A CRUEL PRACTICAL JOKE.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1285, 15 October 1896, Page 9

A CRUEL PRACTICAL JOKE.

“ Practical jokes," said the bagman, leaning cosily back in his arm-chair and sipping his grog.

“Ah, gentlemen! I’ve seen a deal of practical joking in my time, both in my present sphere of life, and in previous years, when we used to put a ‘ slippery hitch ’ in the greenhorn’s hammock rope, and let him down with a run. I was an apprentice on board the Conway in those days, gentlemen, for before I travelled in the printed calico line, I had a hankering for the sea, but salt junk and hard tack soon knocked all that nonsense out of my head —to say nothing of being wrecked off the coast of Spain, on my first voyage, which is enough to sicken anyone but a Robinson Crusoe !” And slightly winded, the bagmm paused and refreshed himself ere proceeding. “ Ever been to Brighton, gentlemen ?" he continued, after finishing his tumbler and ordering another. “ Of course you have—well then, you’ve probably heard of Turbot's Swimming Baths there. I remember on one occasion—in the summer it was —visiting them, with three friends for a swim before breakfast. “There was Joe Eccles of ITodgett’s Brewery ; and his cousin William, who travelled for Bodkin and Spool; Tom Capper, who was then doing nothing in particular, and your humble. We all met at the Ship, in our flannels—for we always took them with us on our seaside tours —to give the girls a treat, gentlemen, and off we strolled to the baths.

“ Now it so happened that we could all all swim except Joe Eccles, and on the way to Turbot’s, Joe’s cousin and Tom Capper, while walking together in front of us, planned to have some sport at the non-swimmer’s expense; and this is what happened when we reached the baths. “ We went to our different boxes, and, from some cause which I forget, I was rather a long time undressing, so that William Eccles and Tom were in the water splashing and swimming about before I was half ready. Just as I’d opened my door and was prepared to step out, Joe came out of his box and called to his cousin, who was larking about in the :— “ ‘ William ! ’ says he, £ which is the deep end?’ “ ‘ That,’ says William, treading water and pointing to the shallow end.’ “ ‘ What’s the depth here, then ?’ asks Joe, while I crept back into my box to watch the fun.

“ ‘ About four foot six,’ says William. ‘ You’re all right here !’ “‘Right! then here goes!’ says Joe, and, gentlemen, he slung his arms up and down and jumped off—into seven feet of water !

“ Laugh! Well, it was enough to break your heart to see poor Joe when those two let him out again—for they kept him there till he was three-parts drowned ! I think I can see him now as at last he struggled out on to the boards gasping, sobbing, hiccoughing, and vowing vengeance ; while William and Tom were choking themselves in the bath, and I was fair paralysed upon the seat of my box.

“ ‘ Just you wait a bit, old chap/ says Joe, as he passed me on his way to his clothes, ‘ they’ll laugh the other side of their mouths before I’ve done with ’em.’

“ And so they did, gentlemen, for Joe went straight to his box, pulled on his Haunels anyhow and then, while the other two were still in the water, he rushed into their boxes, and taking all their clothes, hats and boots, he took and flung the whole lot slap into the bath !

“ I don’t know when I’ve ever seen people look as foolish as Tom and William did on that occasion/' added the bagman, looking round at his admiring audience. “ And what I like about that kind of joke is that it did no harm to anyone beyond a trifling inconvenience to the two who deserved it."

“ You’re very right, sir," said a tall man, who had been quietly smoking in the corner. “ That last observation of yours puts me in mind of a little story, which, if agreeable, I should like to relate." And the thin man, depositing his pipe on the mantelpiece, folded his arms and began as follows :

“ I don’t know if any of the present company have ever visited the town of ITullington, in the Midlands. If they have, and have chanced to see much of its Bohemian Club, they will bear me out in saying that the members of that establishment are—well, the reverse of total abstainers. If they haven't, they must take my word for it, and I ought to to know something about the place, for I was a ‘ Bohemian ’ for five years, and that’s the cause of my present state of teetotalism ; for when a man comes down to breakfast of a morning and sees a cock fly out of the slop-basin, why,

gentlemen, I think you’ll agree with me that it’s about time to stop the liquor." And the tall man smiled grimly on the company, took a sip of toast and water, and continued —

