coarsely, were drunk.

Knowing that deep down in the bottom of his heart Nobby Clark is a sentimentalist, and that away back in the base of his brain he is a shrewd, common-sense individual, the story of the ghost of the Hussar officer leaves me in an unsatisfactory condition of doubt. Is it Nobby's heart or Nobby's head that directs the recital? The facts, such as he gives me, I offer to the world in general, and the Psychical Research Society in particular.

"Me father," said Private Clark, by way of an introduction, "was a feller who believed in ghosts. We used to have a family ghost when we lived at Clark's Hall, Bermondsey, but it was seized for rent, along with our other valuables.

"He used to walk the picture gallery in the east wing," said Nobby, with, a far-away look in his eye, "an' father was very proud of it. Some said it was the ghost of Sir Guy da Clark, who was executed at Tower Hill: soma said it was the ghost of Bill Clark, who was executed at Newgate; some said it was rats, an' I expect one of the three ideas was right,

"Nobody ever saw it but father, because it was one of them snobbish ghosts that never appeared to common people.

"Father used to see it on Christmas night, an' that was always a sign for mother to send for the doctor.

"'Yes, sir,' sez father. 'I saw a lot of pink beetles an' a mouse with an elephant's head.'

"Then the doctor would write his prescription an' father would be a teetotaler for months an months.

"If I said our family ghost was pinched for rent. I'm bein' what you might call exaggeracious. What happened was that father got an execution in for rent, an' him an' the broker's man got into a friendly argument as to how much whisky a man can drink without dyin'. Father went down to the grocers an' swapped two coal tickets for two bottles, an' the broker's man obligingly sat down to prove his words.... It seems that he saw our ghost, and the ghost must have took a likin' to him, for the broker's man wouldn't talk about anythin' but that ghost an' the other animals he saw for days an' days after. It was bad business for the broker's man, because whilst he was in his trance father an' mother got all the furniture out of the house an' disappeared.

"I never took much stock of ghosts meself, an' didn't believe in 'em till the South African war."

Nobby was silent for a little while, and his face grew suddenly serious and old-looking.

"If you think what I'm goin' to tell you is a lie, you needn't be frightened to tell me," he said. " I don't understand the rights of it meself, an' don't expect I ever shall.

"When we was in South Africa, durin' the second half of the war, I went down to a place called Heilbron in the O.R.C.*

"There had been fightin' there, hut the only fight we saw was between Darkie Williams an' Tom Sparrer of 'G' Company for the championship of the Anchcesters, Darkie winnin' in two rounds owin' to his havin' filled his boxin' gloves with sand.

"But De West was in the neighbourhood, browsin' round, an' though we never got a shot at him, there was enough excitement in the possibility of his gettin' a shot at us that we were kept fairly busy. There was another regiment at Heilbron at the time—the Warwicks I think it was, or the '8th of Kings'—an' they'd been there long before we were.

In a station like Heilbron all sorts an' kinds of duty had to be done: there were guards, pickets an' outlyin' pickets, flyin' sentries an' patrols, an' if a chap wasn't on one, he was on another, but I did every one of 'em before it came to me duty to do flyin' sentry. Me beat was two miles long, from the base guard to 'Hussars Kopje.'

"It was called 'Hussars Kopje' because in one of the early fights of the war, the Hussars took this little hill after a fight in which they lost an officer.

"Flyin' sentry isn't such a bad job, partly because a feller was on his own. He could have a smoke, an' so long as he covered the ground, an' kept his eyes open, he was doin' all that was expected of him.

"It was a lonely walk over a deserted bit of country, but the night I went on flyin' sentry duty there was a full moon.

"Three men an' a corporal, that was the flyin' guard, an' we took over duty from the other regiment.

"'Because of the ghost,' sez the feller; it'll probably scare you chaps, bein' new to the game.'

"'If it don't scare a woolly-headed Warickshire cow-chaser,' I sez politely, 'it won't scare a feller of the Dashin' Anchesters.'

'If it don't scare a woolly-headed Warickshire cow-chaser,' I sez
politely, 'it won't scare a feller of the Dashin' Anchesters.'

"'Don't go up that kopje—keep to the road,' sings out the Warwick as he left, an' havin' shouted a few insultin' remarks after him, we settled down to the guard.

"I was first relief, an' went straight on me two-mile walk. I had me rifle loaded an' slung, with the safety catch down, an' with me hands in me overcoat pockets, the bein' rather cold, I loafed along.

"Halfway to the kopje, I came up to a mounted patrol of the Imperial Yeomanry, an' after I'd given him me opinion of yeomen in general, an' he'd been very candid about foot-sloggers, we parted bad friends.

"'Not so much of the Tommy,' I sez, 'or I'll stick a pin in your gallant charger.'

"'No offence,' sez the yeoman, an' then went on to tell me about the ghost. I hadn't took much notice of the yarn till then, an' I got a bit interested.

"'I've never seen it,' sez the yeoman, 'but one of our sergeants did. Let's go up the kopje together an' see what it's like.'

"We continued discussin' the matter till we came up to the hill, an' all the time I was gettin' more an' more curious. When be put an horse at the kopje, I sez:

"There were thousands similar to it in South Africa. A gentle rise covered with boulders of stunted bush, with big stones underfoot to make the goin' worse.

