PUNCH,
OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

Vol. 146.

February 18, 1914.

CHARIVARIA.

"I come," said Mr. Lloyd George last week, "from a farming stock right down from the Flood. The first thing a farmer wants is to be secure." It was of course during the Flood that the insecurity of land tenure was most noticeable.

Lord Carrick, who a few months ago was appearing in a sketch at the Coliseum, seconded the Address in the House of Lords. We are glad to note the growth of ties between Parliament and the Stage, and we are not without hope that before long a further link will be added in the person of Sir George Alexander.

A new form of flying boat is being built in America, in which it is hoped that somebody may fly from Newfoundland to Ireland in fifteen hours. In the event of Home Rule, we trust, for the sake of the intrepid aviator, that a still fleeter flying boat will be designed for the return journey.

A resident of Waltham Abbey has just received a letter with a Waltham Cross post-mark on the back of the envelope dated February, 31, 1914. We understand that the recipient proposes to return the letter to the Post Office marked "Date unknown."

With reference to the Old Time Supper which is to be a feature of the Chelsea Arts Club Ball we are requested to state that it must not be taken that all the food offered for consumption on that occasion will bear the stamp of antiquity.

An enterprising publisher has, it is rumoured, persuaded no less a personage than Mr. Lloyd George to write some books for him, and we are promised at an early date, "Essays on Lamb (shorn)," "The Fortunes of Montrose," and other works of creative fancy.

"I was shaved yesterday by a highly intelligent young Pole," says a writer in The Express. The Barber's Pole is of course a very old institution.

"Old Masters—Velasquez and so on—what are they?" said Mr. Justice Eve last week during a case dealing with pictures. "I should turn them into cash if they were mine." Seeing how often the old fellows painted Eve's portrait, this dictum of his Lordship strikes one as ungracious.

Messrs. Bryant and May have issued a brochure describing how little houses may be made out of matches. A companion volume, entitled "How to light them," by a Suffragette, may be expected shortly.

It is sometimes asked, Why do so few individuals when sentenced to death for murder take advantage of their right to appeal? The answer is, Because the Court of Criminal Appeal has the power of increasing a sentence.

"Samuel, in the spirit of a notorious member of his race, one Pontius Pilate, disavows all responsibility in the matter of the shooting of Englishmen in the Transvaal."

New Witness.

Mr. Punch (to Mr. Samuel) Ave! Civis Romane!

Butler (to new servant from the country). "When you've quite finished cleaning next door's steps perhaps you would kindly begin on our own."

"Bric-a-brac.—'My Somali Book' is a work by Captain Mosse, who spent a considerable time in the country, which Sampson Low is about to publish."—Daily Chronicle.

Modesty is all very well in its place, but to publish an area of over 400,000 square miles and then call the feat "Bric-à-Brac"—well!

"The full penalty of £20 and costs was imposed at Croydon Borough Police-court upon Ernest Montefiore de Wilton, of St. James's-street, W., for exceeding the ten-mile limit at Southend on Jan. 25.

Burroughes & Watts' Billiard Tables for Speed."—Daily Telegraph.

Mr. de Wilton, reading the advertisement: "No, thanks. A really slow table for me."

THE STRIKE OF SCHOOL-TEACHERS.

Sir,—Is the nation properly alive to the seriousness of the educational impasse in Herefordshire? Personally I view with alarm the state of things of which that is a symptom.

What will it mean if this sort of thing spreads, as I fear it may? We shall have the children of our working-classes growing up ill-educated and with imperfect manners. Their spelling will become phonetic. They will cease to speak grammatically. They will lose their pleasing accent. Their lack of instruction in arithmetic may even lead them into errors savouring of criminality. Worse, they will fall back in their appreciation of music, art and poetry. They will be reading trashy and sensational literature rather than the classical works to which our elementary education directs their tastes.

To my mind, the condition of things is grave in the extreme, and for the sake of the children I beg the nation to wake up and put an end to conditions which make these strikes possible.

Yours obediently,

Educational Reformer.

Sir,—The most promising event of last week was the delightful strike of school-teachers in that beautiful county of Hereford. Happy children, thus to be freed from the shackles of our so-called education. They will now go to the only school worth learning in—the school of Mother Nature; and if only the strike will continue long enough we shall see in years to come poets and painters and musicians making a glad procession from their Herefordshire homes to carry light and joy into our dark places.

Yours ecstatically,

Vavasour Pringle.

