QUIPS AND CRANKS.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 838, 23 March 1888, Page 7

QUIPS AND CRANKS.

AT A JUVENILE PARTY. (Punch.)

Cornet.—Ready ? Yes, I’m ready—hut I’m not going to begin before I’m they want us to strike up, let ’em come and ask us, d’ye see ? Piano.—Well, but there are all the children sitting about doing nothing C.—Let ’em sit! They’ll see you and me sittin’ all the evenin’, strummin’ and blowin’ like nigger slaves, and a lot they’ll care ? Don’t you make no mistake, young Pianner, there ain’t no sense in doin’ more than you’re obliged —you’ll yet no credit for it, d’ye see ? And don’t keep that programme all to yourself. Ah, one Swedish, one Sir Rodger, and a bloomin’ Cotilliong—they’ll take two hours alone ! We shan’t work this job off much before one, you see if we do. (To Hostess.) Commence now ? By all means, Madam. Send us a little refreshment ? Thank you, Madam, we shall be exceedingly obliged to you. (The refreshment arrives.) Here’s stuff to put liveliness in us, Mate —Leminade.

[Puts jug under piano with intense dis* gust.] P.—Well, I should think you’d lemon enough in you already. C. —I ’ate kids, there—and that’s the truth of it ! It makes me downright sick to see ’em dressed out, and giving themselves the airs and graees of grown-ups. (To small Child.) Yes, my little dear, it’s a worltz this time. (To Pianist.) Strike up, young P. and O. ! (A little later.) I’m blest if I don’t believe you’re enjoying this, Pianner, settin’ there with that sort of a dreamy grin on your pasty countinance ! p. And if I am, where’s the harm of it ? C.—lt’s is easy to see you ain’t bin at it long, or you wouldn’ take that interest in it. Muoh they thank you for takin’ an interest, these bloated children of a pampered aristocracy! Why, they don’t mind you and me more than the drugget under their feet. Even gutter kids have got manners enough to thank the Italian as plays the orgin for ’em to dance to. Are we ever thanked ? I arsk you.

P. -The Italian plays for nothing. We don’t.

C.—There you go. redooein’ everything to coppers. You’re arguin’ beside the question, you are. Ever see a well-dressed kid give a organ a penny without there was a monkey a-top of it ? I never did. If you chained a monkey to yonr pianner now, they might condescend to look at yer now and then—not unless.

p.—Well, you can’t deny they’ro a nicelooking set of children here. Look at that one with the long hair, in the plush—like a little princeßS, she is. O. —And p’raps she aint aware of it, either ! Why, there’s that little sister o’ yours, that'B got hair just as long, ah, and ’ud look as pretty too, if she’d a little more color ; but you can’t have color without capital. Its ’igh-feeding does it all, a*nd money wrung from the working-classes like yon and me. P. —I don’t know what you call yourself. I’m a professional, and see no shame in it, C.—You can be as purfessional as you please, but you needn’t be poor-spirited. Come on ; pound away 1 Ain’t you got ah uglier worltz than that ?

At Supper.

G.—l must say I ’ardly expected this—after the leminade. But you’ve eaten’ nothin’, youDg Pianner. (To Servant.) Thank ’ee, my pretty dear, you may leave that raised pie where it is ; and do you think you could get us another bottle of Sham, now _for my young friend here ? (To Pianist.) You needn't think you have made a conquest with that moony mug of yours. She’s only lookin’ after you to make me jealous, d’ye see ? I know these minxes’ way 3, bless you, P. (with lofty bitterness) —I’ve no wish to dispute it with you ! C.—Ah, you’ve had your eyes on the governess all the evening. I saw you ! F. (blushing)—You’re talking folly, Cornet, and what’s more, you know it. C.—That’s her playin’ upstairs now. I know a governess’s polker—all tum-tum and no jump to it. Wouldn’t you like to go up and help her, eh ? p. If lam a wretch doomed to misery, it’s not for you to remind me of it, Cornet. It’s not a friendly act, I’m blowed if it is. C.—You’re a regular Tanb—Tarantulus, you know, that’s what you are ! You’ll be goin’ mad on j’our music-stool —‘I saw her dancin’ in the ’AH’—that sort o’ thing, hey ? P. (with dignity)—lt seems to me you’ve had quite enough of that Champagne, and we’ve been down half-an-hour.

C. You don’t ’pear to understand that a Cornet’s very much thirstier instrumen’ than a iron-grand out o’ tune —but you’re a good young feller—l lik’ a shentimental young chap. I’m a soft-arted ole fool myshelf ! AI'TER SUPPER

C. (with emotion)—Loo’ at that now, ain’t that a sight to make a man o’ you ? All these brit appy young faces. I could play for ’em all ni’—blesh their ’arts I Lor, what a rickety chair I’m on, and this bloomin brash instrumen’s gone and changed ends. Now then, quicken up, let ’em ’ave it—you aye a : ahulky young chap !

P.—lt is not sulks, but misery. I swear to you Cornet, that each hammer I strike vibrates on my own heart-strings ! C.—Then you can be innerpennant of a pianner.

P.—l am young—but the young have their sorrows, I suppose. Is it nothing to have to minister to others’ gaiety with a bitter pang in one’s own breast ? C.—Thash wha’ comes o’ shtickin’ to the leminade ! A LITTLE LATER. P. (Aghast)—l say, what are you about ? You mustn’t, you know ! C (smiling dreamily) —lt’sh all ri’, dear boy ! If a man fines he can’t breathe in’sh bootsh—on’y loshical coursli ’fore him is to play in socksh—d’ye see ? AT PARTING. The Cornet (to hostess, with benignant tenderness) —Goori’, Madam, Gobblesh you, I do’ min’ tellin’ you, you’ve made me and the pianner here, and ah, ’undreds of young innoshent arts very ’appy, Madam, y.ou may ta’ that from me. I hope we’ve given complete satisfaction. I’m sure we’ve had mosht pleasant shupper—l mean pleashant evenin'—sho glad we came. And you milshn’t ta’ notish my young fren, he’sh been makin’ lil too free with the leminade, d'ye see ? Goo ri !

[Exit gracefully, and is picked up at bottom of staircase by the Pianist.