REFORMING THE (DEVIL'S) PRAYER-BOOK.
It is a curious fact that countries who lose their kings always seem, temporarily at least, to lose their sense of humour. So seriously does Spain take her own anti-royalist feelings that she is even contemplating the abolition of the King on playing- cards. This, I think, is going a little too far : but in one sense it is not going quite far enough, for if, in the interests of demo- cracy, the King is to be reduced to the level of a commoner, is it not equally important to be careful what kind of commoner he becomes ? In this country, at any rate, the very names of the suits would need drastic revision if they were to be in keeping with socialistic ideals. The only one of them which bears any relation to good honest toil is Spades--and even those ought really to be scrapped in favour of pneumatic drills. The King of Spades, then, would become a navvy : so far so good. But what about Diamonds ? Surely they savour far too much of Bloated Luxury and the Capitalist System : they ought to be replaced by some common object which is worn every day by high and low alike. Buttons, for instance. . . . And the King of Buttons ? Why, a coster, of course, replendent in his " pearlie " suit.
Hearts, too, smack of sentimentalism and a romantic atti- tude to life which is out of place amid the stark realism of a Socialist state. Unless, of course, they cease to be mere formalised symbols and are represented gales, proper, complete with valves, arteries and muscles like a coloured illustration in a medical dictionary ; the King, of course, to be a doctor (panel), holding a stethoscope in his hand instead of a sceptre. While as for Clubs—away with them, in the name of the proletariat, for do not the words " West-End Clubman," so often seen on newspaper placards, conjure up the very cream of the idle and vicious aristocracy ? The public house has often been called " the poor man's club " : very well then, let the King of Clubs be portrayed with a red face, a welcoming smile, and one hand laid temptingly upon the handle of the beer engine. And when you want to call Game, simply say in a clear (but not too cultivated) voice, " Five Pubs."
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