"It was, as I've told you, a bright, moonlit night, a clear sky an' not a breath of wind stirrin', an' as we got farther an' farther up the side of the hill, the country sort of unrolled itself beneath. Over to the north, an seemin'ly under our feet, was the lights of Heilbron. You could hear sentries challengin' in the town, an' even the tramp of their feet as they marched an' down.

"I was warm enough by the time I reached the top, an' me an' the yeoman stopped an' looked round.

"I'd hardly got the words out of me mouth when I had a queer sensation. I didn't hear anythin', or see anythin', but I knew there was somebody behind me, an' I spun round, slippin' me rifle from me shoulder.

"Comin' up the hill, the same way as we had come, was an officer. He was in full kit with his helmet tilted over his eyes, an' he was walkin' slowly.

"Me heart was in me mouth at first, but when I saw it was an officer I recovered

"'Visitin' rounds,' I sez to the yeoman, but the yeoman said nothin', an' his horse started snortin' an' rearin'.

"The officer was comin' very slowly, with his head bent down as though he was lookin' for somethin' on the ground. Now an' again he'd stop, an' look left an' right, but always on the ground.

"He didn't seem to notice us, though we stood out clear enough in the moonlight, an' I brought my rifle to the port.

'Halt! Who comes there?' I sez, but he took no notice.

"Nearer an' nearer he came, his eyes bent on the ground an' I challenged again, 'Halt! Who comes there?'

"It was the face of a man who was dead: a grey face with a little red mark just above his right eye.

"I staggered back, then as the yeoman put spurs to his horse, an' went clatterin' an' blunderin' down the other side of the hill, I caught hold of his stirrup-leather an' ran with him.

"The other fellers of the guard said I'd been moonstruck, an' the corporal of the guard smelt me breath, but none of 'em took the trouble to go up the kopje an' investigate.

"Now the rum thing was that the Colonel didn't laugh. He listened very quietly, noddin' his head, an' sayin' nothin'. When I finished he sez:

"The fellers didn't half roast me. Even Smithy called me a liar, an' 'Nobby's ghost' was the talk of the camp for weeks.

* * * * *

"I forget the name of the ship we came home on, but I think it was the 'Drayton Grange.' We brought home a lot of details,' Engineers, Army Service Corps, an' two squadrons of the 2nd Hussars.

"After we'd all settled down an' got to know one another, we used to have little pow-wows on the fo'c'sle head, an' spent a lot of time tellin' one another what gallant fellers we'd been.

"'The most curious thing I've ever seen,' he sez one afternoon, when we were all gassin' was the takin' of Hussar Kop—any of you chaps know it; it's near Heilbron.'

"'We had a young officer,' sez the hussar, 'Lieutenant Enden, his name was—a regular boy.

He was engaged to a young lady in Canterbury, an' I've never seen a feller so much in love in me life. Used to carry her picture in a little gold locket round his neck. I've seen him, when he thought nobody was lookin', take it out, an' have a dekko.

"'Well, about this fight I was speakin' of. The Boers held the kopje, an' two squadrons of ours was sent to dislodge 'em. There wasn't such a number of the enemy on the kop that we couldn't tackle 'em.

"'We galloped up to the foot of the hill an' dismounted under the cover of a little ridge, an' then we began to go up, takin' cover as best we could.

"'Lieutenant Enden was leadin' us, crouchin' behind such rocks as he could find, an' dodgin' from boulder to boulder.

"'Suddenly I see him stand up an' clasp his hand to his breast. I thought at first he was shot, but as he began lookin' around, left an' right, searchin' the ground, I knew he'd lost somethin, an' guessed it was the locket.

"'He stood up with the bullets whistlin' round him, his eyes travellin' over the ground—an' then he collapsed!

"There are times," he said, "when I think of Heilbron, an' the kopje outside the town, an' a grey-faced young officer, searchin', searchin', searchin' for ever an' ever for that locket he lost. An' when I think of him I want to cry."

22. — THE ANCHESTERS' CHRISTMAS PUDDING.

First published in Ideas, 08 Dec 1909

CHRISTMAS brings memories of things—mainly sad, if you must believe your tearful sentimentalist. For my part they are happy memories. Even the memories of good men dead are without regret, for I am with those who hold it an impertinence to imagine that aught of terror lies on the Other Side of the Veil. I remember cheerful souls, who told improper stories when we sat round a fire on the veldt, who pledged absent friends in commissariat rum, and roared choruses, and sang "Viva la compagnie!" with such test as to send the scared meerkats scurrying back to their holes.

And with the morning came a scattering fire from a ridge, and company after company went out in face of the whistling bullets to storm the position the enemy held.... That night some of those who sang loudest on Christmas Eve were very silent. A rude wooden cross, a cairn of stones, and the big solemn stars blinking in a velvet sky....

But I felt no sadness, for they died like gentlemen. Private and officer alike, they went out into the new life, as most of us would like go

"They did not wane from worse to worst,
Under coarse drug or futile knife;
But in one grand, mad moment, burst
From glorious life to glorious life."

Yet Private Clark, it would appear, has memories which are frankly sad. I unjustly branded him sentimentalist when he confessed this—and, indeed, he had enough sentiment in his composition to stop a clock—but his sadness is rather that of a man who, through no fault of his own, has missed opportunities.

