MAJOR, DUCHESS, LANDLADY.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXIII, Issue XXIV, 10 December 1904, Page 7

MAJOR, DUCHESS, LANDLADY.

A FARCICAL TALE.

(By

“Chinstrap.”)

“We shall meet again,” said Sir Digby D’Affodil, Bart, (commonly known as “Onions”), major in His Majesty’s Pink Dragoons, as he bowed over the plump, bejewelled hand of the Dowager Duchess of Walsinghame. “We shall meet again,” he repeated, gently squeezing her Grace’s fingers. The prophecy was indeed to be fulfilled, although scarcely in the manner the major anticipated. The duchess returned the insinuating pressure, and it is probable that the major would have proposed (and been accepted) there and then, but fell an unwelcome interruptionfl As it was, half an hour later he left Monte Carlo, where ten days previously he had met the duchess for the first time in his life, to rejoin his regiment at Westchester, a small garrison town, near to which, so it chanced, the duchess had a country residence.

Taking him all round —and he was a fat little man—the major was not a “bad sort.” But he had one besetting weakness, and that an incurable propensity for making love to every woman he came across. This would not have mattered so very much had he confined himself and his attentions to the matrons and maidens of his own set. But he did not, and when a man goes philandering outside his own class, trouble usually results. Trouble always was the outcome of the major’s little flirtations, for, to do him justice, these affairs were never of a sufficiently serious nature to be called by any other name.

For instance, there was the afternoon he spent locked in a coal cellar, and the frigthful episode of the chimney-sweep’s daughters, whose irate parent—but neither of these stories has anything to do with the present one. The Pink Dragoons Had moved from Southfields to Westchester during the major’s absence on leave at Monte Carlo, so he came fresh to the place, and,a keen angler, was delighted to find that there was excellent fishing to be had in a stream some six or seven miles away.

A week or so after rejoining, the major repaired to the stream in question, and after a good day’s sport he had no difficulty in coming to the conclusion that a large whisky and soda was the one thing wanting to complete his contentment.

Casting around, he came upon a small, old-fashioned country inn, presided over by an exceedingly buxom and attractive landlady. A widow, the major at once concluded. The major made himself agreeable, and so readily were his advances responded to that before long he found himself in the landlady’s parlour. By skilful strategy the major secured a seat adjacent to the landlady’s, and

