If Any Member Of
That Club Had Dared Then To Crack A Joke They Would Have Expelled
Him - As Soon As They Got Over The Shock Of The Bounder's Confounded
Cheek.
Saturday night?
Yes. Monday afternoon? Never! And there
you are!
Speaking of Punch reminds me that we were in London when Punch,
after giving the matter due consideration for a period of years,
came out with a colored jacket on him. If the Prime Minister had
done a Highland fling in costume at high noon in Oxford Circus it
could not have created more excitement than Punch created by coming
out with a colored cover. Yet, to an American's understanding,
the change was not so revolutionary and radical as all that.
Punch's well-known lineaments remained the same. There was merely
a dab of palish yellow here and there on the sheet; at first glance
you might have supposed somebody else had been reading your copy
of Punch at breakfastand had been careless in spooning up his
soft-boiled egg.
They are our cousins, the English are; our cousins once removed,
'tis true - see standard histories of the American Revolution for
further details of the removing - but they are kinsmen of ours
beyond a doubt. Even if there were no other evidences, the kinship
between us would still be proved by the fact that the English are
the only people except the Americans who look on red meat - beef,
mutton, ham - as a food to be eaten for the taste of the meat itself;
whereas the other nations of the earth regard it as a vehicle for
carrying various sauces, dressings and stuffings southward to the
stomach.
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