“ In my time amongst all the crowd of hard drinkers, there was one who, in classical language, was facile pnnceps. Poor Jack Hassail 1 What a good fellow he was until a natural taste for fluids and the Bohemian Club changed him from a fine, handsome man into a sodden rein* nant of humanity—never wholly drunk, and never half sober. He’d moon about all day in a dreary sort of state, now in tremendous spirits, now in such a fit of depression that it was pitiful to see him ; and regularly every night at eight o’clock he’d come into the * Lounge,’ as we called it, drop into an arm-chair, and sit there, alternately dozing and drinking until closing time. “In the ‘Lounge’ were two billiard tables, always occupied in the evening, but the noise made by the players hardly ever seemed to disturb poor Jack —he was too far gone, though, to be sure, if, ai sometimes happened, half a dozen card players should drop in and start a round game, they would occasionally kick up such a din that Jack would turn in his chair and glare at them, with a curse at the racket which upset his shattered nerves.

“But, bless you ! he’d just have a stiff glass of brandy and water, and off he’d go again, and nobody would take any notice.

“ Well, gentlemen, one night when Jack entered the room, a lot of us were in, if possibleTwilder spirits than usual —there’d been a big dinner, or something, I forget what, though goodness knows I’ve cause to remember everything connected with that night! When Jack came in, it happened that we’d just been talking about him, and several of us had made up our minds to play him a trick, which we’d invented without taking into account the awful state of his nervous system. I think the poor fellow had taken more than hia usual quantity during the day, for no sooner was he seated in his chair than he fell asleep—not into a doze, as usual, but sound as a top. Having satisfied ourselves of this face, we proceeded to put our trick into execution.

“ Half a crown made the billiardmarker promise to play his part, for you see, gentlemen, that Jack’s memory was so bad that he’d be certain to forget the events of the night long before he came to the Club in the morning—consequently there was no danger of his reporting the marker. One man went outside to keep fresh arrivals from entering the room, five of us stood round one billiard table, with cues and balls ready, just as if we were playing pool—two stood ready at the other table, while four others grouped themselves round a card-table. Then we hid all the matches, picked the sleeping man’s pocket of his box, and finally we put out every light in the room, so that the shutters being up it was pitch dark. Then we had a bit of a rehearsal, the marker crying— ‘ Red on White—yellow’s your player,’ etc., and'the players striking and clicking their balls about the table—the billiard players doing the same, and shouting their scores, and the card players, shuffling, dealing, and calling. When we’d got pretty perfect, one of us groped his way over to Jack, and pushed roughly against him.

“ We heard him yawn and stretch himself, and instantly our chorus began. ‘Click, click! Thirty! Twenty-seven!’ ‘ Green on Brown ! Yellow's your player in hand !’ Click !— ‘ I’ll try a four !’ and so on, till we heard Jack’s oath, as he searched for a light, and found none, and his half-smothered cry of wonder, as it dawned upon him that we were playingr in the dark. “ ‘ What are you fellows doing ? ’ he thickly asked. “ ‘ Doing ?’ said somebody, ‘ playing t can't you see ?’ “ ‘ Sam !’ he called, with a queer sort of crack in his voice. “‘Yessirl’ said the marker—‘White’s dead, and can star one. Yessir ?’ “♦Sami’ he cried, in a trembling voice, ‘ are the—is there a light in—beg pardon!’ Jack added, as he blundered against someone. “ What’s up, old man ?’ asked the fellow he’d cannoned against. * Can’t you see where you’re going ? There’s light enough 1’

“‘Light enough?’ gasped Jack, * light ?’ “ ‘Oh, Heaven, I’m blind, blind !’ “His voice rose in shrill, laughing tones, and then came a piercing scream, followed by a noise as if someone were trying to break the furniture, and when we’d got the gas re lighted there was poor old Jack Hassall down on the floor.

“ Catalepsy, the doctors called -it, gentlemen," continued the thin man—- “ and Jack’s dead now—died two years after in Birmingham Asylum, and that was the end of that practical joke—Good night, gentlemen " —and the thin man took down his hat, and departed.