MR. WOODBY-INN. That's no good; no point in ridin' after the right time.

(_To himself, as he turns away._) Nuisance! Not that I'm so keen about a moke. Not a patch on a bike!--though it don't do to say so. Only if I'd known this, I'd have turned up in a tall hat and frock coat; and then I could have taken a turn on the steam-circus. Wonder if it would be any sort of form shyin' at cocoa-nuts in tweeds and a straw hat. Must ask some chap who knows. More puzzlin' what to put on this year than ever!

LADY RANELA HURLINGHAM (_breathlessly to DONKEY PROPRIETOR_). That's mine, isn't it? Will you please put me up, and _promise_ me you'll keep close behind and make him run. (_Suppliantly._) You will, _won't_ you?

The DONKEY PROPRIETOR (_with a due sense of his own value_). Well, I dessay I can come along presently, Lady 'Urlingham, and fetch 'im a whack or two; jest now I can't, having engaged to come and 'old the Marshiness of 'Ammercloth on _'er_ moke; but there, you orter be able to git along well enough by yourself now--_you_ ought!

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Mokestrians."]

CAPTAIN SONBYRNE (_just home on leave from India--to MRS.

CHESHAM-LOWNDES_). Rather an odd sort of idea this--I mean, coming all the way out here to ride a lot of donkeys, eh?

MRS. CHESHAM-LOWNDES. It used to be rather amusing a month ago, before they all got used to riding so near the tail; but now they're all so good at it, don't you know.

CAPT. SONB. I went down to Battersea Park yesterday to see the bicyclists. Not a soul there, give you my word!

MRS. C.-L. No; there _wouldn't_ be _this_ season. You see, all sorts and conditions of people began to take it up, and it got too fearfully common. And now moke-riding has quite cut it out.

CAPT. SONB. But why ride donkeys when you can get gees?

MRS. C.-L. Oh, well, they're democratic, and cheap, and all that, don't you know. And one really can't be _seen_ on a horse this year--in town, at least. In the country it don't matter so much.

FIRST MOKESTRIAN (_to second ditto_). Hullo, old chap, so _you_'ve taken to a moke at last, eh? How are you gettin' on?

SECOND MOKESTRIAN. Pretty well. I can sit on his tail all right now, but I can't get into the way of keepin' my heels off the ground yet, it's so beastly difficult.

_Fragments from_ SPECTATORS. That's rather a smart barrow Lady Barinrayne's drivin' to-day.... Who's the fellow with her, with the paper feather in his pot-hat? Bad style, _I_ call it.... That's Lord Freddy Fugleman--best dressed man in London. You'll see everybody turnin' up in a paper feather in a day or two.... Lot of men seem to be using a short clay as a cigarette-holder now, don't they?... Yes, Roddie Rippingill introduced the idea last week, and it seems to have caught on. [_&c._, _&c._]

_After Luncheon; at the Steam-Circus and other Sports._

_Sc.r.a.ps of Small-talk._ No end sorry, Lady Gwendolen; been tryin' to get you a scent-squirt everywhere; but they're all gone; such a run on 'em for Ascot, don't you know.... Thanks; it doesn't matter; only dear Lady Buckram has just thrown some red ochre down the back of my neck, and Algy Vere came and shot out a coloured paper thing right in my face, and I shouldn't like to seem uncivil.... Suppose I shall see you at Lady Brabazon's "Kiss in the Ring" at Bethnal Green to-morrow afternoon?...

I believe she _did_ send us cards, but we promised to look in at a friendly lead the d.u.c.h.ess of Dillwater is giving at such a dear little public she's discovered in Whitechapel, so we may be rather late....

You'll keep a handkerchief-throw for me if you _do_ come on, won't you?... It will have to be an _extra_, then, I'm afraid.... Are you goin' to Lord Balmisyde's eight o'clock breakfast to-morrow? _So_ glad; I hear he's engaged five coffee-stalls, and we're all to stand up and eat saveloys and trotters and thick bread and b.u.t.ter.... Oh, I wanted to ask you, my girls have got an invitation to a hoky-poky party the Vavasours are giving after the moke-ridin' next Thursday, and I'm told it's quite wrong to eat hoky-poky with a spoon--do you know how that is?... The only _correct_ way, Caroline, is to lick it out of the gla.s.s, which requires practice before it can be _attempted_ in public. But I hear there's quite a pleasant boy-professor somewhere in the Mile End Road who teaches it in a single lesson; he's _very_ moderate; his terms are only half a guinea, which includes the hoky-poky. I'll send you his address if I can find it.... Thanks _so_ much; the dear girls _will_ be so grateful to you.... I _do_ think it's _quite_ too bad of Lady Geraldine Grabber, she goes and sticks her card on the only decent wooden horse in the steam-circus and says she's engaged it for the whole time, though she hardly ever takes a round! And so many girls standing out who can ride without getting in the _least_ giddy!... Rathah a boundah, that fellow, if you ask me; I've _seen_ him pullin' a swing boat in brown boots and ridin'-breeches!... How wonderfully well your daughter throws the rings, dear Lady Cornelia, I hear she's won three walking-sticks and five clasp knives.... You're very kind. She is quite clever at it; but then she's had some private coaching from a gipsy, don't you know.... What are you going to do with yourself this afternoon?... Oh, I'm going to the People's Palace to see the finals played off for the Skittles Championship; bound to be a closish thing; rather excitin', don't you know.... Ah, d.u.c.h.ess, you've been in form to-day, I see, five cocoa-nuts! Can I relieve you of some of them?...

