THE MASTER OF THE REVELS.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXVII, Issue 2586, 21 August 1909, Page 2 (Supplement)

THE MASTER OF THE REVELS.

(By Richard Whiteing, author of “No. 5, John Street,” etc.)

Somehow all went wrong when the infant Master of the Revels (Bob Hugman for his real name) was not at play with the other children in the gutter outside the Board School. They preferred the gutter, because of the richer variety of tho scenery. I was such a good imitation of the river, especially at sluicing time; and the kerb stone made a splendid quay. He was absent now, and what were you to do about it? Nobody knew how to begin. It was lie that found ont how to bridge the river with the section of a broken cart wheel, and who but he knew what could be done with a few handfuls of road sand from the service bin at the roadside? He could make a garden of it in a trice, with twigs for the trees, and when the children were tired of that he showed them how to play at “Graveyards” with the larger stones. Then who could start, “Father being Locked up,” at a moment’s notice, with only two supernumeraries—one at tho head, one at the feet, for policemen—and himself in the middle in a state of hopeless collapse, for the heavy lead. The children looked all around, fretful and out of sorts, and they were just going; to begin “fights” in real earnest when Bob’s welcome face and form appeared round the corner, preceded by a slab of bread and jam well nigh as big as himself, for be was but a mite of nine. It was all explained in a moment. He had been on an errand for muvver, which, in its sequel, had involved another errand in the nature of overtime. The jam was overtime pay,, at the rate of time and a half.. He at once took oommand, and the sports were organised in a twinkling. It was to be “Keeping School”' first go off, with “Keeping Shop” for the second place. The children were sent right and left to collect stones, broken crockery, and anything else in the way of portable rubbish, for scholars,, while the arch contriver rigged up a lump of coal from a passing cart, for Teacher's desk. “Where's Teacher?-”' said! Sally Garkell, who always wanted everything at once.. “Give it here,” said Bob, snatching the doll' from her arms. It looked unpromising material, for it was nothing but a battered skittle pin wholly devoid of clothing, and without the slightest trace of eyes, nose or mouth in the bulbous mop at the top; But Bob knew what he was about. Imagination, that potent factor in the games of the slums, supplied the features,. a providential whip of flock from the ruins of a mattress made the- chignon, a scrap of sugar paper, the cape. Teacher was actually rapping the desk for attention with a bit of tobacco pipe for pointer, before the class was quite in shape..

The game lasted a full hour, with all its incidents of a bad boy put in the corner for laughing, and a sneeze from Teacher, rendered with absolute fidelity to nature from behind the scenes.

When it was over, the audience had hardly to wait another moment for “Keeping Shop.” All the materials were at hand. A matchbox with the cover and the ease placed end to end, made the counter. The assiduous tradesman behind it was modelled for the head and body out of a lump of clay from a passing builder’s cart. Two stray matches and a scrap of paper served for his aproned legs, and a couple more for the arms, extended on the counter to emphasise the polite enquiry, “What can I do for you, my dear?” After that, growing tired of town, they went for a walk in the country, by the simple process of crossing to the gutter on the other side of the road. Here, coming to a running stream, supplied 'by the overflow of a water cart under the spout of the fire-plug, they began to fish. Some ran indoors for a few sticks of firewood for the rods. Others contributed the half-spent reel of cotton and the pins, for hook and line. Bob generously gave fragments of his bread and jam for the bait. The catch, in strips of cardboard, somewhat rudely forked at the tail, was simply magnificent.

The Master of the Revels was happy in his sense of mastery until the day when Teacher took him for a treat to the fashionable toy-shops, and to the British Museum to revel in the playthings of all nations, and of all times. He saw a wonderful Gorman kitchen, where all the cooking utensils, though almost needing the aid of the microscope, were modelled to perfection. And there wore so many of them, what with tea-pots, coffee-pots, saucepans, stewpans, kettles, and all the rest of it that Bob wondered how the markets of the world could possibly supply food: enough,to cook in them. But even this was nothing to the first-class, mansion, complete in every room from kitchen to garret, wherein a lady‘'and gentleman equally ..complete from the gloves on their hands to the eyeglasses on their noses, and with leal partings in their hair, received company in a gorgeously furnished drawiugrooui. "No. it- was too much ; it almost

took one’s breath away. As for the children of the distinguished pair, tucked up in tho nursery, each.with a whole bed to itself—well! There was no make believe here; overy article, except in the matter of size, was fit for real uses. The chairs and tables must have been done by a cabinet maker, with a magnifying glass to his eye all the time. The stuffs were silk and satin, and velvet, without an atom of false pretence. Then, for other things in these shows of wonderland, there were dolls that were dolls and nothing else (apart from the others who were but items of a pageant) ar\d nothing could exceed the glory of their state. Some of them figured in .laces and ruffles and hooped skirts—little ladies and gentlemen of the past, as Teacher explained. Others again were furriners, with the funny faces and strange garb associated with the character in the child’s mind. Them came Queen Victoria’s dolls at Kensington Palace, for windup, Oh! He came away quite downcast.' YVhat would his poor little shows in tho gutter, be worth after that? It spoiled him for mere make-bplieve. He was in the position of an idealist suddenly whisked into a world of realism, and forlorn in the new and alien life. His primitive plant of sport was no better now than so much fetich of a savage cult; and still without being able to diagnose the nature of his malady, he felt that it was all up. So he kept away from his friends;: their games languished for the want of him; and there was mourning in the slum. Sally Garkell was not iong in gettingto the bottom of it. He did not condescend to particulars, but he told her' that he hoped soon to be in happiness as an errand boy, and above “fooling about with kids.” These were bis very words, and they were plain enough, but Sally merely took them as the whispers of the idle wind, and, with the help, of Teacher, got on the track of what was passing in his mind. He was pining to do something worthy of himself, but he wanted capital. Teacher, perhaps, by way of repentance for her mistake, promised aid, and it was at length agreed that he should be moderately financed for a real work of art. Ho was soon in a position to announce a Lord Mayor’s Show, the only thing of the kind he had ever seen with his own eyes, for the opening of the new season.

Sally was Lady Mayoress, with her best frock for a robe of state; and a borrowed perambulator glittering with brand new tissue paper, and drawn by six urchins on all fours, was the state coach. The Lord Mayor had to be left out for want of room. The processional avenuo was a flag-stoned court barred to wheeled traffic, which they bad all to themselves. It came off splendidly, and the only bitch was a bit of a fight between the two leaders in the traces. This, however, hardly rose to the proportions of a scandal, as it took place beneath the housings of fine red petticoat flannel, brand new, which hid the steeds from the vulgar eye. ’Moreover,‘the wail of the vanquished was easily mistaken for a neigh.

Yet, sad to relate, a far more ambitious attempt that followed, in the shape of an Opening of. Parliament, worked up from the documentary evidence of a penny illustrated paper, was nipped in the bud by a general strike of all the performers at the first. rehearsal.

They wanted the old games. And the old games they had, thenand for ever afterwards, till they wont off to take their several parts in the game of life. Little Bob became areal drummer boy, and in due coursebeat tlxe tattoo for a whole regiment of soldiers in the Khyber Pass. Sally went into the flower trade; and. herbunches a penny in fresh vi’lets gradually monopolised the whole custom ofi the local railway station; while her little brother declined from:the status of the Lord Mayor’s stable to the ha’penny newspaper trade in the same quarter. To this day, they all look back to their age of make-believe- as their only experience of the poetry, of, life. Poetsthe children are, ] one and all, at stage, and especially, the children of the poor whose lot it is to have to get all their art “out of their own ’eads.”