"Me father always made a point of keepin' Christmas," be said pensively. "It was usually the only thing that didn't belong to him that he was allowed to keep without gettin' into trouble.

"Father used to invite all his relations to come an' stay over Christmas; it was the only time he ever welcomed 'em.

"'You bring a goose,' he'd write to Uncle Joe; "I'll provide the beef an' the beer.'

"'You bring the beef,' he'd write to Aunt Maria; 'I'll provide the beer an' the goose.'

"'You bring the beer,' he'd write to Cousin Tom; 'I've made arrangements for a goose an' a bit of beef.'

"By the time he'd written to all our relations he'd fixed up a dinner fit for a king, an' when, on Christmas day. me uncles an' aunts proposed 'the founder of the feast,' he'd get up an' make a little speech

"The only thing that father ever really provided was the pack of cards that was used to play 'banker' with after the dinner was cleared away. It was always a nice friendly game for ha'pennies—to start with. It went on till some of our relations was bettin' as much as sixpence on a card. Father was always banker, an' he usually made enough money at Christmas time to tide us over the dark winter months.

"'Well, we've had a happy Christmas, Clarence,' Uncle Joe would say, sort o' chokin', but the next time I put me foot inside this den of thieves I hope somethin' will happen to me.

"'Well, so long, Cousin Clarence,' sez Cousin Tom; 'I haven't enjoyed meself so much since I broke me leg last Easter. May the money you've robbed us all of rise up an' call you accursed,' he sez.

"'Thanks,' sez father, 'especially for the Scripture bit. Do they still go to mornin' chapel at Wormwood Scrubbs?'

"Aunt Maria never went away after Christmas without tellin' father what she thought of him,

"'That's the worst thing that's ever been said to me,' sez me father, "but I forgive you. If it's the money wot I've won off of you that's worryin' you an' causin' this unpleasantness—'

"'Well, I'm more sorry than ever,' sez me father, sadly; 'an' sooner than let money came between us—'

"'Sooner than let filthy money come between us,' he sez bitterly, 'I'll give it to the horspital—to Clark's Royal Horspital for Incurable Relations,' an' with that he'd slam the door in their faces, go out into the backyard an' blow a police whistle till a copper came up an' shifted our relations away.

Â§In the army most fellers go home for Christmas, where they can enjoy theirselves without runnin' the risk of gettin' put in the guard-room, but me an' a lot more chaps prefer stayin' in barracks,

"One Christmas, when we was stationed at Anchester, so many fellers went home on leave, an' so few was left in barracks, that 'B' an' 'C' company had to join together to have their Christmas dinner, an' talkin' about relations bein' best apart reminds me of that Christmas.

"We had a sort of a meetin' to decide what should be done, when it was discovered how many chaps would be away at Christmas, an' me an' Smithy an' Spud Murphy was put on a committee to carry out arrangements.

"Everybody entered, if I might use the expression, into the spirit of the thing. We made paper chains an' cut out mottoes, such as 'Long Live the Colonel' an' 'What Is Home Without a Christmas Tree?' an' prepared for the time of our lives. We had a sub-committee to look after the puddin', an' a sub-committee to look after the beer, an' another sub-committee to look after the sub-committee that was lookin' after the beer, an' it looked as if we was goin' to have as enjoyable Christmas.

"The puddin' sub-committee," admitted Nobby, modestly, "was a very strong one. I was on it, an' Smithy was on it, an' Spud Murphy an' Tiny White was on it, an' it was made accordin' to a receipt we cut out of a Sunday paper."

"There never was a puddin' like that puddin' of ours. When it was cookin' you could smell it all over barracks, an' it stopped the band playin' owin' to it makin' their mouths water. Fellers used to come from other companies an' stand round the cook-house door, sniffin' an' sniffin', an' this puddin' of ours got so celebrated that it got into the Anchester Guardian under the headin' of 'Local Items.'

"I can't tell you what was in it, because I've lost the receipt. An', besides, me an' Smithy improved on the receipt, an' introduced various articles, such as strawberry jam an' chocolate, that wasn't in the receipt at all.

"When it was bein' mixed by the puddin' sub-committee the Colonel came into the cook-house, an' chucked a sovereign into the mess for luck—an' we stirred it up.

"Then the Adjutant came in an' threw in another sovereign—an' we stirred that up, too.

Chaps who wasn't on the puddin' sub-committee wanted to have us searched every time went near the puddin', but we treated 'em with scorn.

"I forget how many days it took to cook it, but the scent of that puddin' hung over Anchester for weeks

"Christmas came nearer an' nearer, an' the barrack rooms got to look more an' more like fancy shops, an' the puddin' was marched of to the Quartermaster's store, with all 'B' Company an' 'C' Company walkin' behind it to see that none of the puddin' sub-committee dug the sovereigns out when nobody was lookin'.

"Christmas or no Christmas, there are duties that have got to be done in barracks. Guards, picquets, an' various fatigues go on in very much the same way as they do on the 25th of June or the 17th of March. but me an' Smithy got our guard on Christmas Eve.

"It was one of those snowy Christmases, like you see on picture postcards. It began soon after the guard mounted, an' continued snowin' all day long, till you couldn't see a yard of green grass or brown path.

