On one occasion the festive little correspondent was sent into the
country to describe a two-day function, the exact nature of which I
forget. On the morning of the second day another representative of the
London Press gave a breakfast at his hotel to some of his colleagues.
Those invited were of the swagger order of pressmen—Bernard Becker, Harry
Pearse, Godfrey Turner, Edmund Yates, and some others. O’Shea heard of
this social function, and, I dare say, rather resented the fact that he
had not been invited. He got there, however, for in the middle of the
meal O’Shea’s card was brought in to the founder of the feast. The host
did the only thing he could do under the circumstance: he desired the
visitor to be shown in. After a few minutes something was heard rumbling
along the hotel passage. The door of the sitting-room in which O’Shea’s
distinguished contemporaries were breakfasting was thrown open, a
Bath-chair was trundled into the apartment by a couple of men, and in the
Bath-chair sat O’Shea, a red Gibus on his head, a churchwarden pipe in
his mouth, and on his wrists a pair of handcuffs. These he held up to us
appealingly. But it suited him to pretend to be a deaf-mute, and his
companions explained that the gentleman was a little mad, that they were
his keepers, and that, as it was dangerous to thwart him, they were bound
to accede to his request to be shown in to the present distinguished
party.
O’Shea kept the game up for a long time. He resisted all efforts to
induce him to appear _in propria persona_ and sit down at table. He
shook his head, he made queer guttural noises, and when he felt that he
had entirely upset everybody he made signs to his companions to wheel him
away. He was taken from the hotel to the public promenade, and was
driven up and down that select area, still in red Gibus, handcuffs, and
long clay pipe, followed everywhere by an interested crowd. Eventually
the police interfered, and in the afternoon “the Giniral” appeared before
the scandalized breakfast-party of the morning clothed and in his right
mind.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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