"The Bishop of Zanzibar (Dr. Weston) arrived at Charing-cross from Paris yesterday afternoon.... He went to the House of Charity, 1, Greek-street."—The Times.

And a very good address for him.

"Shea, Blackburn Rovers' clever insight-right, scored all three goals for the Football League against the Southern League at New Cross."—Westminster Gazette.

Selection Committee's insight also right, evidently.

GUESS WHO IT IS.

From a Competition in People of Position (with which are incorporated West End Whispers and Mayfair Mysteries). Prizes will be awarded to the three readers who are first, second, and third in guessing the identities of the greatest number of Society Personages indicated in the Guess Who It Is series of articles.

First Prize, a copy of this year's Debrett. Second Prize, a copy of last year's Debrett. Third Prize, a bound volume of People of Position (with which are incorporated West-End Whispers and Mayfair Mysteries.)

She is a woman who matters very much indeed. By birth and by marriage she belongs to two extremely ancient families, which were settled in Britain when it was entirely covered with forests and inhabited largely by wild beasts. But it is not any advantage of birth or of wealth that has made her the great social figure she is. It is her extraordinary charm and her arresting personality. She is not strictly beautiful, but her smile is peculiarly her own—a rare distinction in these days when there is so much that is artificial.

She has the reputation of being one of the three best dressed women in Europe, and never wears anything, not even her boots, more than once. Her wit is positively brilliant, and in this connection it may be asserted once for all that it was she who first gave vogue to the greeting, "Doodledo," an abbreviated form of "How d'you do," though others have been given the credit for that sparkling pleasantry. In the art of "setting down" she is unapproachable, combining gentle courtesy with fine satire and mordant epigram, as on the occasion when a certain pushing and impossible outside person claimed her acquaintance in public with a loud "How are you?" With her own look and smile she turned and gave him his coup de grâce—"Not any the better for seeing you!"—at which an exalted foreign Personage, who was chatting with her laughed so much that he fell into an apoplexy.

She and her husband are sometimes at their beautiful place in Middleshire, and sometimes at their mansion in Belvenor Square. When they are not in England they are generally abroad. She is devoted to horse-riding, motoring, yachting, and ski-ing, but has not, like some of her set, forgotten how to walk. On the contrary, when in town she may occasionally be seen taking this old-fashioned form of exercise in the Park, placing one foot alternately before the other in her charmingly characteristic manner.

She has once or twice, in a delightfully mischievous spirit, amused herself by flouting those very social ordinances of which she is an acknowledged high priestess. When wars, strikes, and Governments are forgotten, it will still be remembered how, some years ago when she was a few months younger than she is now, she appeared in her box at the opera on a Melba (and therefore a tiara) night wearing a necklace of spar beads and a large ribbon bow on her head. An electric shock ran through the house; opera and singers were unheeded; and the beautiful Countess of —— tore the family diamonds from her head and neck, and, with a shriek of despair, flung them into the orchestra.

The subject of our article could have shone in any or all of the arts, had she cared to give her time and talents to them. Let it be said, too, that, though surrounded from her infancy with "all this world and all the glory of it," she has a serious side to her character, countenances the Church, and by no means discourages religion.

It is widely known that she keeps a diary. Ah! if only that diary, in its dainty, morocco, gold-clasped volumes, could be abstracted from the wonderful mother-o'-pearl escritoire, carried out of the exquisite Renaissance boudoir, down the noble staircase and out of the massive hall-door, and, after the spelling, grammar and composition had been slightly overhauled, if it could but be published and given to the eager world, what an intellectual feast it would provide! And to the fair, gifted, high-born diarist what a fortune it would bring, and what a number of simply absorbing libel cases!

Guess Who It Is.

The Daily Mail must be more careful with its posters. Here are two recent examples:—

£2 a Week for Life.

DRAMATIC END TO SACK CRIME TRIAL.

£2 a Week for Life.

COOLEST FRAUD ON RECORD.

"Lady Dorothy Wood, sister of the Earl of Onslow and wife of the Hon. E. F. Wood, M.P., son and heir of Viscount Halifax, was the recipient of birthday congratulations yesterday, when the Earl of Erroll, of Slain's Castle, Aberdeenshire, completed his 62nd year."—Observer.

The Earl of Erroll's turn for congratulations will come when Lady Dorothy has a birthday.

MR. PUNCH'S PANTOMIME ANALYSIS.

