Summary

Various Punch, or the London Charivari…

It was long past his racing hours, he gave us to understand, and his union wouldn't permit it. He backed all round the standings, treading on recumbent horses, tripping over bails, knocking uprights flat and bringing acres of tin roofing clattering down upon our heads, Isabella encouraging him with ringing fanfares of applause.
At length we roused out the grooms and practically carried him to the starting-point.
"You've been the devil of a time," William grumbled. "Cazenove's been waiting for twenty minutes. See that light over there? That's where MacTavish is. He's the winning-post.
Source: Gutenberg

Various Punch, or the London Charivari…

Few people can have been better pleased than you at the cessation of hostilities. During all those terrible years the falling-off among the patrons of your world-famous bathing-establishment must have been a source of cruel grief to you. And now there are already myriads who have washed away the stains of war in the pellucid waves that lap your coast of azure.
Here, too, at your hospitable Board of Green Cloth there is forgetfulness of Armageddon save when the cry of "Zéro" recalls to the convalescent British warrior the fateful hour for going over the top.
Source: Gutenberg

Various Punch, or the London Charivari…

Albert Edward appeared to be somewhat taken back. "Don't be silly, man," he soothed. "It's pitch dark outside and cut up with trenches. Sit down and have some more of this rare old port, specially concocted for us by the E.F.C."
But Mr. Cazenove was thoroughly aroused. "You're hedging," he sneered; "you're scared."
"Nonsense," said Albert Edward. "I have never known what fear is—not since the Armistice, anyhow.
Source: Gutenberg

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