Lily told Hayat to get a UK Guide Book

[NGONGE]

What better than wodehouse!

 

 

WHEN PAPA SWORE IN HINDUSTANI

 

 

"Sylvia!"

 

"Yes, papa."

 

"That infernal dog of yours----"

 

"Oh, papa!"

 

"Yes, that infernal dog of yours has been at my carnations again!"

 

Colonel Reynolds, V.C., glared sternly across the table at Miss Sylvia

Reynolds, and Miss Sylvia Reynolds looked in a deprecatory manner back

at Colonel Reynolds, V.C.; while the dog in question--a foppish

pug--happening to meet the colonel's eye in transit, crawled

unostentatiously under the sideboard, and began to wrestle with a bad

conscience.

 

"Oh, naughty Tommy!" said Miss Reynolds mildly, in the direction of

the sideboard.

 

"Yes, my dear," assented the colonel; "and if you could convey to him

the information that if he does it once more--yes, just once more!--I

shall shoot him on the spot you would be doing him a kindness." And

the colonel bit a large crescent out of his toast, with all the energy

and conviction of a man who has thoroughly made up his mind. "At six

o'clock this morning," continued he, in a voice of gentle melancholy,

"I happened to look out of my bedroom window, and saw him. He had then

destroyed two of my best plants, and was commencing on a third, with

every appearance of self-satisfaction. I threw two large brushes and a

boot at him."

 

"Oh, papa! They didn't hit him?"

 

"No, my dear, they did not. The brushes missed him by several yards,

and the boot smashed a fourth carnation. However, I was so fortunate

as to attract his attention, and he left off."

 

"I can't think what makes him do it. I suppose it's bones. He's got

bones buried all over the garden."

 

"Well, if he does it again, you'll find that there will be a few more

bones buried in the garden!" said the colonel grimly; and he subsided

into his paper.

 

Sylvia loved the dog partly for its own sake, but principally for that

of the giver, one Reginald Dallas, whom it had struck at an early

period of their acquaintance that he and Miss Sylvia Reynolds were

made for one another. On communicating this discovery to Sylvia

herself he had found that her views upon the subject were identical

with his own; and all would have gone well had it not been for a

melancholy accident.

 

One day while out shooting with the colonel, with whom he was doing

his best to ingratiate himself, with a view to obtaining his consent

to the match, he had allowed his sporting instincts to carry him away

to such a degree that, in sporting parlance, he wiped his eye badly.

Now, the colonel prided himself with justice on his powers as a shot;

but on this particular day he had a touch of liver, which resulted in

his shooting over the birds, and under the birds, and on each side of

the birds, but very rarely at the birds. Dallas being in especially

good form, it was found, when the bag came to be counted, that, while

he had shot seventy brace, the colonel had only managed to secure five

and a half!

 

His bad marksmanship destroyed the last remnant of his temper. He

swore for half an hour in Hindustani, and for another half-hour in

English. After that he felt better. And when, at the end of dinner,

Sylvia came to him with the absurd request that she might marry Mr.

Reginald Dallas he did not have a fit, but merely signified in fairly

moderate terms his entire and absolute refusal to think of such a

thing.

 

This had happened a month before, and the pug, which had changed hands

in the earlier days of the friendship, still remained, at the imminent

risk of its life, to soothe Sylvia and madden her father.

 

It was generally felt that the way to find favour in the eyes of

Sylvia--which were a charming blue, and well worth finding favour

in--was to show an intelligent and affectionate interest in her dog.

This was so up to a certain point; but no farther, for the mournful

recollection of Mr. Dallas prevented her from meeting their advances

in quite the spirit they could have wished.

 

However, they persevered, and scarcely a week went by in which Thomas

was not rescued from an artfully arranged horrible fate by somebody.

