A DESERT ISLAND ROMANCE

Observer, Volume XL, Issue 27, 6 March 1920, Page 19

A DESERT ISLAND ROMANCE

v ■■■■-. "PUNCH."

I 'NEVER'had!the least idea that , Garrod had taken to literature. I had always regarded him asa most respectable man. When he called to see me I guessed, that it was in connection with the vacant Chairmanship of the Greens Committee. It may seem an unpardonable ambition on my part, but worse men have been Chairmen of Greens Committees, and I flatter myself that I have a unique idea for altering the bunkers at the ninth hole. "Old man," he said, as he sat dottn, "I want you to promise to oblige me in a little matter." "Certainly, certainly," I said. "Always glad to do anything in my power for you." I thought this was rather artful. After pledging myself thus even my natural modesty could not compel me to withdraw my name s from nomination. "Well, I have been writing a little thing, and I should like your impartial opinion upon it." . Garrod is in the tinned-fruit business. I suppose that he would regard it as an impertinence on my part if I consulted him concerning any scheme I might have for cornering tinned pineapples. "It's not a play, Garrod?" I asked faintly. "Oh, no, not a play." I gasped with relief. At any rate Garrod belonged to the small minority of righteous men* who have not written plays. "Just a little story," explained Garrod. "I flatter myself it's original. A fine fellow—army officer gone to the dogs—wild rather than wicked—is working his way home as a stoker on a steamer. He gets into conversation with a charming girl who is a first-class passenger." "Yes," I assented. I knew that stoker. If I had any idea that the world of fiction corresponded with the world of fact I should ship as a stoker to-morrow to get my fill of conversation with charming first-class passengers. "Well, the ship is wrecked. My hero swims ashore and finds on the beach the unconscious, body of the girl. It is a desert island, you understand." "I understand," I said. Of course, I understood. * I have always said that the Colonial Office ough"b -to see that all desert islands are provided with chaperons. "They fall passionately in love. When finally they are rescued they hear, on board the ship, that the hero's uncle is dead and that he succeeds to the baronetcy and estates." "Ah," I said, without committing myself more definitely. "How does the plot strike you?" "Quaint and original," I said, boldly. It was here that my recording angel, swooned. "Do you think I cottld make anything out of it?" . "One cannot promise success, Garrod for British editors have a certain distrust of markedly original plots. But try by ajl means. Only there is not much to' be made out of literature. Hasn't it struck you as remarkable that no literary man has heen charged with profiteering.' The only stain on our caste was when a famous writer was prosecuted for hoarding sugar. You may be. successful, Garrod, but you d do far better if you stuck to the, tin-ned-fruit business." . .. ■ I smiled sadly when he left me. What hope was there for that veteran story? There ought to be a society for the prevention of cruelty to aged and decrepit plots. I met Garrod a month-later, and he gripped me by the hand. "It's come off," he cried. "The editor of 'The West Kensington 'Ma--gazine' jumped ait it.v > He's eager for a series on similar lines. Suits the public. AH men want to be pn

desert islands with pretty girls, and all women want to be on desert islands with nice men. Now you're in the business. Could you give me a hint how the same idea could be worked out in slightly varying forms?" "It's .easy," I said. ."Let the charming girl,- who has wasted a fortune in frivolity father than vice, be working her way home disguised as a stoker. She gets into conversation with a first-class passenger —• artist, I should make him. Wreck! Everybody drowned save stoker and artist. Desert Island. When rescued they hear that the she-stoker has become immensely wealthy through the death of an aunt." "I see, I see. Excellent. If I make a volume of these short stories I shall certainly dedicate it to you. You haven't another idea?" "You may have heard of a book called Robinson Crusoe. Bring it up to date. Make him Sir Robinson Crusoe. One day on his desert island he sees the print of a high heel in the sand. Leave out-Man Friday. Chaperons spoil the effect." "Splendid!" said Garrod. "Thanks awfully, old man." Mark my words —two years from now Garrod will be a best-seller. I don't grudge him that, but he has just been .elected Chairman of our Greens Committee.