Bob suddenly drove the sunshade into the ground.  There was a sharp crack and—­well, he found another iron.  Of course he tried to explain to Margery that it was an absolute accident and he only wanted to get a sighting post; but that was mere self-effacement, and I said so.

Things began to happen quickly after this, and if Private James Thompson had not put in an unexpected appearance they might have completed the job without any further difference of opinion.

In the merry days before war was thrust upon us, James Thompson was an architect of distinction.  Obviously an architect of distinction can reduce the difficulty of laying out a tennis-court to an elementary and puerile absurdity.  For half-an-hour the demonstration was carried on in the garden, and, after Private Thompson had twice been threatened with arrest for using insubordinate language to a superior, it was decided to finish the discussion in my study, assisted by the softening influence of the Tantalus.

Not for a hundred pounds would I have ventured into the study.  I picked up The Gardening Gazette and engrossed myself in an interesting piece of scandal about the slug family.

Suddenly Margery appeared at the double.

“Do you know,” I exclaimed excitedly, “it was the wireworm after all.”

“Come on,” Margery panted irrelevantly, “buck up and we can finish it before they come out again.”

In her hand she held a tape-measure and an official diagram of a tennis-court.

Five minutes later the experts emerged from the house.

“Hullo!” exclaimed Nevin aggressively, “what have you been up to?”

“Oh,” I replied, flicking over a page on weed-killers, “Margery and I thought we had better find the remainder of the tennis-court while you were having a rest.  Margery’s gone for a ball of string, and if Bob fetches the marker you can mark the court out now.”

Nevin’s retort was addressed solely to Private James Thompson, who had in an unfortunate moment given way to laughter of an unmilitary character.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  THE AMATEUR DETECTIVE.

{Cartoon, four panels, each with two gentlemen gazing skyward, bombs exploding nearby.  One is using binoculars.}

First panel:  “From its shape—­

Second panel:  —­I should say—­

Third panel:  —­that must be—­

Fourth panel:  —­Enemy Aircraft!”]

* * * * *

BOYCOTTING THE BARD.

["Contributors are particularly requested not to send verses.  They are not wanted in any circumstances and cannot be printed, acknowledged or returned.”—­British Weekly, July 19th.]

  I once believed the “Man of Kent”
    To be the Muses’ firm supporter
  And only less benevolent
    To bards than Mr. C.K.  SHORTER.

  But this untimely cruel blow
    Has quite irrevocably shattered
  The hopes which till a week ago
    My fondest aspirations flattered.