The Young Stagers/Tosh and Funny-Dog
III.
TOSH AND FUNNY-DOG.
The difference between Tosh and Funny-Dog is the difference between the humour of Alice in Wonderland, Through the Looking-Glass, or The Hunting of the Snark and the humour of a half-penny "comic" paper.
Tosh was dear to the souls of the members of the Junior Curlton, while for Funny-Dog they had a quiet contempt. If you talked proper Tosh you could stay for hours, but if you only talked Funny-Dog they did not mind how soon you went.
Buster was great at Tosh, but of course could not always live at the high level of real proper and genuine Tosh, and sometimes descended perilously near to mere and common Funny-Dog.
It was felt that he had done so, for instance, when at a Literary session of the Club he produced as his contribution:—
There was once a funny old tolf
Who spent all his tune playing golf,
He drove on to the linx
With a naughty young minx,
Saw his better ½T and drove olf.
It was received in dead silence.
"There are points about toff, golf, and off," he suggested diffidently. "And about drove on and drove off. You know how you 'drive off' at golf, don't you?"
"We do," said Boodle. "We did it with some pin-fire cartridges."
"And then this—'better ½T,' is quite a new-way of saying he saw his wife—his better-half—over her tea, or, if you like, bending over her tee on the green, you know. . . ."
"If you say it's very funny, Buster, no doubt it is," was the reply. . . . "Prob'ly most 'scruciating."
"Oh, no! I don't say that," the unhappy youth replied, "but well—it is Tosh, I think."
"Well, we won't say it's Funny-Dog, anyhow," conceded Boodle, and the matter dropped.
Daddy laughed consumedly at Buster's discomfiture. (He was held to have the right Tosh touch, and Boodle declared that he never lapsed into Funny-Dog, but she may have been partial and biassed in her judgment, for she loved Daddy "mos' tremenjous". Was he not so wise and clever and understanding that he was fit to take part in their games and able to enter into their imaginings and occasions, lawful and unlawful? So great and able a mind had he that he knew the utter unimportance of Grown-up things—like time, money, dignity, and silence, or being late for dinner-parties, must-go-to-office-now, mind-my-hair-and-clothes, not-quite-so-much-noise, and musn't-play-with-that. He was that sensible you would have thought he was a child, but for his size and his grey hair. In fact he was nearly as valuable, brilliant, and child-like as Mummy herself.)
When the Club held its Literary meetings, Daddy was expected to provide either Tosh or a Stirring Tale (plenty of good sound robbers, wolves, Red Indians, and things), but Mummy was always looked to for something that made you feel good, and funny all over, and desirous of seeing and doing beautiful things as well as hearing the beautiful thing she was reading or telling or reciting.
What they loved best was some of Mummy's own poetry. Even if they could not understand a word of it, it was so satisfying to the ear, so musical and beautiful — besides being Mummy's very own. That was perhaps the chief element of the pleasure of listening to the sweet and sonorous sounds, the pleasing and satisfying rhythm. There was also the element of pride in the fact that not all children have a Mummy who can read them her own poetry. . . .
"Don't try poetry, Buster dear," continued Boodle. "You can't do it like Mummy. Make up a nice Toshy tale if you are going to talk Tosh. . . . I think the best Tosh I know is
'Three Wise Men of Gotham
Went to sea in a bowl.
If the bowl had been stronger
My story had been longer. . . .'
I love that. It tells you they were Asses without saying so, and it tells you they were drowned without saying so. . . . like jokes that don't have all the joke in the words."
"You put your finger on the point, President Sahib," remarked Daddy from the Club armchair, "and sum up a whole treatise on humour-by-implication. . . . Most learned President! A Daniel come to judgment."
"Don't be a Funny-Dog, Daddy," besought the flattered President.
"We nearly played 'Judgment' the other morning," put in the Vice, who was less bored by Literary meetings than might have been expected. There were always the Fairy Tales, and Daddy's lurid stories, and the better sorts of Tosh, not to mention the joy of hearing Mummy recite or read, or, best of all, say her own poetry.
"This is the story," quoth Buster, "of two other Wise Men of Gotham famous as not having gone to sea in a bowl. They were, in their student days, the Wisest Men In the University of Dantzig, and were very fond of doing so."
"Doing what?" inquired Boodle.
"Dantzig," replied Buster. "I have a cold in by dose. They spent most of their time, even in extreme old age. In Dantzig."
"But they were Wise Men of Gotham," said Boodle.
"Yes, and always dwelt there. They simply loved Dantzig in Gotham."
"Is Dantzig in Gotham?" asked Mummy.
