THE GREAT CONTEST: THORPE'S MEWS _v._ BYLES'S RENTS.
But the chief event of the evening among the juvenile male section was the tug-of-war--the denizens of Thorpe's Mews _versus_ Byles's Rents, a truly Homeric contest, as it would have appeared to Liliput. Powerfully-built tatterdemalions boasting fully three feet of stature were matched against a lesser number of giants of four feet six. The rope swayed now this side--now that--of the chalked line. Was ever so much sinew built up of stale bread-crusts and fried fish before? But the Byles's Rents men--pale, perspiring, and panting--ultimately pulled their rivals across the line and on to their knees pell-mell, and the ceiling threatened to splinter and send down pounds of plaster upon the heads of the spectators at shouts over this triumph. It was thrice repeated, and then, lo! a few steps and the scene had changed and we were in the dolls' room.
"PLEASE, LADY, MAY I 'AVE THE FAIRY DOLL NEXT TIME?"
Every year in November there is a brave show of dolls dressed for the Happy Evenings children at Bath House, Piccadilly, and some of these dolls were here now, tended, oh, so gently, almost worshipped, as they are taken out of their cupboard resting-places and dressed and undressed.
"Please, lady, may I 'ave the fairy doll next time?" pleaded a golden-haired little child, with an earnest, wistful look.
"Yes, if your hands are the cleanest. The little girl with the very cleanest hands shall dress the fairy doll."
There is a buzz of pleased anticipation, and then a small voice is heard:--
"Oh, Kitie Jimes, will your mother lend my mother your kike o' smellin' soap next Tuesday evenin', an' you can 'ave our fryin'-pan?"
In the girls' noisy room they were playing "London Bridge" and "Kiss-in-the-Ring," but it was tame work in comparison with the uproarious diversions of the stern sex below. When the boys' boxing contest was over they had a sack race, but a small group of youngsters were observed making for the door.
"W'ere you goin', 'Arry?" asked a friend.
"Darnstairs. Johnson's father's a 'ouse-painter, and 'e knows something, Johnson does. We promised to go an' see Millie White paint in the paintin' room. You orter see 'er dror a 'orse. I promised to 'old her cup an' Johnson's 'oldin' her paints. P'r'aps, if you come, she'll let you 'ave a brush to 'old."