automatically his arm slid around her waist. The landlady at once removed it, but the intrepid major as quickly returned to the charge. Again was the arm removed, and on the major attempting to test the truth of the saying that the third time is always lucky, a shadow darkened the door, and, looking up, the major beheld a big, blackbearded man regarding him intently. The landlady and the major rose simultaneously. “Lor’, Bill, ’ow you startled me!” cried the landlady, with a little scream, while the major tried hard to think of something to say, and failed signally in the attempt. “W heel come off,” said the big man, gruffly. Then he looked from the landlady to the major, and from the major to the landlady. “Oh, Bill,” faltered the latter, “this —this is my brother Tom. You’ve often ’eard me speak of ’im? T-Tom, this is my ’usband.” “Glad to meet you,” said the big man, coming forward and shaking the major warmly by the hand. The major did not reply to this friendly greeting. He was torn between a frantic desire to fly at the big man’s throat and an earnest conviction that his fingers ought to be surgically attended to at once. In the meantime, the landlady, having recovered her self-possession, became voluble, and. in a dazed sort of way, the major heard her explaining to her husband that he. Major Sir Digby D’Affodil, Bart., alias “Brother Tom,” had unexpectedly arrived from Australia, where, as her husband knew, he was a public-house manager (shade of the D’Afl'odils! ), and had run down to pay his sister a surprise visit. The big man Tstened in grim silence, but when the landlady paused for want of breath he said, "Glad to see you,” and again endeavoured to take the major’s hand, an intention the latter frustrated by pretending to tie up his boot lace. Recovering an erect position and some presence of mind, the major said he must be going. "Going!” cried the landlord in great astonishment. "No. no. my lad. we can’t let you run away like that. Besides, the last train went to London half an hour ago. No, no.” he repeated cordially, “once we’ve got you we’ll keep you. I was goin’ over to a friend o’ mine at Northwich to-night, but the trap broke down; so now. missus, you go and get us something to eat ” the landlady left the room, followed by a despairing glance from “Brother Tom” “and we’ll make a night o’ it. Now. Tom. you sit down and make yourself comfortable.” (Throughout this interview the major had endeavoured to assume an easy posture, but had got no nearer to one than that ironically described in the drill book as “stand at ease.”) With that the landlord left the room, but, bearing a bottle and glasses and wearing a peculiar smile, he returned in time to find the major apparently so taken with the view that he had struggled half-way out of the narrow window in order to miss none of its beauties. Reluctantly turning from the contemplation of nature, the major sat down and drank ostensibly to his brother-in-law’s health, and in reality to his everlasting confusion. During the next ten minutes the landlord, an inquisitive man, acquired some varied information about Australia. He had just added to his store of knowledge the fact that the trams in Melbourne are drawn by kangaroos, when there was a slight disturbance outside, and an individual in shirt-sleeves, holding his hand tight-pressed against his side, staggered into the room. “Ullo, Joe, what’s up?” eried the landlord. “Oh, lor, sir, I’m taken bad —mortal bad,” groaned the new-comer, twisting his face into an expression indicative of extreme pain. The landlord poured out a small, very small quantity of whisky, and handed it to the sufferer, who seemed to revive un der its influence. But he speedily re lapsed, and pointed mutely to the bottle. “No, no, Joe,” said the landlord kindly, but firmly; “what you want to do is to get to bed at once, and ’ave a good sleep.” and taking the afflicted one by the arm. he half-led. half-pushed him from the room and shut the door.

Strange to say, “Joe,” once outside, recovered miraculously, and ten minutes later, instead of being in bed, was walking briskly in the direction of Westchester, a fact which, no doubt, would have

surprised and disgusted the confiding landlord. "By George, Tom,” said the landlord, returning to the table, "it s a mighty fortnit tiling your dropping down ’ere today. There s Joe, my potman, ill, as you see for yourself, and there s no one to take charge o’ the tap. I never allows the missus in there, and 1 must ha' something to eat afore 1 goes on duty again. You won't mind tendin’ a 'and for an hour or so?”

Emphatically as the major did mind, there was a look in his brother-in-law's eye that warned him it would be impolitic to say so. The landlord himself assisted the major to take off his coat, and, remarking that it was a warm night, he insisted on his removing his waistcoat also, carefully placing these articles of attire in a drawer, which he locked, remarking that some of the habitues of the private parlour were not altogether to be trusted. Then he showed the major into the sanded tap-room, and left him, after briefly indicating the various taps of ale, bitter, stout.

The major, however, apart from the fact that he felt as lightly clad as a ballet' girl on the night of her stage debut, was, like Martha, "troubled about many things,” and he paid little heed to the landlord s directions. There were three or four rustics in the bar. After staring hard at the new potman, they commenced talking about him. Fortunately the major could not understand their remarks, which were of an extremely personal nature, or the hypothesis of Mr Henry Grunzel that he was the first of the "Chineymen” "wot” were coming to take the honest bread out of British labourers’ mouths—there had been a byeelection at Westchester a week or two previously—might have disturbed him. As it was, he stood there and revolved desperate schemes for escape. Presently Mr Grunzel, failing to hold his audience, who deserted him in favour of Mr Charles Chickweed’s contention that the major was a detective, come down to investigate the mysterious disappearance of old Mother Sammon’s wooden leg, approached the bar and timidly asked for a "pot of ale.” The major pulled a handle at random. Mr Grunzel took the “foaming pewter,” tasted it, started, looked very hard into the pot’ smelt it—proceedings the major watched with great anxiety—took another draught, and allowed a pleased expression to suffuse his countenance. Then, draining the pot to the dregs, he repeated his order, and whispered animatedly to his companions. In turn they ordered and gave repeat orders for “pots of ale,” while Mr Chickweed went out and halloaed down the road, with the result that presently there was a regular “run” on the “Wild Rose’s” ale at twopence a pint. The landlord, attracted by the unwonted clamour, came in and looked suspiciously around him, but on Mr Grunzel loudly asseverating that the beer got worse every day, he seemed reassured, and. after pleasantly recommending the major to “put his back to it,” he returned to the parlour, whence there arose an appetising smell of steak and onions.