"They were, Dear Lady, most of the day and all the night."
Mummy smiled.
"What were they, Buthter?" inquired the puzzled Vice.
"Dantzig," was the reply. "Dantzig all over the place. Dantzig in Gotham, you know. They Dantzed with each other, mostly."
"That's better Tosh," put in the President kindly. "What was the end of them?"
"Well—one lepped so much in Dantzig that he became a leper. A confirmed professing leper, and it was no good arguing with him."
"And the other Withe Man?" put in the Vice.
"Oh, he bounded in Dantzig, frightfully," was the answer. "Became a perfect bounder. People didn't like it. They were expelled from the Senior Curlton Club of Dantzig, who won't keep lepers and bounders. Not anyhow. Then the two Wise Men took up the cause of Progress. They progressed by leaps and bounds of course. . . ."
"What became of them in the very end," pursued the Vice, tenacious ever, as Buster stopped.
"Oh, they sat under the famous Omelette Tree of Gotham and egged each other on, and poached. They also boiled—with indignation."
"Poached what? Boiled what?"
"Eggs. They scrambled up the"
"Funny-Dog! " said the Vice suddenly, and Buster collapsed. (Later the President told the Vice that he had been severe and premature—and in the presence of the President—a little presumptuous. He would have had a perfect right to make any comment had he been in the Chair. Privately the President entirely agreed with the Vice. The story should have stopped short of egg-puns. They are so banal, though banal is not the word the President used. In fact she used no word at all, but merely felt that egg-puns are distinctly of the Funny-Dog tribe and required a lot of elevating into Tosh.)
"It was distinct Tosh until you fell among eggs. Buster," said Daddy.
"Yes," agreed the President. "Tell us it again without boiling eggs with indignation."
"Tell it like Miss Ha-Ha in the Higher Water," begged the Vice. "You know Minnie Ha-Ha."
And Buster, who had a well-known gift that way, burst into saga of familiar metre:—
"Two Wise Men that were of Gotham,
You have heard ere this of Gotham?
In a bowl went not to sea they.
Loved they well their Universi-
Ty of Dantzig and were always
Doing it in season. Out of
Season also did they do it.
If you ask me what they did do,
All that I can say is 'Dantzig'.
Dantzig there in famous Gotham,
Dantzig each one with the other.
One he lepped so much in Dantzig
He at last became a leper.
Bounding so high went his brother
That men said he was a Bounder.
Said he was an awful Bounder.
From the Dantzig Club they thrust them,
Búnged thěm fórth něm íně cóntrǎ
Dí cěn té yǒu'll únděrstánd mě,
Bút thǐs métrě spóils thě quántǐ
Tiés ǒf thém thěre Látǐn wórdsěs. . . ."
"Funny-Dog!" said Mummy suddenly.
And with a cry of "Comfort me, Old Thing!" Buster laid his head in Boodle's lap and wept.
"Try again, darling," said Boodle. . . . "What did they wear?"
"Breeches of Faith and breeches of Promise," was the reply.
"What is those?" asked the Vice.
"Well, when they ordered breeches and got them on tick, they were breeches of Faith, but when the clothes-cook took their measure and never sent the things, they were breeches of Promise," explained Buster.
"Why the cook, and not the tailor?" inquired the President.
"Because the tailor only made tales, of course," was the reply, " while the builder made storeys."
"What else did they wear?" pursued the President—being a Woman.
"Oh—lots of things—sunny smiles . . . an air of mystery . . . rue with a difference . . . worried looks. They lived in hope, and they lived on sufferance. But they were very just. Always just. Just about everything. Just about to work, just about to pay, just about to repent, just about to wash their necks—but they were fond of saying 'Well! I never did'—and they never did. . . . Their names?. . . Let's see. There was 'Ugo—who never went himself, and Alfred—who was really 'alfblack. Their children were Percy Vere—who never did so; Og—who hadn't a single H to his name because he didn't want to be a Pig; Edward—so called because his beer always went that way. . . . "
"What did they eat—apart from eggs?" inquired the President.
"Well, they imbibed virtue and assimilated facts. They chewed the cud of bitter reflection and inwardly digested exhortations and were . . ."
"Fed up, I should think," interrupted Boodle. "You're off colour to-day, Buster. Sing us something."
And lifting up his voice. Buster sang:—
"Never beat your Mother, boys, tho' she is old and grey,
If you do not like her, show it in some other way.
No—never strike your Mother, boys, whatever she may do,
For, though she's but a woman—she has feelings just like you. . . ."
And was turned out of the Club forthwith.