"It came down in little, light, feathery flakes that got into your eyes, an' behind your collar, an' down the barrel of your rifle, an' after two hours of it in the afternoon I was jolly glad to get back to the big fire in the guard-room.

"In barracks they was preparin' for the feast. One room had been turned out, all the bed cots shifted, an' the table laid ready.

"Late in the evenin' one of the dinner committee brought the key of this room an' handed it over to the corporal of the guard.

"'Look after this, corporal,' he sez 'we've just put the puddin' on the table ready, an though there ain't much danger of it bein' pinched owin' to the puddin' sub-committee bein' on guard,' he sez, lookin' at me an' Smithy; 'still you can't be too careful.'

"Smithy went on duty that night at ten o'clock, an' it was still snowin'. Anchester barracks, as you might know, are built on the edge of the common, an' the post of the sentry extends from the guard-room door to the barrack gate.

"'Two,' sez Smithy; 'one was cryin' drunk, an one was fightin' drunk, an' they both belong to "C" Company.'

"Half an hour after I mounted it stopped snowin' an' I crawled out of me sentry-box an' started marchin' up an' down to get me feet warm.

"I must have been carryin' on this excitin' game for ten minutes when, between me an' the barrack square, I saw somethin' that brought me heart into me mouth.

"'Please, sir, it's me,' sez a tiny voice, an' I brought me rifle down, for I saw it was a child.

He came slowly towards me, a little boy, all blue with cold, an' shiverin' in his thin rags. By the light above the barrack gate I saw his pinched little face.

'Hullo!' I sez. 'What are you doin' in barracks?'

"'What do you mean by gettin' hungry at this time of night?' I sez, very stern. 'You ought to know better.'

"I grabbed him by the arm an' took him to the guard-room. None of the chaps had gone to sleep. They was sittin' by the fire tellin' lies about what had happened to 'em in South Africa when I brought the nipper in.

In the centre of the guard-room the little chap stood an' told his tale—an' it wasn't a nice tale to hear.

"He'd sneaked into barracks to rummage the 'hog' tub—the tub where we chuck our bits of bread an' meat that we don't want. He'd come because he'd a mother who was ill, an' a father who was starvin', an' a little sister that was more hungry than happy.

"That sounds like a proper Christmas tale, doesn't it?" asked Nobby seriously, "but its God's truth, an' the man had been a private in the Anchesters years and years ago, an' that's how he came to know where the 'hog' tub was, an' that's why he little boy squeezed hisself between the railin's of the gateway an' went foragin'.

"The corporal of the guard looked down at the kid as he told his story—told it hesitatin'ly, an' brokenly.

"'Well, well, well,' he sez, when the little boy finished; 'that's had. Have any of you chaps got any bread left?'

"'Perhaps,' sez the corporal, restin' his eyes on the key that hung over his table, 'perhaps,' he sez, thoughtful, 'there's some bread on the festive board.

"None of us sez a word; we held our breath, knowin' the wicked thought that was in the corporal's mind.

"By-an-bye, after thinkin' very deep, the corporal—A. Smith it was; good luck to him!—turns to me an' sez:

"After a while the corporal came out leadin' the little boy by the hand, an' they crossed the barrack square together.

"I didn't challenge 'em then; I didn't even challenge 'em when they came back, the corporal with a big bundle under his arm.

"He opened the gate, let the boy out, an' put the bundle on his head. Then he walked back to the guard-room.

* * * * *

"You've no idea of the fuss caused by the disappearance of that puddin'. It was a sort of national calamity.

"Yet there was the fact.—When the dinin'-room was opened on Christmas mornin' the puddin' was gone.

"'I can't understand how the thief got in,' sez the adjutant, 'are you sure, corpora),' he sez, 'that nobody has had the key but you?'

"'Perfectly sure, sir,' sez the corporal, 'the key has never been out of me possession."'

23. — WINSTON CHURCHILL AND MONTY.

First published in Ideas, 15 Dec 1909

It is an extraordinary fact that since I started writing a series of stories which were frankly intended to be purely apocryphal and devoid of the very basis of truth I have found myself drawing upon authentic incidents; incidents, moreover, that have come under my immediate notice. Years ago, when I was a soldier, I remember seeing a very boyish-looking officer of the 4th Hussars, a fair boy with a little stoop, who was pointed out to me as the son of "Lord Randolph." I commend this story, which is perfectly true in foundation, to Mr. Winston Churchill (late the Hussars).

"POLITICS I know nothin' about," confessed Nobby Clark. "Why one side's in, an' the other side's out I've never understood—I can only suppose that they take their turn of duty same as we do.

"I'm the only one of me family that never took any interest in politics. Uncle Joe was a celebrated Liberal, Aunt Maria was one of the famousest Conservatives in Mill Lane, Deptford (before it was pulled down), an' Uncle Charlie was such a great feller in the political line that you couldn't believe a word he said.

"But for all-round politics you couldn't beat me father. He was one of the secret kind. You never knew whether he was Radical or Topical. He didn't know hisself.

"'Mornin', Mr. Clark,' sez one; 'it'd be glorious weather if it wasn't for this cursed Government.'

"'I don't know what this country's comin' to,' sez the canvasser in a despairin' kind of way, 'What with the Budget, an' Dreadnoughts, an' unemployment, an' Home Rule for Ireland.'