 

But all their energy was in reality wasted, for Sylvia remembered her

faithful Reggie, who corresponded vigorously every day, and refused to

be put off with worthless imitations. The lovesick swains, however,

could not be expected to know of this, and the rescuing of Tommy

proceeded briskly, now one, now another, playing the rфle of hero.

 

The very day after the conversation above recorded had taken place a

terrible tragedy occurred.

 

The colonel, returning from a poor day's shooting, observed through

the mist that was beginning to rise a small form busily engaged in

excavating in the precious carnation-bed. Slipping in a cartridge, he

fired; and the skill which had deserted him during the day came back

to him. There was a yelp; then silence. And Sylvia, rushing out from

the house, found the luckless Thomas breathing his last on a heap of

uprooted carnations.

 

The news was not long in spreading. The cook told the postman, and the

postman thoughtfully handed it on to the servants at the rest of the

houses on his round. By noon it was public property; and in the

afternoon, at various times from two to five, nineteen young men were

struck, quite independently of one another, with a brilliant idea.

 

The results of this idea were apparent on the following day.

 

"Is this all?" asked the colonel of the servant, as she brought in a

couple of letters at breakfast-time.

 

"There's a hamper for Miss Sylvia, sir."

 

"A hamper, is there? Well, bring it in."

 

"If you please, sir, there's several of them."

 

"What? Several? How many are there?"

 

"Nineteen, sir," said Mary, restraining with some difficulty an

inclination to giggle.

 

"Eh? What? Nineteen? Nonsense! Where are they?"

 

"We've put them in the coachhouse for the present, sir. And if you

please, sir, cook says she thinks there's something alive in them."

 

"Something alive?"

 

"Yes, sir. And John says he thinks it's dogs, sir!"

 

The colonel uttered a sound that was almost a bark, and, followed by

Sylvia, rushed to the coachhouse. There, sure enough, as far as the

eye could reach, were the hampers; and, as they looked, a sound

proceeded from one of them that was unmistakably the plaintive note of

a dog that has been shut up, and is getting tired of it.

 

Instantly the other eighteen hampers joined in, until the whole

coachhouse rang with the noise.

 

The colonel subsided against a wall, and began to express himself

softly in Hindustani.

 

"Poor dears!" said Sylvia. "How stuffy they must be feeling!"

 

She ran to the house, and returned with a basin of water.

 

"Poor dears!" she said again. "You'll soon have something to drink."

 

She knelt down by the nearest hamper, and cut the cord that fastened

it. A pug jumped out like a jack-in-the-box, and rushed to the water.

Sylvia continued her work of mercy, and by the time the colonel had

recovered sufficiently to be able to express his views in English,

eighteen more pugs had joined their companion.

 

"Get out, you brute!" shouted the colonel, as a dog insinuated itself

between his legs. "Sylvia, put them back again this minute! You had no

business to let them out. Put them back!"

 

"But I can't, papa. I can't catch them."

 

She looked helplessly from him to the seething mass of dogs, and back

again.

 

"Where's my gun?" began the colonel.

 

"Papa, don't! You couldn't be so cruel! They aren't doing any harm,

poor things!"

 

"If I knew who sent them----"

 

"Perhaps there's something to show. Yes; here's a visiting-card in

this hamper."

 

"Whose is it?" bellowed the colonel through the din.

 

"J. D'Arcy Henderson, The Firs," read Sylvia, at the top of her voice.

 

"Young blackguard!" bawled the colonel.

 

"I expect there's one in each of the hampers. Yes; here's another. W.

K. Ross, The Elms."

 

The colonel came across, and began to examine the hampers with his own

hand. Each hamper contained a visiting-card, and each card bore the

name of a neighbour. The colonel returned to the breakfast-room, and

laid the nineteen cards out in a row on the table.

 

"H'm!" he said, at last. "Mr. Reginald Dallas does not seem to be

represented."

 

Sylvia said nothing.

 

"No; he seems not to be represented. I did not give him credit for so

much sense." Then he dropped the subject, and breakfast proceeded in

silence.

