Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 153, September 26, 1917 eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 46 pages of information about Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 153, September 26, 1917.

Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 153, September 26, 1917 eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 46 pages of information about Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 153, September 26, 1917.

I passed this on.

“M’sieur,” said the old man, holding the yachting cap a little nearer.

“Give him a piece of money to buy soap with,” said Slip.  “Come up, Topsy,” and he trotted slowly on.

I gave the old man something for soap and went my way.

That night at dinner the Mandril, who loves argument better than life, said a propos of nothing that any man who gave to a beggar was a public menace and little better than a felon.  He was delighted to find every man’s hand against him.

“RUSKIN,” said Slip, “decrees that not only should one give to beggars, but that one should give kindly and deliberately and not as though the coin were red-hot.”

The Mandril threw himself wildly into the argument.  He told us dreadful stories of beggars and their ways—­of advertisements he had seen in which the advertisers undertook to supply beggars with emaciated children at so much per day.  Children with visible sores were in great demand, he said; nothing like a child to charm money from the pockets of passers-by, etc., etc.  Presently he grew tired and changed the subject as rapidly as he had started it.

It was at lunch a few days later that the Mess waiter came in with a worried look on his face.

“There is a man at the door, Sir,” he said.  “Me and Burler can’t make out what he wants, but he won’t go away, not no’ow.”

“What’s he like?” I asked.

“Oh, he’s old, Sir, and none too clean, and he’s got a sack with him.”

“Stop,” said Slip.  “Now, Tailer, think carefully before you answer my next question.  Does he wear a yachting cap?”

“Yes, Sir,” said Tailer, “that’s it, Sir, ’e do wear a sort of sea ’at, Sir.”

“This is very terrible,” said Slip.  “Are we his sole means of support?  However—­” and he drew a clean plate towards him and put a franc on it.  The plate went slowly round the table and everyone subscribed.  Stephen, who was immersed in a book on Mayflies, put in ten francs under the impression that he was subscribing towards the rent of the Mess.  The Mandril appeared to have quite forgotten his dislike of beggars.

Tailer took the plate out and returned with it empty.  “He’s gone, Sir,” he said.

“I’m glad for your sake, dear Mandril, that you have fallen in with our views,” said Slip.

“What!” shouted the Mandril.  “I quite forgot.  A beggar!—­the wretched impostor.”  He rushed to the window.  An old man had rounded the corner of the house and was crossing the road on his way to a small cafe opposite.

“He’s going to drink it,” screamed the Mandril; “battery will fire a salvo;” and he seized two oranges from the sideboard.  The first was a perfect shot and hit the target between the shoulder-blades, and the second burst with fearful force against the wall of the cafe.  The victim turned and looked about him in a dazed fashion and then disappeared.

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Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 153, September 26, 1917 from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.