Now that the Pantomime season is drawing to a close and the intelligent student of this branch of Drama is tempted to pass it in review, it may be useful to him to have a list of possible Pantomimes drawn up in a tabulated form according to genus and species, that their finer distinctions, so easily overlooked, may be the better apprehended. Mr. Punch has no hesitation in placing his nice erudition at the disposal of his readers.

Pantomimes may be divided into those of a distinctly Oriental origin and milieu and those which are either associated with Occidental localities or with none in particular. For convenience we may divide them broadly and loosely into Oriental and Non-Oriental Pantomimes. Very well, then.

I.—Oriental.

A. With a ship (Sinbad the Sailor).

B. Without a ship.

(a) With a cave.

(1) Password to cave, "Open Sesame" (The Forty Thieves).

(2) Password to cave, "Abracadabra" (Aladdin).

(b) Without a cave (Bluebeard).

II.—Non-Oriental.

A. With a ship.

(a) With a cat (Dick Whittington).

(b) Without a cat (Robinson Crusoe).

B. Without a ship.

(a) With a giant.

(1) With a cat (Puss-in-Boots).

(2) Without a cat.

(i.) With a bean-stalk (Jack and the Beanstalk).

(ii.) Without a beanstalk (Jack the Giant-Killer).

(b) Without a giant:

(1) With animals: sheep (Bo-Peep);

wolf (Little Red Riding-Hood);

goose (Mother Goose);

uncertain (Beauty and the Beast);

two children (The Babes in the Wood).

(2) Without animals.

(i.) With footgear: shoes (Goody Two-Shoes);

slippers (Cinderella).

(ii.) No particular footgear.

(a) With a "Jack" (Jack and

Jill, Little Jack Horner, The House that Jack Built).

(b) Without a "Jack" (The Sleeping Beauty).

Notice on a suite of furniture:—

"Monthly payments 12/6. They will last a lifetime."

Help!

ONE OF US—NOW.

The Old Postmaster-General (to the New Postmaster-General). "THAT YOU, HOBHOUSE? I'VE BEEN TRYING TO GET THROUGH TO YOU ON THIS INFERNAL TELEPHONE FOR THE LAST HALF-HOUR. I WANT TO CONGRATULATE YOU ON BEING APPOINTED TO A DEPARTMENT WHICH I LEFT IN A STATE OF PERFECT EFFICIENCY."

Fair Yankee (who, on her first visit to England, has been told how extremely obliging the London policeman is). "Say, would you vurry kindly do up my shoe-string?"

"CINES" OF THE TIMES.

(A far-away Project of educational Films.)

O advent of the age of gold,

O happy day for proud papas

When Hellas shall her tale unfold

On secondary "cinemas"!

When "all the glory that was Greece

And all the grandeur that was Rome"

Shall hire on a perpetual lease

The academic "Picturedrome."

O Ovid on the screen for kids!

O Helicon attained by 'bus!

O filmographic Aeneids!

O vitoscoped Herodotus!

Our boys shall note the sacred Nine

Ascending their immortal peak,

Also Apollo (he was fine

In the old films as Alf the Freak).

They shall behold Teiresias

Telling the doom of Thebes, and con

With eyes but not with lips the crass

Way in which Œdipus went on.

They shall observe quite painlessly

The heroes toiling as they sit

Rowing upon the sun-kissed sea

With black smuts racing over it.

Some stout electroscopic "star,"

Some Gallic beauty bistre-eyed,

Shall show them in the years afar

How Helen laughed, how Priam died,

And how the good Æneas came

Through faked adventures on the screen

To Latium, and what forks of flame

Devoured a dummy Punic queen.

What snares the Queen of Love employed,

What Juno: mixed with local ads,

These shall be thoroughly enjoyed

By all appreciative lads.

And some day, if the gods are kind

To hearts so filled with classic feats

In many a marble palace "cined"

And puffed so oft in halfpenny sheets,

Shall come revulsion, faintly stirred

By Phœbus' and the Muses' laugh,

Against the foul sins of a word

Like spectodrome or vitagraph.

Youth shall draw learning from the spring

Pierian, and be taught to know

The clustered verbal shames that cling

About the moving picture show,

Till at the last shall dawn a bright,

A long-to-be-remembered day,

When porticos of fanes of light

Shall print Kinema with a K.

Evoe.

"H.M.S. Cumberland.

Geneva, Tuesday.

The Municipality to-day gave a luncheon in honour of the officers and cadets of the training ship Cumberland.—Reuter."

Naval and Military Record.