Thanks, they _are_ rather tiresome to carry; if you _could_ find my carriage and tell the footman to keep his eye on them. [_&c._, _&c._]

LADY ROSEHUGH (_to MR. LUKE WALMER, on the way home_). You know I _do_ think it's _such_ a cheering sign of the times, Society getting simpler in its tastes, and sharing the pleasures of the Dear People, and all that; it must tend to bring all cla.s.ses more _together_, don't you know!

MR. LUKE WALMER. Perhaps. Only I was thinking, I don't remember seeing any of the Dear People _about_.

LADY ROSEHUGH. No; somebody was telling me they had taken to playing Polo on bicycles in Hyde Park. So extraordinary of them--such a pity they haven't some higher form of amus.e.m.e.nt, you know!

[Ill.u.s.tration]

AN IDEAL INTERVIEWER.

_Den of Latest Lion._

LATEST LION (_perusing card with no visible signs of gratification_).

Confound it! don't remember telling the Editor of _Park Lane_ I'd let myself be interviewed. Suppose I must have, though. (_Aloud to SERVANT, who is waiting._) You can show the Gentleman up.

SERVANT (_returning_). Mr. Walsingham Jermyn!

[_A youthful Gentleman is shown in; he wears a pink-striped shirt-front, an enormous b.u.t.tonhole, and a woolly frock-coat, and is altogether most expensively and fashionably attired, which, however, does not prevent him from appearing somewhat out of countenance after taking a seat._

The L. L. (_encouragingly_). I presume, Mr. Jermyn, you're here to ask me some questions about the future of the British East African Company, and the duty of the Government in the matter?

MR. JERMYN (_gratefully_). Er--yes, that's what I've come about, don't you know--that sort of thing. Fact is (_with a burst of confidence_), this isn't exactly my line--I've been rather let in for this. You see, I've not been by way of doin' this long--but what's a fellow to do when he's stony-broke? Got to do _somethin'_, don't you know. So I thought I'd go in for journalism--I don't mean the drudgery of it, leader-writin' and that--but the light part of it, _Society_, you know.

But the other day, man who does the interviews for _Park Lane_ (that's the paper I'm on) jacked up all of a sudden, and my Editor said I'd better take on his work for a bit, and see what I made of it. I wasn't particular. You see, I've always been rather a dead hand at drawin'

fellows out, leadin' them on, you know, and all that, so I knew it would come easy enough to me, for all you've got to do is to sit tight and let the other chap--I mean to say, the man you're interviewin'--do all the talking, while you--I mean to say, myself--keep, keeps--hullo, I'm getting my grammar a bit mixed; however, it don't signify--_I_ keep quiet and use my eyes and ears like blazes. Talking of grammar, I thought when I first started that I should get in a regular hat over the grammar, and the spellin', and that--_you_ write, don't you, when you're not travellin'? So you know what a grind it is to spell right. But I soon found they kept a Johnny at the office with nothing to do but put all your mistakes right for you, so, soon as I knew that, I went ahead gaily.

The L. L. Exactly, and now, perhaps, you will let me know what particular information you require?

MR. J. Oh, _you_ know the sort of thing the public likes--they'll want to know what sort of diggings you've got, how you dress when you're at home, and all that, how you write your books, now--you do write books, don't you? Thought so. Well, that's what the public likes. You see, your name's a good deal up just now--no humbug, it _is_ though! Between ourselves, you know, I think the whole business is the balliest kind of rot, but they've got to have it, so there you are, don't you see. I don't pretend to be a well-read sort of fellow, never was particularly fond of readin' and that; no time for it, and besides, I've always said _Books_ don't teach you knowledge of the world. I know the world fairly well--but I didn't learn it from books--ah, you agree with me there--_you_ know what skittles all that talk is about education and that. Well, as I was sayin', I don't read much, I see the _Field_ every week, and a clinkin' good paper it is, tells you everythin' worth knowin', and I read the _Pink Un_, too. Do you know any of the fellows on it? Man I know is a great friend of one of them, he's going to introduce me some day, I like knowin' literary chaps, don't you? You've been about a good deal, haven't you? I expect you must have seen a lot, travellin' as you do. I've done a little travellin' myself, been to Monte Carlo, you know, and the Channel Islands--_you_ ever been to the Channel Islands? Oh, you ought to go, it's a very cheery place. Talkin'

