It floated.  And the next instant James stood up and saw it.

After that of course there was nothing left to do but to ask for the time-table, shake hands, thank James for a most delightful visit, and express my regrets that any little contretemps....

W. B.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  Major.  “WHY HAVE YOU PUT THAT CLOTH OVER HIS HEAD?”

Private Mike O’Flanagan (harassed by restive horse).  “SO AS HE WON’T KNOW HE’S BEING GROOMED, SORR.”]

* * * * *

    “——­’s new Pattern Books of
    WALLPAPERS
    will be sent on loan free of charge.

    “N.B.—­ ——­’s use adhesive paste, which has been expressly
    prepared to conform with the Food Controller’s regulations.”

    Advt. in Evening Paper.

So it is no use waylaying the paper-hanger on the chance of getting a free meal.

* * * * *

ANSWER TO CORRESPONDENT.

"Anti-Reprisal."—­If you are out walking, and enemy aeroplanes are dropping bombs on your side of the street, it is advisable to cross over to the other side.  Never shake your umbrella at the enemy ’planes.  A taxi-driver might think you were signalling to him.

* * * * *

Some of our street urchins are quite bucking up in their education.  The other day a small boy called out to a Frenchman, “Pourquoi n’etes-vous pas en bleu? Slackeur!”

* * * * *

    “Unique Old-World Cottage (big), about 30 min. door to West End,
    yet rural seclusion; frequent express trains, last 12 p.m.;
    nothing like it so close town; suit antique lover.”

    Observer.

This should make a beautiful retreat for an elderly Lothario’s declining years.

* * * * *

    “The Basement Tea Room is near the Boot Dept., where Afternoon
    Teas at moderate prices are obtainable.”—­Advt. in Evening
    Paper.

Very a propos—­des bottes.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  Governess.  “WELL, MOLLIE, WHAT ARE LITTLE GIRLS MADE OF?”

Mollie. “‘SUGAR AND SPICE AND ALL THAT’S NICE.’”

Governess.  “AND WHAT ARE LITTLE BOYS MADE OF?”

Mollie. “‘SNIPS AND SNAILS AND PUPPY DOGS’ TAILS.’  I TOLD BOBBIE THAT YESTERDAY, AND HE COULD HARDLY BELIEVE IT.”]

* * * * *

THE BOMBER GIPSY.

  Come, let me tell the oft-told tale again
    Of that strange Tyneside grenadier we had,
  Whom none could quell or decently constrain,
    For he was turbulent and sometimes bad,
  Yet, stout of heart, he dearly loved to fight,
  And spoke his fellows on a gusty night
  In some high barn, where, huddled in the straw,
    They watched the cheap wicks gutter on the shelf,
  How he was irked with discipline and law,
    And would fare forth to battle by himself.