Another record for Winston. He alone could succeed in getting H.M.S. Cumberland to Geneva.

"Widcombe Manor, Bath, in which Fielding is said to have written 'Tom Jones,' is to come under the hammer shortly. It is one of the smaller houses erected by Indigo Jones."

Manchester Evening News.

It was, of course, the influence of his ancestor Indigo which so tinged certain episodes in Tom's career.

THE BAZAAR CUSHION.

"Ha! Someone has been sitting on it," cried Father William, snatching a flattened object off the piano-stool in high irritation. "It's abominable, you know," turning to me. "There are any number of cushions. The house is stuffed with cushions. Why people should always pounce upon this one and manhandle it in this way"—He put it on the table and began punching and squeezing and puffing and smoothing it till it had expanded to its full extent. Then he flicked the dust off it with his handkerchief. "I'll put it back in its box under the sofa," he said. "I can't understand how it ever got out."

He dropped into an armchair and instantly recovered his equanimity.

"And why should they spare that one?" I asked.

"That," said the old man solemnly, "is my bazaar cushion."

"I thought it looked as if it had escaped from a bazaar," said I.

"It came back only last night," he went on. "Are you a judge of cushions? How do you like it? Pretty nice piece of work, eh?"

"Yes," said I cautiously. "Looks to me pretty well put together and all that; but it's rather—well, hideous, isn't it?"

"Yes, yes," said Father William. "I suppose it's the colour you object to. I confess it's a bit of an eyesore. But of course it has to be like that. It's a case of protective colouring, you know."

I didn't quite follow his line of thought and there was a short pause. "You would hardly think to look at it," the old man went on at last, "that that cushion has stood between me and all the trials and persecutions incidental to bazaars for nearly half a century. Perhaps the plague is not quite so bad as it was in the old days when I was in my first City parish, but I must say they were particularly active last summer. They have taken to holding them outside now, with Chinese lanterns, so that there is no close season at all. I had the wit at the very outset to see that the thing must be grappled with. They used to badger me in two separate ways. I was always expected to send some sort of contribution—and then I had to go and buy things. That was the worst of it. I used to dive about, harassed and pursued, searching in vain for the price of my freedom, always confronted by smoking-caps and impossible needlework. It was a fearful ordeal."

"I know," said I, with sympathy. "I know all about it."

"But I found a way out, thanks to my cushion. I bought it at a Sale of Work for Waifs and Strays nearly forty-seven years ago, and I think you will agree with me that it is a fairly good cushion yet. Of course it has been re-covered more than once. It was getting altogether too well known in Streatham at one time. It used to be blue with horrid little silver spangles."

"And how does it work?"

"It is beautifully simple. I am told that a bazaar is contemplated and asked if I will assist. Very well, I send my cushion. That is quite good enough; no one would expect me to do more. Then I go, on the appointed day, buy the cushion, and walk out with an enormous parcel for all the world to see that I have done my duty. Then it goes back in its box. The only bazaars that I am unable to assist are those which occur (as they sometimes do) when my cushion happens to be out."

"And is it never sold?"

"Well, look at it!" said Father William. "Of course it had to be of such a nature that there was no danger of its going off too quick. I used always to go early on the first day to make sure. But since the last time it was re-covered I have had more confidence in its staying powers. I find there is no particular hurry."

"Do you put a price on it?" I asked.

"Oh, no. I don't like to do that. That might put me in an awkward position if it came out. But I find it fairly exciting on each occasion to discover what I shall have to pay for it. It is generally more expensive now than it used to be in the old days. I suppose it is the rise in the cost of living. But I am seldom satisfied, either way. If it is too cheap I naturally feel rather slighted, seeing that it was I who sent it; and if it is too dear of course I am annoyed because I have to buy it. And it fluctuates extraordinarily. I have more than once bought it in at half-a-crown and come home burning with indignation, and, if you will believe me, there was a blackguard at that big Sale of Work for the Territorials in the autumn who had the effrontery to charge me a guinea and a half. I was furious with him."

"I wish you would lend it to me, Father William," said I, after a pause. "We are getting up a Jumble Sale in Little Sudbury."

"No," said Father William firmly, "no. Little Sudbury is barred. The last time it was there on sale there was a very painful scene. I had arrived rather late, I remember, and I found my cushion actually being sold by auction along with a pair of worsted slippers and a woolly door mat—in one lot. I thought it showed very poor taste. Besides, it is already booked to appear six times in the next fortnight."

