“to be detained during His Majesty’s pleasure.”  The warder, propelling him down below stairs to the cells, makes it quite clear to WILLIAM that the Majesty referred to is not his (WILLIAM’S)....

    Bowdler follows later to tell WILLIAM what a lucky fellow he is, and
    also to take off him one pound, three shillings and sixpence....

    Yours ever, HENRY.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  Conducting Officer. “IT’S NOT A BAD LITTLE BATTLEFIELD; BUT I’M AFRAID IT’S AWFULLY UNTIDY.”]

* * * * *

A “POCKET” BOROUGH.

    “Beyrout, the ancient Berytus, is 55 miles WNW from Damascus. 
    The port is strongly fortified, its walls being three inches in
    circumference.”—­East African Paper.

* * * * *

THE EUPHEMISTIC MOSLEM.

“DEATH OF TURKISH MINISTER.

    “A Constantinople message reports that the Turkish Minister of the
    Interior has resigned.”

    Australian Paper.

* * * * *

GUARANTEED.

“You recognize, of course, that the situation is exceptional,” said Edith’s mother.  “You left New York on December 2, and arrived at Euston on December 13.  To-day, December 18, you ask me for my daughter’s hand, after a three days’ acquaintance.  Is this the usual American pace?”

“That is hardly my fault,” I said.  “We ran into a nasty bit of weather off Cape Race and lost twelve hours.”

“Still,” she said, “under the circumstances you will admit that I have the right to put a few questions.  Edith is all I have.  She has naturally not told me everything, but I gather you have spoken to her a good deal about yourself.”

“Not more than three or four hours at a sitting,” I replied.

“And you have never spoken to anyone else as you have to Edith?”

“I have.”

“Oh,” she said.

“I wish it had been otherwise,” I pleaded; “but life is very complex nowadays on both sides of the Atlantic.  Much that I have told Edith I have also revealed to the passport clerk at Washington and the keeper of birth records in New York.  Something too I confided to the assistant-book-keeper in the War Zone Bureau at the Custom-House in New York, to the cashier of the French consulate at home, and to the gateman of Cunard Pier 54, at the foot of West Fourteenth Street.  I am sorry; I wish Edith had been the first to whom I gave up the inner secrets of my soul, but the fact is that to some extent she was anticipated by your Military Control-Officer at Liverpool.”

“It might have been worse,” she sighed.  “You have nice manners and a good face.  At home I suppose you are quite popular?”