Then at last our man mounted the box, and just at that moment (this is an absolutely true story) it chanced that an errand-boy asked him the way to Panton Street, and he got down from the box and walked quite a little way with the boy to show him.  And while he was away the engine stopped.  It was then that poor Mark performed one of the most heroic feats of his life.  He still sat still; but I seemed to see his hat rising and falling, as did the lid of WATT’s kettle on that historic evening which led to so much railway trouble, from strikes and sandwiches to Bradshaw.  Still he said nothing.  Nor did he speak until the engine had been started again and we were really on our way and thoroughly late.  “If it had only been in normal times,” he said grimly, “how I should have let that man have it.  But one simply mustn’t.  It’s terrible, but they’ve got us by the short hairs!”

No doubt of that.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  Mistress (to maid who has asked for a rise).  “WHY, MARY, I CANNOT POSSIBLY GIVE YOU AS MUCH AS THAT.”

Mary.  “WELL, MA’AM, YOU SEE, THE GENTLEMAN I WALK OUT WITH HAS JUST GOT A JOB IN A MUNITION FACTORY, AND I SHALL BE OBLIGED TO DRESS UP TO HIM.”]

* * * * *

[Illustration:  Gretchen.  “WILL IT NEVER END?  THINK OF OUR AWFUL RESPONSIBILITY BEFORE HUMANITY.”

Hans.  “AND THESE EVERLASTING SARDINES FOR EVERY MEAL.”]

* * * * *

WARS OF THE PAST.

(AS RECORDED IN THE PRESS OF THE PERIOD.)

V.

FROM “THE PIRÆUS PICTORIAL."

GET A MOVE ON.

BY MR. DEMOSTHENES.

[The brilliant Editor of “Pal Athene,” who has been aptly styled “the leading light of the democracy,” contributes what is perhaps the most wonderful and powerful article which we have had the pleasure of publishing from his trenchant pen.]

Words won’t do it, my friends.  We don’t want speeches.  We want action.  I ask you to give the Buskers socks.  Kick this Chorus of Five Hundred out of the orchestra.  Ostrichise the Government!  Give them the bird!

If I read my countrymen aright (and who does if I don’t?), what they are saying now is, “We must have a definite plan of strong action.  We are not going to fight any longer with speeches and despatches.”  That’s the way, Athenians!  Good luck to you!  Zeus bless you.  And the same to you, Tommy Hoplites and Jack Nautes, and many of them! You don’t mean PHILIP to be Tyrant of Athens, do you? You’re not going to have him turning our beautiful Parthenon into a cavalry stable? You’re not going to see the Barbarians hanging up their shields on the dear old statue of Athene.  Of course you’re not.  When I walk through the city and see, as I pass the houses of my humbler brethren, the neat respectable little altars and the good old well-used wine-presses (which I never do without breathing a little prayer, uncantingly, straight from the heart), I say, “It’s a foul calumny to pretend that the people are not all right.  They are, Zeus bless ’em!  All they are waiting for is a lead.  And action!”