 

A young gentleman met the colonel on his walk that morning.

 

"Morning, colonel!" said he.

 

"Good-morning!" said the colonel grimly.

 

"Er--colonel, I--er--suppose Miss Reynolds got that dog all right?"

 

"To which dog do you refer?"

 

"It was a pug, you know. It ought to have arrived by this time."

 

"Yes. I am inclined to think it has. Had it any special

characteristics?"

 

"No, I don't think so. Just an ordinary pug."

 

"Well, young man, if you will go to my coachhouse, you will find

nineteen ordinary pugs; and if you would kindly select your beast, and

shoot it, I should be much obliged."

 

"Nineteen?" said the other, in astonishment. "Why, are you setting up

as a dog-fancier in your old age, colonel?"

 

This was too much for the colonel. He exploded.

 

"Old age! Confound your impudence! Dog-fancier! No, sir! I have not

become a dog-fancier in what you are pleased to call my old age! But

while there is no law to prevent a lot of dashed young puppies like

yourself, sir--like yourself--sending your confounded pug-dogs to my

daughter, who ought to have known better than to have let them out of

their dashed hampers, I have no defence.

 

"Dog-fancier! Gad! Unless those dogs are removed by this time

to-morrow, sir, they will go straight to the Battersea Home, where I

devoutly trust they will poison them. Here are the cards of the other

gentlemen who were kind enough to think that I might wish to set up

for a dog-fancier in my old age. Perhaps you will kindly return them

to their owners, and tell them what I have just said." And he strode

off, leaving the young man in a species of trance.

 

"Sylvia!" said the colonel, on arriving home.

 

"Yes, papa."

 

"Do you still want to marry that Dallas fellow? Now, for Heaven's

sake, don't start crying! Goodness knows I've been worried enough this

morning without that. Please answer a plain question in a fairly sane

manner. Do you, or do you not?"

 

"Of course I do, papa."

 

"Then you may. He's the furthest from being a fool of any of the young

puppies who live about here, and he knows one end of a gun from the

other. I'll write to him now."

 

"Dear Dallas" (wrote the colonel),--"I find, on consideration,

that you are the only sensible person in the neighbourhood. I hope

you will come to lunch to-day. And if you still want to marry

my daughter, you may."

 

To which Dallas replied by return of messenger:

 

"Thanks for both invitations. I will."

 

An hour later he arrived in person, and the course of true love pulled

itself together, and began to run smooth again.

 

 

Many more here..

[-Lily-]

What the hell? I meant a London guidebook. You're loosing your marbles...

[NGONGE]

^^ This is better than Time Out. Romantic old England, you bucket.

[nuune]

lol,

 

Promoting London yeah, you should be workin in the Mayor's office, wot was his name, dat funny guy who was sayin Ping Bong is comin home for da olymbics

 

yes, am talkin to lily

[Ms DD]

gOOD OLD bORIS

[NGONGE]

This was wasted on you lot, wasted I tell ya.

[Queen Arawello]

stuff and nonesense!

[NGONGE]

^^ You were dying to use that phrase, were you not? It's a shame that, like a child using a sanitary towel to clear his stuffy nose, you used it in totally the wrong place. Wodehouse is far from stuff and nonsense, you ignoramus.

[Queen Arawello]

Don’t for a minute think you can intimidate me with your eloquent command of the English language! I know ignoramus when I see one!

[NGONGE]

^^ Years of practice, huh? I'd sell that mirror if I were you.

[Ms DD]

DOBBS is who?

[Queen Arawello]

Dobbs is me! what type of questions is that DD!

 

NGONGE, you're cool! i have to admit but you've been looking in that mirror for too long!

 

You should be awarded the forum member of the year!

[Ms DD]

I meant magac kale miyaad laheyd?

[Cara.]

LOL. Now Hayat is going to show up saying "gads!" as a swearword and expecting everyone to have a butler and a cook.