"'Let me put a hyper-throtical case to you,' sez the canvasser. 'Last year we imported a million pounds' worth of soap,'

'Let me put a hyper-throtical case to you,' sez the canvasser.
'Last year we imported a million pounds' worth of soap,'

"'Not me,' sez the canvasser, 'but our great nation on which the sun never sets—or rises. Well, we imported a million pounds' worth of soap—'

Clark—Clarence: an uneducated Radical bitten by the devil of Socialism—no good.

"'Mornin', brother Clark,' he sez; 'mornin', comrade,' he sez. 'I've just called to clear up a few points. There's two hundred million acres of land in this fair country of ours ruled by a handful of so-called Lords. Half of 'em are mad an' the other half go racin'. On the other hand,' he sez, 'we've got ten thousan' million starvin' men, women, an' children cryin' aloud: How long, O Lords—How long?'

"'The question we're got to settle,' sez the canvasser, 'is this: Shall the Lords or shan't they?'

"'Because,' sez the canvasser, gettin' more an' more enthusiastic, 'the time has come for the masses to strike a blow; the time has come for the masses to work—"

"'That's what I think,' sez me father, 'but if you're the masses there ain't much chance of 'em workin'. I don't suppose you've ever done a day's work in your life. Go away,' sez father, 'I don't like your face: you smell of drink: you haven't washed your neck: you talk through your hat: nobody loves you.'

"With reports like this against him it stands to reason that fellers on both sides left him alone till just before the election, an' then they'd send the most persuasive chap they had to talk to him an' gammon him.

"'Now, Mr. Clark,' sez the first one, 'let me an' you talk this matter over: let's be plump an' plain. I'm a Tariff Reformer: I believe in taxin' the foreigner: I pledge me word that Protection won't add to your cost of livin'—if you're alive: Tariff Reform means more work an' less to do: anybody who sez anythin' to the contrary is a frigid an' calculated liar.'

"So the persuasive canvasser goes away delighted with hisself an' writes in his canvass-book:

Clark—Clarence: Protectionist. Enthusiastic convert. (Expenses for convertin' same: Cab, 2s. 6d. Hotel, 15s. Drinks, 5s.)

"'Mornin', comrade,' he sez: ' I'd like to have a few words with you. The House of Lords must go: government of the people, for the people, by other people—that's our motto: Tariff Reform means horse-meat sausages: remember Chinese slavery: Free Trade means cocoa fur tea an' the naturalisation of railways,' he sez, warmin' up to the subject. 'What about Old-age Pensions? Many old people who are drawin' regular wages for livin' too long are worryin' about their pensions. Will they get 'em? I share their apprehension. What I mean to say is: Will Tariff Reform bring in the money as quick as the Income Tax inspector armed with an axe? I think not.'

Clark—Clarence: Rabid Free Trader. Convert to the cause. (Expenses for convertin': Cab, 2s. 6d. Hotel, 15s. Drinks, 5s.)

"On the day of the election you couldn't got into our Street for the motor-cars that'd called to take father to the Poll. Nobody ever knew how he voted, but after the election, when you read that there was one spoiled paper owin' to an intelligent voter havin' put a X against both candidates, you was safe in takin' a slight shade of odds that that paper was father's.

"Oh, yes," said Nobby, airily, " I know in them days I'm talkin' of there was no question of Tariff Reform, but there was always some question just as important: if you voted one way. you ruined the country an' if you voted another way, you ruined it worse still.

"Politics are barred in the army, partly because no one wants 'em, an' partly because nobody would know how to use em' if they had 'em. '

"But there was an old barrack labourer in Anchester who was a whale on politics. You know what a barrack warden is? He's the chap that's supposed to look after the gas, an' the winders that get broken, an' things like that. Well, this barrack labourer was a sort of old-soldier under the barrack warden.

"He'd talk politics any hour of the day or night, but he preferred to talk 'em any time when he ought to have been workin'. When he wasn't talkin' politics, he was gassin' about what the army was in his young days, an' how it had gone to the dogs since.

"I've seen him foam at the mouth when he got on the subject of Winston. I've seen him so agitated that he'd picked up Smithy's beer by mistake an' drink it all off before Smithy recovered his presence of mind. He only did it once, because after that when he started talkin' about Winston, all the fellers used to put their bands over the tops of their pots very significant.

"'There's a politician!' sez old Monty—that was his name. 'There's a bloomin' statesman! Why, I've ate better men before breakfast than him!'

"Monty used to tell us what he'd do if he was Prime Minister, an' what he'd say to Winston if he was the King.

"'I don't mind Lloyd-George, an' I don't mind John Burns,' he sez; 'it's this other feller I can't stand! Know him? Didn't I tell you I was in the 4th?'

"Accordin' to Monty, him an' Winston knew each other as well as Big Ben knew the House of Commons.

"It didn't matter much what subject you started with Monty, it all came back to Winston: an' the consequence was that me, an' a lot more chaps like me, got quite interested in him, an' used to watch the papers every day to see if he'd been found out, or had been struck by lightnin' or somethin' funny like that.

"But, as Monty said, onlY the good die young, an' it wasn't much use lookin' for miracles.

