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Page 8
M'sieur groaned. The Sergeant-Major, being a soldier, concealed his
apprehensions. Wild thoughts of surreptitiously disposing of them in a
coal-bin whirled through their minds, but Hippolyte apparently divined
their thoughts.
"I regret that I must forgo the pleasure I promised myself of asking the
ladies to take _cr�pes_ with me," he said. "To offer these would be a poor
compliment to their superlative efforts. But there is no reason why _you_
should not eat them here."
"I have an excellent reason," said M'sieur, stroking his waistcoat. "And
the gallant Sergeant-Major, I imagine, has another."
"Bah! what is a little digestive inconvenience to a breach of courtesy?"
cried Hippolyte maliciously. "You must eat them. _The law of hospitality
demands it._"
When M'sieur and the Sergeant-Major stumbled unsteadily downstairs ten
minutes later their eyes bulged with the expression of those whose cup of
suffering is filled to overflowing.
"But after all," as M'sieur remarked, placing his hand on his heart, whence
it insensibly wandered to a point lower down, "it is some satisfaction to
know that the feelings of our excellent wives remain unlacerated."
* * * * *
[Illustration: MANNERS AND MODES.
THE NEW POOR MAKE GOOD.]
* * * * *
[Illustration: BEHIND THE SCENES IN CINEMA-LAND.
HE SWORE TO BECOME A CINEMA-ACTOR.
AND HE DID.]
* * * * *
SHATTERED ROMANCES.
DEAR MR. PUNCH,--I read in a weekly paper that "plans are well in hand for
putting up other Government Department buildings at Acton, which looks to
have a future of its own, that of a sort of suburban Whitehall."
Have you considered what this new departure means for those who, like
myself, are the writers of political romance? To all intents we have lost
the Ball-platz; we have lost the Wilhelmstrasse, and now here is Whitehall
going out into the suburbs.... No doubt our leading Ministers, attracted by
the more salubrious air, will establish themselves in the environs of the
Metropolis, leaving behind them only the lower class of civil servant. Have
you considered the devastating effect of this change?
Think what we used to give our readers: "A heavy mist lay over Whitehall.
High above the seething traffic the busy wires hummed with the fate of
Empires." How, I ask you, will it look when they read: "The busy wires
above Lewisham High Street hummed with the fate of Empires"?
Or think of the thrill that was conveyed by this (it comes in three of my
most recent books): "He looked, with a little catch in the throat, and read
the number, 'Ten'--No. 10, Downing Street, where the finger of fate writes
its decrees while a trembling continent waits, where empires are made and
unmade--the hub of the universe...." Doesn't that make even _your_ heart
beat faster? But who will thrill at this: "He waited for a moment before
the bijou semi-detached villa (bath h. and c.), known as Bella Vista, in
Rule Britannia Road, Willesden Junction; then with a swift glance up and
down he stealthily approached. When the neat maid opened the door, 'Is the
Prime Minister in?' he asked?" (He did not hiss. Who could hiss in that
atmosphere?)
Or take this from my last book (shall I ever write its like again?): "Men,
bent with the weight of secrets which, if known, would send a shiver
through the Chancelleries of Europe, could be seen hurrying across the Mall
in the pale light and going towards the great building in which England's
foreign policy is shaped and formulated." But the Foreign Office at Swiss
Cottage, or Wandsworth--I could not write of it. And there will be the
India Office at Tooting, or Ponder's End, or at--But how can your "dusky
Sphinx-like faces, wrapt in the mystery of the East, be seen passing the
purlieus of"--the Ilford Cinema?
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