Carter (having indulged in terrific language which has been listened to with benevolent toleration by policeman). "Judging by the way you be'ave, I should take you for a German!"
Policeman. "Now then—now then! We can't 'ave no bad language 'ere!"
MORE TEA-TIME GOSSIP.
(With apologies to the "Star.")
Since it is notorious that no one at tea-time ever talks of anything but the stage—what plays and revues are on and what plays and revues are coming on—it follows that the conversation over this meal is always alluring and bright and worth reporting. For what is more important to England, especially at this time, than the stage—legitimate or variety—unless possibly it is racing.
*****
When I met Mr. Gully Buttran yesterday he was full of his plans for beating the Umpire and the Hoppodrome and the Palaceum at their own game. The public, he said, cannot have too many revues; and his project was to have three every night—one at eight, one at nine and one at ten. The first was to be called Who said Rats? The second, Wait till the Train stops; and the third, This Way Out. The costumes, he said, were to be most carefully arranged to come just within the safety revue limit laid down by the Lord Chamberlain's Office. "But how do you know what that is?" I asked. "We test it," he replied. "The Lord Chamberlain always threatens three or four times before he strikes, and that gives us our chance."
*****
Passing on to the next theatrical magnate, Mr. Batten Wing, I found that he, too, was meditating a revue. Between his cups of souchong he told me that it seemed to him that what the country most needed at the present moment was a strong lead from the male choruses. "The oftener," he said, "that recruiting songs can be sung by active and vigorous young men on the stage the better must the results be." But when I asked him to specify the results he begged to be excused. "The stage," he added, "has a sacred duty to perform, and it is rising to the occasion. Nothing could be finer than our male chorus singing in unison that splendid song, You're wanted at the Front."
*****
"Yes," said Miss Rip Topping, "it is true that I have just signed a contract for £500 a week to dance my famous negligée dance in London. I have refused many offers in my time, but when it was made quite clear to me by my manager that men home from the Front, either wounded or on leave, wanted to see me, I gave way at once, although my price is really five hundred guineas. I think that there is no sacrifice too great to be made by artists, to give pleasure to these brave fellows." And I agree with her. Brave little lady, I wish you all luck!
"THE FEEBLE-MINDED.
Official Proposes to Reduce His Own Salary."
Wolverhampton Evening News.
A hopeless case, we fear.
In view of the amount of barbed wire that our troops have to negociate, our Boy Scout suggests that it would be advisable to reinforce our troops by an army of "little nippers."
Another Infant in Arms.
"WILLIAMS.—In this city, on April the 14th, to the wife of Sapper W. Williams, a daughter, now serving in the trenches in France."—Montreal Star.
Tact.
Extract from letter to an East Coast resident, after the recent raid:—
"I sincerely hope the Germans won't send any more bombs your way, as they don't seem very successful, do they?"
