There is, I remark, a curious flavour in the atmosphere,
that causes me to smack my lips, quite involuntarily, as if tasting
wine. Remember somebody telling me, that the mere wine-laden
atmosphere of the London Docks is quite enough to make anyone feel
the worse for liquor, even though you do not touch a single drop in
the vaults. We have not yet reached the vaults, but somehow there's
something peculiarly exhilarating in the knowledge that we are in the
outer court of one of King Champagne's many palaces. _Mem._ Grand idea
for a scene in a Drury Lane Pantomime. Visit to Palace of POPPIN THE
FIRST, king of the Champagne country. Register copyright and suggest
it to Sir DRURY O'LANUS.
[Illustration]
DAUBINET has his hat in his hand and his overcoat over his arm.
With his handkerchief he is mopping his fevered brow. "_Piff!_" he
exclaims, "_qu'il fait chaud!_ No? You don't find it? I do. _Caramba!
O Champagnski! da Karascho! O Maman!_ Come on! Here is our leader, _le
bon_ VESQUIER! _Allons! Marchons!_ Long to reign over us!"--then as we
move forward, DAUBINET again bursts into song, as usual more or less
out of tune. This time he favours us with snatches of "_God save the
Queen!_" and finally, as we enter a huge tunnel, and, as I judge from
the steep incline, are commencing our descent into the cave, I hear
his voice behind me singing "We're leaving thee in sorrow, ANNIE!"
Darker and darker as we descend through this tunnel.
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