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Page 9
"The mere selling of an article is a simple matter, but keeping the
customer sold is our principal aim."--_Advt. in West Indian Paper._
* * * * *
[Illustration: _First Novice._ "WOULD YOU MIND MY PASSING, PLEASE?"
_Second ditto._ "NOT AT ALL--NOT AT ALL--IF YOU DON'T MIND USING ME AS THE
HANDRAIL."]
* * * * *
MY D�BUT IN "PUNCH."
I am, I hope, decently modest. When I said so once to Margery she remarked
that there was no need to make a virtue of necessity. But younger sisters,
of course...
I came down to breakfast at my usual time--as the others were finishing--
and found a letter awaiting me. I opened it under the usual fire of insults
from Margery and John. To-day I ignored them, however, and my young heart
gave a small jump. I am a modest young man.
"What's the matter with you, little Sunbeam?" asked John (he is Cecilia's
husband, through no fault of mine). "Is the tailor more rude than usual, or
has she found out your address?"
"The Vicar has asked him to sing at the Band of Hope," suggested Margery.
I commenced my breakfast.
"What is it, Alan?" asked Cecilia.
"Oh, nothing," I said easily. "The proof of a thing of mine that _Punch_
has accepted."
They hadn't a word to say for a few seconds, then Margery began:--
"Poor old dear, it must be some awful mistake."
I ignored Margery.
"But, Alan darling, how beautiful! You've been trying for years and years
and now at last it has happened. I _do_ hope it isn't a mistake," said
Cecilia anxiously. She was trying to be nice, you know. I'm sure she was. I
went on with my breakfast.
"Well, John," said Cecilia, "can't you congratulate him, or are you too
jealous?"
John sighed deeply and pondered.
"Terrible how _Punch_ has gone down since our young days, isn't it?" he
said heavily.
* * * * *
I spent a miserable time until it appeared. Somehow or other Cecilia let
the great glad news get about the village. Farley, our newsagent and
tobacconist, held me when I went in for an ounce of the usual mild.
"So I 'ear you've 'ad a article printed by this 'ere _Punch_, Sir," he
said. "Somethink laughable it'd be, I suppose like, eh?"
"Not half," I said, striving hard to impersonate a successful humourist.
"Ah, well, it's all good for business," he said, as one who sees the silver
lining. "I've 'ad quite a number of orders for the paper for the next two
or three weeks."
I crept from the shop, only to meet an atrocious woman from "The Gables,"
who stopped me with a little shriek of joy.
"Oh, Mr. Jarvis, I've been dying to meet you, do you know. I always have
thought you so funny, ever since that little sketch you got up for the
Bazaar last summer. I said to my husband when I heard of your success,
'_I'm_ not surprised. After that sketch, _I knew_.' _Do_ tell me when it's
appearing. I'm sure I shall simply scream at it."
I escaped after a time and wondered whether it was too late to stop
publication of the horrible thing.
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