Dear Old Lady. "You have a picture in the window marked ten-and-six, by a Mr. Holbein. Could you tell me if that is an original painting or merely a print?"

Harold Napping.

"How stupid are the degenerate Tories who call this man [Mr. Lloyd George] a demagogue."—Mr. Begbie on Mr. Lloyd George in "The Daily Chronicle," Feb. 5.

"He [Mr. Lloyd George] was, if you like, a demagogue."—Mr. Begbie on Mr. Balfour in "The Daily Chronicle," Feb. 7.

The Duke of Sutherland, we see, values the diamond-studded gold watch and chain, of which he has just been relieved by two desperate Neapolitans, at £60. But the real question is, would the Chancellor of the Exchequer accept that valuation?

"Oh, Jockywock darling, you must try and remember it's a tricycle, not a bicycle."

WHEN BOSS EATS BOSS.

According to the New York Correspondent of The Daily Chronicle, the publication of a letter from Mr. Croker, formerly the great Tammany Chief, attacking his successor, Mr. Murphy, has greatly strengthened the campaign for purifying the Administration.

The recent meeting of the Statistical Society was rendered remarkable by a letter from Mr. Lloyd George who, in regretting his inability to be present, impressed upon the Society the need of upholding a vigorous and fastidious accuracy in the use of facts and figures. "To gain a momentary triumph over an antagonist in a public controversy by a misquotation, even though only a fraction is involved, is, in my opinion, an act which permanently disqualifies the offender from holding any place of responsibility." These golden words, so the President observed, ought to be engraved in indelible letters in every school in the kingdom.

The dignified and telling rebuke recently addressed by Mr. Bernard Shaw to Mr. G. K. Chesterton, for undue indulgence in paradoxical gymnastics, has given great satisfaction to the members of the Society for the Promotion of Simplified Thought. As the President of the Society, Dr. Pickering Phibbs, puts it, to have Mr. Shaw on the side of the angels is enough to make the Powers of Darkness throw up the sponge.

Mr. Keir Hardie's remarkable speech at Wolverhampton, when he declared that it was the duty of Labour to uphold the British Constitution, has profoundly impressed Mr. Larkin and Mr. Lansbury, who are of opinion that the stability of the British Empire is now assured for at least one hundred years.

The publication of a letter from Mr. Roosevelt, censuring President Wilson for the prolixity and verbosity of his Presidential messages, will, it is believed, lend a powerful impetus to the campaign on behalf of brevity in public utterances.

"Young Lady Apprentice Wanted—must be tall to learn all higher branches of the trade."—Advt. in (our favourite news-paper) "The Hairdressers Weekly Journal."

You want to be tall to reach up to the higher branches.

From an Aberdeen firm's advertisement:—

Success comes in Cans, not in Can'ts.

Once-a-year Clearance.

To-day and Following Days.

Wonder Values!

Stimulants to Encourage Purchasers.

In the cans, we suppose.

A GOLF JUDGMENT.

(To the Editor of "Punch.")

Dear Sir,—As I am not at all satisfied with the recent decision of The Rules of Golf Committee on the position created by a cow carrying off a ball in her hoof, I appeal to you to arbitrate in the following dispute between myself and my friend A (for I am too courteous to expose his actual name).

During some very wild weather we made an arrangement, before starting out, that, in the event of another storm coming on, the game should be decided by the score existing at the moment of our consequent retirement.

A was in receipt of six bisques. I holed out the first in five. A, who was in well-deserved trouble all the way, holed out in ten. I remarked, "One up!" to which A made no response. As we moved off to the second tee there was a loud clap of thunder and the heavens burst over our heads. A at once shouted above the tumult, "I take my six bisques and claim the hole and the match." He then headed swiftly for the pavilion.

I cannot believe that he was justified in his claim. What do you think?

Yours faithfully, Fair Play.

Editor's Decision.—The original arrangement was bad in Golf Law. The match is therefore off, and each party must pay his own costs.

TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE.

"Do you believe in magic?" Jack asked.

I hedged.

"Well, whether you do or not," he said, "I've got a rather rum story for you."

"Go ahead," I replied.

"Very well," he said. "It was on last Tuesday morning that I looked in at the watchmaker's to see if my watch was mended yet.

"It was hanging up in the glass case above the bench where he worked, with my name on a little tab attached to the ring.

"'No,' the man said, 'it's not done—in fact, I'm still observing it.'

"'But it seems to be recording the time all right,' I said.

