THE EIGHTH CIGAR.

Dominion, Volume 4, Issue 1222, 2 September 1911, Page 6

THE EIGHTH CIGAR.

4 MY AUNT SOPHIA. AND TWO GREAT MEN.

(By "AYi")

"Docs Sir Joseph Ward smoko cigars, Charles?" inquired Aunt Sophia, eyeing with cold disapproval Hio deliberate preparations which 1 consider to bo essential to the full enjoyment of my sinful extravagance in the matter of fat cigars. "I rather think ho doe?/' I replied, sending a blue cloud ceilingwnrds. "I should imagine, Aunt, that he'd want somo sort of soother to put him in ft philosophic frame of mind alter what happened last .Friday night." "And you think a cigar would do that?" pursued my Aunt, disparagingly. ".Not one, my dear Aunt, but .several/' I said, with a grin. "ile was very far from well that evening, you must remember—very far irom well. You read the report of the speech th.it he made in tlio saioou of tho Kuupehu that night, didn't your" "I did, Charles," said Aunt Sophia in a pained voice. "If, as you say, he was feeling iar irom well, 1 can excuse some of the undignified things that ho said j then. Uoes ho sulior much*" My Aunt Sophia's professional insiincls—in a' tuayistonal sort of way she makes a hobby* of visiting the trick and all'iicted in "her parish—were quickened by the suggestion that a fellow creature was in pain, and a note oi solicitude cam© into her voice. , "Suffer? Oh, horribly," I replied, with a callous snigger. * Aunt Sophia eyed mo with deep suspicion. "Uiark)S'," she demanded, "are you perfectly serious?" "Of course, Aunt," I replied. "When I say ho suffers horribly, 1 mean it— absolutely. In iact, my dar Aunt, 'horribly is 110 word for it." "Then I should think that a cigar would bo the very worst thing for him," said _Aunt Sophia, with decision. ||isot for his complaint," i said. "What is he sullenng from, then?" "Well," I said, slowly, "it has bioudiagnosed as laceration of the amour propre.'' Laceration ot the—don't be riitieulous, Chanes," said Aunt Sophia, severely. 'I'act, 1 assure you. Tho amour propre, my dear Aunt " "Tuts!" the amour propre—let mo finish— the amour propre, Aunt, is a mysterious organ, assumed lo have some patho.ogieat relationship to the spieea, but—c-r— situated remotely from that organ. Its precise situation is—er—understood " "Chares, I retu=e to listen to such nonsense," declared Aunt Sophia, tapping her notebook impatiently. "Oh, well—l won't talk any more," I said, in an offended voice. "Well—what was it you were going to say?" asked my Aunt, her curiosity getting the better of her. "No more interruptions, mind," I stipulated. "Very well—go on." I winked furtively at the fat one. "Let's see," 1 resumed, "where was I!'" "At the situation of tho iimour propre," prompted Aunt .Sophia, in a strained voice. "Ah, yes—the situation of tho amour propre. Well, as 1 was about to say, the precise situation of tho amour propre is not very well known, but it isr-jr—understood to vary in different persons. t should imagine that—er— temperament would have something to do with it." "Yes?" "In the case o[ our friend the baronet, I should say that his amour propre, judging by its abnormal—er—delicacy— would be situated somewhere in the corn area." '"the corn area!—whatever do you meaa, Char.es? "liavo you got a pet corn, Aunt?" I inquired, respecuuliy, "A p , tne iiie.i!" exclaimed Aunt Sophia, bridling visibly. "i mean, Aunt," i Hastened to explain, "it you had an amour propre like liu baronet's, it would probably be situated in tne neignbouriiood oi your pel corn—or rather, Au.it," 1 added nurrieuiy, "where your pet corn would be if yau had one." Aunt Sophia looked at me, while I looked at the ceuiug and watched tho bluo canopy as it drifted langourously o.erhead. "Am I to proceed?" i inquired at last. "ies, but in plain English if you really don't mind, Chanes," said Aunt Sopnia, with exaggerated humility. Uuce again 1 bestowed a furtive wink upon the diminishing torin of the fat one. "All right, Aunt, wo wili now come down to earth—to the saloon of the Ruapcliu, on that eventtul evening when she dropped anchor in our beautiful harbour, bringing back sate and sound our baronet ami our knight—dear me, I was almost forgetting our knight.' "it was a very quiet home-coming, Charles," commented Aunt Sophia. "Quite unostentatious, 1 thought." "I'hey had no option, my dear annt." "Of cou.