"'It's a perfect licker to me,' sez Monty one day, very despairin'ly, 'how they stand him in the Cabinet Council. I'll bet the head chap, what's-his-name, has all his work cut out to keep him quiet. I'll bet if you saw his bloomin' defaulter sheet it's marked all over with "Creatin' a disturbance in the Council" an' "Insolence to a superior Cabinet Minister," an' things Like that."

"'Of course they do!' sez Monty, 'an' sick reports, an' crimes, just the same as they do in the army.'

"Monty knew so much about politics that nobody doubted him. According to him, there wasn't a mornin' passed without Winston comin' up before the Head of the Government.

"'Hullo!' sez Mr. Asquith, lookin' at his crime report, 'what's this, Sergeant-Major—Churchill again?'

"'Call the first witness,' sez Mr. Asquith, an' Mr. Haldane, wearin' his famous uniform of Scout-master to the Territorials is called an' sworn.

"'Sir,' sez Mr. Haldane, 'I was on duty in the House of Commons on the night of the 4th inst., an' I sow the prisoner. He was behavin' in a wild an' reckless manner, an' makin' statements about the House of Lords.'

"'No, sir,' sez Mr. Haldane, 'but he passed by easy stages to makin' wild an' reckless statements about me.'

'Anythin' to say, Churchill?' sez Mr. Asquith.

"Sometimes he'd come up for bein' rude to Sergeant-Major Burns: sometimes it'd be for refusin' to obey an order; but accordin' to Monty, there wasn't many days but what he wasn't toein' the carpet.

"Monty was so down on Winston, that it got quite the talk of the barracks, an' naturally the officers came to hear of it.

Our adjutant, who's a rare one for findin' things out, started makin' inquiries.

"'Know him. sir?' sez Monty, very scornful, 'Know him? Well, I didn't exactly know him—we was acquainted.'

The adjutant has a pal at the War Office an' hadn't much difficulty in findin' out what he wanted.

"In the afternoon when the serious business was over for the day, the adjutant sends for Monty.

"'Oh, Montague,' he sez—that was Monty's full name—'you don't like Mr. Churchill, do you?'

"The adjutant didn't say anythin', but pointed at a blue sheet layin' on his desk.

"It was an old defaulter sheet what the adjutant had dug up. I saw Monty go very red, an' peepin' over his shoulder I saw what the adjutant was pointin' to.

"It was Monty's own defaulter sheet, an' I read the line the adjutant's finger was on:

"'Station: Aldershot. Crime: Dirty on parade. Punishment: 3 days' C.B. By whom administered: Winston S. Churchill, Lieutenant.'"

24. — THE MAN WHO COULDN'T SPEAK THE TRUTH.

First published in Ideas, 22 Dec 1909

"NOBODY," said Nobby Clark, "ever guessed me father's ago. Some said forty, some said fifty, but the majority was satisfied with sayin' that he was old enough to know better.

"There was one thing me father never liked speakin' about, an' that was his age. If anybody asked him he used to say 'thirty' or 'twenty-six an' eight months,' or somethin' like that.

"I've never known him so wild as he was at a bit that appeared in a newspaper about him: it was the beginnin' of father's quarrel with the Press.

'Clarence Clark, an elderly-lookin' man, givin' his age as 31, an' described as of no occupation, was charged with bitin' a policeman's leg without permission of the authorities, an' further with causin' grievous bodily harm to a pair of official trousers—to wit the trousers of the aforesaid constable.'

"'It's a perfec' outrage,' sez me father when he came back from the country. 'I think I've got a libel action against that newspaper.' He had, too, an' in the present agitated state of jurymen's minds, he'd have got heavy an' substantial damages, only the case was settled out of court by the reporter payin' half-a-crown from his own pocket.

"But it rankled in father's mind, them cruel words, about 'the elderly-lookin' man,' an' the first thing he did after comin' out of prison was to shave off his moustache, an' wash his hair with Condy's fluid to auburn it up a bit.

"He got run in for disguisin' hisself for the purpose of committin' a felony, an' the report was headed:

'AGED MAN'S CURIOUS VANITY.'

When me father was discharged he came home gnashin' his teeth so horrid, that he had to get a new set.

"'Nobby,' he sez to me warnin'ly, 'whatever you do in after life, never disgrace the Clark family by bein' a reporter. Go for a soldier, or be a policeman, or take on any other unhealthy employment, but don't be a reporter. Write advertisements or say you discovered the North Pole, or go in for politics, but don't be one of them pea-bee-tee-dee-chay-jay-kay-gay blokes.'*

* I gather that Mr. Clark, Senr. had some rudimentary knowledge of Pitman's shorthand.—Ed.

"'We've had a lot of trouble in our family,' he sez, 'but we've never had liars an' slanderers tarnishin' our coat-of-arms.'

'We've had a lot of trouble in our family,' he sez, 'but we've
never had liars an' slanderers tarnishin' our coat-of-arms.'

"Me father issued another writ. It wasn't a proper writ but a sort of form you get at the post office when you apply for a dog's license, with the reporter's name written in where the dog's ought to be.

"It was a fine bit of sarcasm, an' it touched that reporter up. He sent back a letter:

'I return herewith what is evidently your ticket-of-leave which has accidentally come into my possession.'