The major was about to try and purchase one of the rustic’s coats, when a thick-set, bullet-headed man stumped in and elbowed his way roughly through the crowd to the bar.

The major was not to know that this was the celebrated pugilist, Mr William Slugger, of Shoreditch, who had come into the country to train preparatory to losing (per arrangement) his forthcoming fight with the Putney Pet. Nor did the major know that Mr Slugger, having quarrelled with his trainer, had left that worthy lying in a ditch with a broken jaw, and was now determined to siake the thirst which had been bottled up for three days. Still. Air Slugger’s demeanour suggested that he was not a. man to be trifled with, and the major hastened to comply when Mr Slugger growled. “A pint o’ bitter. And draw it quick, nose”—owing to an accident in the cricket field the major’s nasal organ was of a rather peculiar shape. Feeling that what was good enough for the yokels would not be good enough for Mr Slugger, the major hastily filled a tankard from another tap. Mr Slugg“r took a deep draught with surprising results. Forgetting his manners, he flung the pot and its contents at the major’s head. A timely duck saved the major’s life, but he did not escape a shower-bnth, while the pewter did terrific execution among the bottles on the shelf.

lhe landlord came out, and Mr. Slugger came on. For once, however. Air. Siugger had met Ins match, and by the time he reached the door he was almost apologetically explaining the outrage of which he had been a victim

After depositing Air. Slugger in, or rather on, the road, the landlord returned to the bar, took up a tankard (Mi Grunzel s) and tasted it. Then he ad dressed himself to his potman. After some prefatory remarks on the mental capacity of people who did not know the difference between ale at 2d. a pint, and treble X "bitter” at 4d the same quantity, he proceeded to an exhaustive and critical review of tl.e major’s personal appearance. On the whole the audience was of opinion that the lordland rose to the occasion, although Air. Grunzel, rendered earping, perhaps, by the fact that in tasting his beer the landlord had inadvertently finished it, thought that more might have been made of the eccentricities of the major’s nose. However, the landlord had not finished his peroration, in which, as in "Fairyland” at the Crystal I’alace fireworks, there were bombs—that is, verbal bombs—of every hue, when there came a frantic "hoot-hooting” outside, followed by a crash, screams, and a loud’ explosion.

Presently appeared two s'oldiers, in one of whom to his horror the major recognised his troop-sergeant major, bearing a half-fainting lady. The landlord dashed forward with brandy, the lady sat up, opened her eyes, caught th.* major’s, and then the Dowager-Duchess of VValsingham fainted in real earnest.

Utterly frantic*, the major caught up the landlord s eoat, which the latter had taken off for the purpose of conducting Air. Slugger to the door, and vaulting over the bar with surprising agility ran for his life. Somehow the story leaked out, although the troop-sergeant-major denied on oath having betrayed liis superior officer. A tew days later when the ante room of the Pink Dragoons was crowded the major, having to some extent recovered his equanimity, said to the eheeky and thirsty young subaltern, Air. “Peg'' Woffington: "Well, young fellow, 1 think 11l stand you a drink. What’ll you have?” “Oh, thanks, major,” replied Air. Woffington, amid roars of laughter, “I'll have a pint of bitter—bitter, mind you. not twopenny ale.” Poor major. He found it advisable to exchange soon afterwards, and to this day the Dowager-Duchess of Walsingham believes that she was within an ace of being the victim of a swell-mobs-man who had secured employment at the “Wild Bose” in order to burgle her Grace’s residence.