Earl, Shaw, Sow

Burly of stature but impeccably sleek, the Earl of Birkenhead vacationed last week at Funchal, balmy and (in winter) fashionable port-city of Madeira. Careless of his dignity as Secretary of State for India and a onetime (1919-22) Lord Chancellor, the Earl rode about by day in a canopied sled drawn by bullocks--the peculiar means of transport on this Portuguese isle. At eve, Lord Birkenhead dined, naturally at one of the great hotels--the same in which George Bernard Shaw stopped when he visited Madeira, two winters ago. There the dancing master who taught Mr. Shaw to tango has on display his photograph with the smug inscription: "To the only man who could teach me anything. (Signed) G. B. S." Strolling in to dinner Lord Birkenhead examined the photograph, allowed his lip to curl at the Irish red-head's boast. Drawing his pen he wrote below the Shavian autograph, "Could Birkenhead teach you no law?" then added, "Do let us have a little less of your perfection, My Dear G. B. S."

As dinner waxed, two dapper gentlemen at a nearby table saw Lord Birkenhead look upon the .wine of Madeira--and it was red. Then the dapper gentlemen began a spelling match, quite innocently, between themselves. Soon they, shrewd sharpers, were betting on each other's spelling prowess. When the game was ripening to high stakes one of the so dapper gentlemen approached the Earl of Birkenhead. "We know Your Lordship is a great student of the English language. . . . Perhaps Your Lordship will spell two score words against my friend---L-100 to the winner. . . . Your Lordship has the repute of being a sportsman. . . ." The wine sang, but served to charm from Lord Birkenhead only his normal reaction to a bounder. "Sir," he said, courteously enough, "I have never seen you before, and I have no desire to see you again." Pause. "However, since you appear to wish to lose -L-100, I will dive for that sum from the top springboard of the hotel diving pool tomorrow at eleven. . . ."

Next day the warm Madeira sun shone upon sweltering tourists, upon monkey venders feeding sugar cane to their wares, upon Portuguese loafers strolling about with a sow on a string, upon swart policemen impressively asleep-- finally upon the Earl of Birkenhead who walked in a bathrobe, worn toga-fashion, beside a pool into which no one cast -L-100. That evening the so dapper gentlemen were merry. What a joker His Lordship was, to be sure! Mr. Shaw was not half so clever. Haw! Pretended he would jump into the pool, haw! Who but His Lordship would even have thought of it? Perishable! Positively rare and perishable! Haw! . . . "You will tip my waiter -L-100," said a cold dry voice. "The law will not deprive you of the privilege of laughter. But--you may suffer other deprivations if you do not tip my waiter, now, -L-100."

The so merry gentlemen considered--gravely, rapidly. How much did Lord Birkenhead know about them? They shivered at the thought of finding out--dug into their wallets.

Next day the waiter of Lord Birkenhead, one Xavier Coutiniera, bought a mammoth sow. Rich, he prepared to loaf.

Potent, the Earl of Birkenhead was obliged to cut short his holiday and hasten back to England because of the ugly Chinese crisis.