"That made father wilder still, an' for a long time there was what I might call a long an' bitter correspondence in the Bermondsey Herald. Father used to sign his letters 'Pro Bono Pub,' an' the reporter always printed a nasty bit at the end of each letter signed 'Ed. Bermondsey Herald,' although he wasn't the editor at all.

"The only way father could get an apology in the paper was to put it there, so him an' a gentleman who used to be a compositor till he ran away with the money of a sick club, broke into the office of the Bermondsey Herald one night. The paper used to be set one night, an' printed early the next mornin' an' father found this out.

"He an' Joe the comp. was very busy that night. They got away without anybody seein' 'em an' waited for the paper to come out. There was two thousand distributed before anybody discovered the apology. It was an ordinary kind of apology:

'We beg humbly to apologise to our respected citizen, Mr. Clarence Clark, for havin' made certain reflections on him—to wit "aged man" etc.'

"But the apology didn't worry the editor of the Herald. What worried him was the unkind paragraphs scattered through the paper, such as 'Go to Smock's for your meat if you want to be poisoned,' an' 'Why pay rent when you can steal enough money to buy a house—the same as the landlord of the "Crown and Anchor" did,' an' such bright items as 'We understand that our respected friend Alderman Pooper is still in the hands of the police—we hope this dangerous character will not be allowed at large.'

"There was one new column altogether. It was called 'What the Herald Man Saw.' It was O.T. Hot:

'The Herald man saw Mr. Snobbit, the eminent boot-maker, bein' carried home the worse for drink on Sunday.

'The Herald man saw Snapper, the eminent grocer of Hogget-road, in the act of puttin' dead flies in his currants.

"In a week the editor of the Bermondsey Herald was bein' sued for about a million pounds, an' was under police protection.

"'This'll learn him,' sez me father sternly, 'that tellin' lies don't pay in the long run, an' that honesty's the best policy—or almost the best policy,' he sez,

"There used to be a chap in the Anchester's who was the most celebrated man in the Army. His name was Slure, an' the main point about him was he couldn't tell the truth.

"A little feller was, with yeller hair an' white eyelashes, an' as good a little chap as you'd meet in a day's march. It wasn't only that he couldn't tell the truth, but when he lied he used to lie with illustrations, in a manner of speakin'.

"'I wonder a chap like you ever enlisted,' I sez to him once, 'You'd have made a fortune in Parliament or on a nice political platform tellin' people what'd happen if you wasn't elected.'

"'Politics,' he sez, 'I never could abide. I was intended for the Church, but the day I was goin' up to get sworn in, me parents' motor-car broke down. I remember the day,' he sez, musingly, 'as if it was yesterday. It was a bright Wednesday in May, the sun was shinin', an the motor-car was painted yeller, picked out with green. There was me, dressed like a gentleman, with a gold albert an' a diamond pin, sittin' next to the chofer; there was the family mansion, made of red brick, secluded, if I might use the expression, in its park-like grounds, with both hot an' cold, an' every modern convenience; there was the windin' white road stretchin' across the ole-world heath, there was—'

"'When you've finished this here serial story,' I sez, 'perhaps you'll realise that you're talkin' to a feller who's done a bit in the family mansion line hisself. There,' I sez, 'was the historical pile I was born in, with the workhouse master standin' at the gate wavin' a tearful farewell; there was me nurse an' the other infirmary nurses crying fit to break their hearts; there was the wide road stretchin' from the out-relief department to the casualty ward—'

"'I don't doubt any particular word,' I sez, 'I simply don't believe anythin' you say.'

"In the Army a feller's entitled to talk about his relations, an' brag about his connections, an' so long as the chap confines himself to sayin' that his father's a Government official, an' so long as nobody finds him out, there's no harm to it.

"But old Slure's weakness we never discovered for a long time. It was Smithy who found it out.

"One mornin' after pay day, we was talkin' at breakfast about what we'd done the night before.

"'Not me,' sez Slure. 'I caught the 4-95 an' went up in the same carriage as a young chap who's in a grocer's shop down town. We was talkin' about the crops an'—'

A few days after that Slure got into trouble for breakin' a public-house window. There wasn't any doubt about it, but when Slure was pulled up in front of the commandin' officer he denied it.

"'Me, sir?' he sez, very hurt. 'I wouldn't do such a thing. At the time the sad affair occurred I was pickin' flowers in a distant wood an' listenin' to the nightingale singin' his mournful song,' he sez.

"'It's a miscarriage o' justice,' sez Slure. 'At the time in question I was attendin' me sick sister, holdin' her pale hand in mine, an' whisperin' encouragin' words into her tremblin' ear.'

"'Quite right, sir,' sez Slure, 'in St. John's Wood, that's where me poor mother lives.'

"'She's been a mother to me,' sez Slure in a melancholy voice. 'Only that very night, as we sat side by side at a sacred concert—'

"'But, my good man,' sez the colonel, more bewildered than ever, 'you said your sister was sick.'

"'What d'ye mean?' sez Slure. indignant. 'You don't suppose the colonel punished me, do you? No; he sent for me to have a quiet chat over old times. He's a sort of relation o' mine,' sez Slure modestly.

"'Slurey,' he sez, I've been thinkin' you over an' I've come to the conclusion that you're a liar.'

"'A liar,' sez Smithy, solemn. 'You lie because you can't help it; it's a disease.'