"'Yes,' he replied—'seems, but it isn't. That's mere chance. Do you know, it's so fast that it's gained exactly twenty-four hours since you brought it in. That's not to-day's time it's registering, but to-morrow's. Leave it here another week, and I'll have got to the bottom of the mystery.'

"At first I was disposed to do so; and then I had an idea.

"'No,' I said, 'I'll take it.'

"'But it's useless to you,' he replied.

"'I'll take it," I said. 'Just for fun.'

"He gave it me reluctantly and returned to his labours.

"I walked away from the shop very thoughtfully. Here was a curious state of things. I and the rest of the world were living on Monday, February 9th, while my watch was busily recording, a little too hurriedly, the progress of time on Tuesday, February 10th. To see into the future has ever been man's dearest wish, and here was I in possession of a little piece of machinery which actually was of the future and yet could tell none of its secrets.

"But couldn't it? Couldn't I wrest one at least from it?—that was what worried me.

"As I pondered, a newspaper boy passed me bearing the placard 'Selections for Lingfield,' and in a flash I bought one. My watch knew who had won! How could I extract that information from it?"

Jack paused.

"Good heavens," I interpolated, "what an extraordinary situation!"

"You may well say so," he said. "You see, if only I could share its knowledge, I should be rich for life; for it was now only a quarter to eleven, and the first race was not till one-fifty, and there was plenty of time to bet.

"But——

"I continued on my way deep in thought," Jack went on, "when whom should I meet but Lisburne? Lisburne is the most ingenious man I know.

"'Come and advise me,' I said, and led him to a quiet corner.

"'It's jolly interesting,' he remarked, when I had finished, 'but of course it's black arts, you know, and we've lost the key nowadays. Still we must try.'

"We discussed the thing every way, in vain.

"Then suddenly he said, 'Look here, this watch represents to-morrow. That means it is through the watch that we must work. Here, let's get to-day's Mail and read it through the watch-glass and see if there's any difference?'

"We got it and did so.

"Lisburne removed the glass, found the racing news and read them through it. 'Good heavens!' he said, and turned white. 'Here, read this with your naked eye,' he said, pushing the paper before me.

"I read 'Saturday's racing results: 1.30, Midas 1, Blair Hampton 2, Chessington 3,' and so on. 'Prices, Midas 6-4,' etc.

"'Those are Saturday's results,' he said, shaking with excitement. 'But now read them through the watch-glass.'

"I did so, and they immediately changed to Monday's results. I was reading to-morrow's paper!

"'Look at the prices,' he cried.

"'The prices! I hastily ran through them. They were splendid. "Captain Farrell 10-1, Woodpark 10-1, Flitting Light 4-1." And these horses, remember,' he said, 'are going to run this afternoon!'

"'What's the next thing to be done?' I gasped.

"'The bookies,' he replied.

"'I suppose they're fair game,' I said.

"'Of course,' he replied. 'The very fairest. But that's nothing to do with you, anyhow. You're in possession of magic and must employ it. They are the natural medium. How much can you muster?'

"'I'd risk anything I could scrape up,' I said. 'Say £750. And you?'

"'Oh, I'm broke,' he replied. 'How many bookies do you know?'

"'Three,' I said.

"'Well,' he replied, 'I know three more, and we can find men who know others, and who will bet for us. Because we must plant this out warily, you know, or they'll be suspicious.'

"'Will you take it in hand,' I asked, 'leaving me £150 for my own commissioners?'

"'Of course,' he said, 'if you'll give me ten per cent.;' and having copied out all the longer-priced winners through the watch-glass he hurried off, promising to meet me at lunch.

"How to get through the intervening time was now the question. First I went to the telegraph office, and then to the barber's to have my hair cut. Forcibly to be kept in a chair was what I needed. The hair-cut took only half-an-hour; so I was shaved; then I was shampooed; then I was massaged; then I was manicured. I should have been pedicured, but the clock mercifully said lunch-time.

"Lisburne was there in a state of fever. He had distributed the £600 among fourteen different commission agents.

"'Now we can have lunch,' he said, 'with easy minds.'

"Easy!

"'But suppose the whole thing is a fizzle,' I said. 'We've been far too impetuous. Impulse was always my ruin.'

"'Oh no,' he said.

"'But if it's a fizzle,' I said, 'what about my £750?'

"'It won't be,' he replied. 'It's magic. Let's order something to eat.'

"He ate; that is the advantage of being on ten per cent. commission. I couldn't."