A moment later, from somewhere in the back premises, he appeared carrying a large bale of flannel, which he cast caber-wise upon the counter.  I was dumbfounded.

Then I knew the truth.

“Sir,” I said, turning to the stranger, “I believe you are about to make a selection from these articles (I indicated them individually), which you imagine to be the last of their race?”

He nodded at me in a bewildered sort of way.

“In a few months,” I continued remorselessly, “they will be absolutely unprocurable” (he gave a start of recognition), “and you, having bought them, will sneak through life with the feelings of a food-hoarder, mingled with those of the man who slew the last Camberwell Beauty.  I know the state of mind.  But you need not distress yourself.  These garments (I indicated them again) will only be unprocurable because they are in your possession.  I have about half-a-ton myself, which, until a few minutes age, would have been quite unprocurable.  But I have changed my mind and, if you will come with me, you can take your choice with a clear conscience, and (I glanced maliciously at my faded hosier and haberdasher) at the prices which were prevalent a year ago.”

I linked my arm with that of the stranger, and together we passed out of the shop into the unpolluted light of day.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  Mother (to child who has been naughty). “AREN’T YOU RATHER ASHAMED OF YOURSELF?”

Child. “WELL, MOTHER, I WASN’T.  BUT NOW THAT YOU’VE SUGGESTED IT I AM.”]

* * * * *

PRETENDING.

  I know a magic woodland with grassy rides that ring
  To strange fantastic music and whirr of elfin wing,
  There all the oaks and beeches, moss-mantled to the knees,
  Are really fairy princes pretending to be trees.

  I know a magic moorland with wild winds drifting by,
  And pools among the peat-hags that mirror back the sky;
  And there in golden bracken the fronds that toss and turn
  Are really little people pretending to be fern.

  I wander in the woodland, I walk the magic moor;
  Sometimes I meet with fairies, sometimes I’m not so sure;
  And oft I pause and wonder among the green and gold
  If I am not a child again—­pretending to be old.

W.H.O.

* * * * *

It is understood that the FOOD-CONTROLLER has protested against the forcible feeding of hunger-strikers.  If they want to commit the Yappy Dispatch, why shouldn’t they?

* * * * *

[Illustration:  ST. GEORGE OUT-DRAGONS THE DRAGON. [With Mr. Punch’s jubilant compliments to Sir DOUGLAS HAIG and his Tanks.]]

* * * * *

ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

Monday, November 19th.—­Such a rush of Peers to the House of Commons has seldom been seen.  Lord WIMBORNE, who knows something of congested districts, arrived early and secured the coveted seat over the clock.  Lord CURZON, holding a watching brief for the War Cabinet, was only just in time to secure a place; and Lord COURTNEY and several others found “standing room only.”  If we have many more crises Sir ALFRED MOND will have to make provision for strap-hangers.