of Monte Carlo, I had a rattlin' good time at the tables there; took out a hundred quid, determined I would have a downright good flutter, and Jove! I made that hundred last me over five days, and came away in nothing but my lawn-tennis flannels. That's what I _call_ a flutter, don't you know! Er--beastly weather we're havin'! You have pretty good weather where you've been? A young brother of mine has been out for a year in Texas--he said _he'd_ very good weather--of course that's some way off where _you_'ve come from--Central Africa, isn't it? Talkin' of my brother, what do you think the young a.s.s did?--went out there with a thousand pounds, and paid it all down to some sportsmen who took him to see some stock they said belonged to them--of course he found out after they'd off'd it that they didn't own a white mouse among 'em! But then, d.i.c.k's one of those chaps, you know, that think themselves so uncommon knowing, they _can't_ be had. I always told him he'd be taken in some day if he let his tongue wag so much--too fond of hearing himself talk, don't you know, great mistake for a young fellow; sure to say somethin'

you'd better have let alone. I suppose you're getting rather sick of all these banquets, receptions, and that? They do you very well, certainly.

I went to one of these Company dinners some time ago, and they did me as well as I've ever been done in my life, but when you've got to sit still afterwards and listen to some chap who's been somewhere and done somethin' jawin' about it by the hour together without a check, why, it's not _good_ enough, I'm hanged if it is! Well, I'm afraid I can't stay any longer--my time's valuable now, don't you know. I daresay yours is, too. I'm awfully glad to have had a chat with you, and all that. I expect you could tell me a lot more interestin' things, only of course you've got to keep the best of 'em to put in your book--you _are_ writin' a book or somethin', ain't you? Such heaps of fellows are writin' books nowadays, the wonder is how any of 'em get read. I shall try and get a look at yours, though, if I come across it anywhere; hope you'll put some amusin' things in,--n.i.g.g.e.r stories and that, don't make it too bally scientific, you know. Directly I get back, I shall sit down, slick off, and write off all you've told me. I shan't want any notes, I can carry it all in my head, and of course I shan't put in anything you'd rather I didn't, don't you know.

The L. L. (_solemnly_). Mr. Jermyn, I place implicit confidence in your discretion. I have no doubt whatever that your head, Sir, is more than capable of containing such remarks as I have found it necessary to make in the course of our interview. I like your system of extracting information, Sir, very much. Good morning.

Mr. J. (_outside_). Nice pleasant-spoken fellow--trifle long-winded, though! Gad, I was so busy listenin' I forgot to notice what his rooms were like or anythin'! How would it do to go back? No, too much of a grind. Daresay I can manage to fox up somethin'. I shall tell the Chief what he said about my system. Chief don't quite know what I _can_ do yet--this will open his eyes a bit.

[_And it does._

[Ill.u.s.tration]

SAt.u.r.dAY NIGHT IN THE EDGWARE ROAD.

_For over half-a-mile the pavement on the East side of the road is thronged with promenaders, and the curbstone lined with stalls and barrows, and hawkers of various wares. Marketing housewives with covered baskets oscillate undecidedly from stalls to shops, and put off purchasing to the last possible moment. Maids-of-all-work perambulate arm-in-arm, exchanging airy badinage with youths of their acquaintance, though the latter seem to prefer the society of their own s.e.x. A man with a switchback skittle-board plays gloomy games by himself to an unspeculative group of small boys. The tradesmen stand outside their shops and conduct their business with a happy blend of the methods of a travelling showman and a clown._

BURLESQUE BUTCHER. Now then, all o' _you_ there! Buy, buy, buy! Just give yer minds to spendin' yer money! (_In a tone of artless wonder._) Where _does_ the Butcher git this _luverly_ meat? What can I do fur _you_ now, Marm? (_Triumphantly, after selling the scrag-end of a neck of mutton._) _Now_ we're busy!

FARCICAL FISHMONGER (_with two Comic a.s.sistants_). Ahar! (_To crowd._) Come 'ere, you silly young snorkers! I've the quali_tee_! I've the quali_tay_! _Keep_ takin' money!

FIRST COMIC a.s.sISTANT. Ahye! Foppence a pound nice plaice! Kippers two fur three 'apence. _We're_ the Perfeshnul Curers! What are yer all goin'

to _do_? Sort 'em out cheap!

SECOND C. A. I don't mind! What care I? (_Bursting into song._) "'Ow, she rowled me 'ed, and rumbled in the 'ay!" On me word, she did, ladies!

[_He executes a double shuffle, and knocks over several boxes of bloaters in the gaiety of his heart._