-se it was rather late at night," suggested Aunt Sophia. "That wasn't the trouble, aunt. They could have got here in the daytime if they had wanted to. Coiuo to think of it, tho whole thiig wasn't badly stage-managed, considering the circuni dances, if the principal actors hadn't gone and spoilt the show with'their silly speeches, ion see, aunt, .Ice Ward—l really beg his pardonSir Joseph Ward, JJurt., knew better than anyono else that the brass band act was played out." "What do von mean by 'the brass band act,' Charles'?" asked Aunt Sophia, with an air of mystification. "Oh—you know--tho machine-made reception—large and enthusiastic crowd on tho wharf, bands playing the "Conquering Hero,' lialf-liolidav for tho schools, and all that sort of thing. Seddon would have had it managed that way, and it would liavo bad all the appearance of a spontaneous demonstration." "Is that how they do it?" "Yes. Field, member for Otaki, who is always advertising himself in his pet newspaper with tiu-pot paragraphs about what ho is doing for his constituents, told tho House tho other day that the town would be more or less en fete when Ward and Co. came back, liut Ward is not. the man Seddon was—not by jugfuls— and you can bet lie knew the state of the public pulso long before tho Ruapcliu sighted Cape Fare well. He "ot a whole parcel of newspapers, and reports when ho got to Hobart, and ho would see from them what the public thought of his performance at the Imperial Conference, and what the country thought of his undemocratic action in joining the aristocracy and accepting a iioretliiarv title. Kir Jolm Findlav would also read'for himself the public's opinion of his conception of political ethics. Result: Laceration of their respective amours proprcs. "Oil, I see!" said my Aunt, with, the light of understanding in her eye. "See what?" "AVhat you meant by tho amour propre." "You do—do you ? Well, en route to our beautiful shores the wireless man would be told to get busy, and the aristocratic pair would be told, as inevitably they must have been told, that nobody except a chosen few seemed to be worrying very much about them. A small and silent gathering, consisting of estimable gentlemen who could bo trusted not to strike any jarring note.s. was being organised. Well, the result you know. I suppose the wireless man was kept at his work pretty well all tlie time till tho steamer was near Wellington, and tho circumstances pointed to the' desirableness of the quiet and unosteutatious home-coming wmch you mentioned. This cold and inhospitable sort of home-coming seems to have got on both their nerves at the finish, and lacerated their respective amours proprcs frightfully, for the small and silent company that went .out lo meet them had no sooner got into tho saloon than the knight and the baronet both Hew off tho handle, so to speak, and, in my humble opinion, gave utterance to sentiments which were not in the least becoming to gentlemen in their positions. "And to think that only six out of about sixty members of Parliament went out to meet him. Charles! Wasn't it awful ?" "For him—rather. It's a sign of the times. Aunt. You can see which way tho Liberal cat is inclined to jump now, I suppose?" "I think so, Charles. "There wa.s once a time when they would not have dared to absent themselves from such an occasion. That is what hurts, Aunt." "I see." "The crack of the parly Whip, my dear Aunt, had a sling in those days. Not now." "I suppose, Charles, that it all depends 1/m.tho mail who cracks the whip?"

I "Precisely, Aunt," I replied. "And ' also, _ whelhcr tho 111:1 n cracks his whip in his own backyard, or goes out into Ilii' open and faces the crowd. You see, Aunt, .Sir Joseph and Co. did not do themselves any good by shrieking their maledictions from I he shc-lt-iT of the ltuapchu's saloon, out in the harbour." My Aunt .smiled. "There was onco a a little bciv who used to hurl defiance at his enemies from ail upstairs bedroom window." "Oh—indeed!" ".Do you remember what that littlo boy's' namo was, Charles?" i Ihrew my cigar-end into the fire. "I don't want to know," I fnid, frigidly. "Have you got an amour propre, too, Charles?" inquired Aunt Sophia, wickedly. "I micht have," I replied, in a. noilcommittal voice. "Well, anyway, you won't make a silly speech about it. will your" "This," said I, addressing the ceiling, "is what I call unseemly levity." "diaries! I " "Good night, Aunt," I said, with ail air of finality. "Hoity-toity. That's just the way Sir Joseph would have carried on. Good night, Charles." Really. 1 begin to think that my Aunt Sophia is getting a trifle giddy.