"'It's a gift," sez Slure, proudfully, 'what I inherited from a celebrated ancestor—'

"I don't know why old Slure did it, because he never made anythin' out of it. He lied for the sake of lyin'; he lied about what happened in barracks an' he lied about what happened out of barracks. There was no way of gettin' the truth out of him. If you believed what he said you were wrong; if you believed the opposite to what he said, you made a mistake just the same. He was like the chap standin' on the North Pole. Whichever way he looked was South—there was no East, West, or North in Slure's yarns. They all went in one direction.

"Be lied about food an' about drinks; he lied about the bloomin' dreams he had an' the dreams he used to have.

"If you met him goin' out of barracks an' asked him where he was goin', he'd tell you a place he'd never thought of before. He lied because it was easier than speakin' the truth.

"The chaplain got to hear of it, an' used to come into barracks twice a week to talk to him, but no good came of that. The chaplain went away quite satisfied with what he'd done. Slure told him he was sorry, but he was only lyin'."

"'We was on manoeuvres in 1907, an' Slure was naturally with us. He wasn't much use in the field, because when he was on scout duty his report wasn't worth considerin'; as a sentry he was a failure because fellers were afraid of him, an' when he sez, 'Pass, friend—all's well,' nobody passed, knowin' that it couldn't be 'All's well' if he said it was.

"'Cook, sir?' sez Slure very amused. 'Why, I used to be a chef at the Hotel dee Parry.'

"But after he'd served up toadstools for mushrooms an' half-killed the company, he was sent back to duty.

"'I don't know what to make of you,' sez the company officer. 'Parade to-morrer mornin' for fatigue. I suppose you know how to carry wood?'

"'Yes, sir,' sez Slure. 'I was one of the champion wood carriers of Walworth. I got six medals an' a silver cup for it.'

" I don't know what would have happened eventually to him, but in the course of our manoeuvrin' we came to a little town on the banks of the Avon, an' got two days' rest, owin' to one of the days bein' Sunday.

"Some of the chaps went for a walk, but me an' Smithy an' Spud Murphy an' Slure went boatin' on the river.

"I'll steer,' sez Slure. 'I coxed the Cambridge eleven in their celebrated boat match from Putney to Greenwich.'

"It seemed for once in his life he'd nearly spoke the truth, for we went on without accident for about a mile, an' then, turnin' a bend of the river, we suddenly come on two of our officers rowin' towards us. We could have passed 'em all right, but Slure, wantin' to show respect to the officers, stood up an' saluted.

"In half a tick the boat was over an' we was in the water. We were in midstream, an' I struck out for the officers' boat an' caught hold of the side. Smithy an' Spud got our boat an' held on to that, but Slure was flounderin' about in the water.

In half a tick the boat was over an' we was in the water.

"It was growin' dusk when it happened, an' though we dived for him we couldn't find him, an' we went back to barracks very sorrerful.

"Next day he was reported dead, but that same evenin', when Spud Murphy was on duty at the edge of the camp, along comes the bold Slure.

"'Hello, Spud," he sez. 'Here I am. I floated down stream, an' was picked up by a farm labourer—'

"'Yes,' sez Slure. 'He carried ma to his house, gave me a drink, an' put me to bed; an' now,' he sez, 'I'll be gettin' into camp an' reportin' myself.'

"And so it was," said Nobby gravely, "an' to this day old Slure is marked on the regimental records as bein' drowned, even though for twelve months, off an' on, he sat outside barracks tryin' to convince people he was alive. He's got one chance of comin' back to the regiment. If he owns up to bein' drowned, an' puts up a stone to hisself we might take him back again—but not till then."

THE END

Roy Glashan's Library
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EDGAR WALLACE

THE "MAKINGS-UP" OF NOBBY CLARK

VOLUME II

BIBLIOGRAPHIC NOTE

TABLE OF CONTENTS

13. — ON SYSTEMS.

First published in Ideas, 06 Oct 1909

KENILWORTH HANDICAP.

STARTERS AN' JOCKEYS

TRAINING REPORTS

* * * * *

14. — SOCIALISM.

First published in Ideas, 13 Oct 1909

* * * * *

15. — FAMILY PRIDE.

First published in Ideas, 20 Oct 1909

16. — THE SURPRISING FLIGHT OF HOGGY.

First published in Ideas, 27 Oct 1909

* * * * *

17. — BROTHERS.

First published in Ideas, 03 Nov 1909

* * * * *

18. — THE WANGLERS.

First published in Ideas, 10 Nov 1909

19. — ONE OF THE BOYS.

First published in Ideas, 17 Nov 1909

20. — THE HYPNOTIST

First published in Ideas, 24 Nov 1909

* * * * *

21. — THE GHOST OF HEILBRON KOPJE.

First published in Ideas, 01 Dec 1909

* * * * *

22. — THE ANCHESTERS' CHRISTMAS PUDDING.

First published in Ideas, 08 Dec 1909

* * * * *

23. — WINSTON CHURCHILL AND MONTY.

First published in Ideas, 15 Dec 1909

24. — THE MAN WHO COULDN'T SPEAK THE TRUTH.

First published in Ideas, 22 Dec 1909

'AGED MAN'S CURIOUS VANITY.'

THE END

THE "MAKINGS-UP"
OF NOBBY CLARK