We did not attempt to meet the situation.  We left it to the devil—­or Madame.  And she, with the lofty serenity of one who through long and grievous misunderstanding has won home at last, was completely adequate.

“No beds,” she said.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  Grieved Wife.  “OH, SIMON, ALL OVER YOUR NOO CONTROLLED TROUSERS.”]

* * * * *

    “ADOPTION.—­Fine healthy boy, 31/2 years; entire surrender
    to good home. reception. 5 bedrooms; L1,100.”—­Provincial
    Paper.

What an exacting young rascal!

* * * * *

    “Liebknecht was the son of a father who opposed tyranny in
    earlier days, who sounded the toxin for liberty.”—­Express
    and Star (Wolverhampton).

But, to do old LIEBKNECHT justice, it was the son, not the father, who spelt it that way.

* * * * *

THE WAR-DOG’S PARTY.

(CONTINUED.)

I expected, of course, when I declared the resolution, “Dogs not Doormats,” open for general discussion that there would be some pretty plain barking, but nothing calling for the intervention of the Chair.  Britain’s dogs are sound at heart, even if they do talk a bit wildly about the Tyranny of Man and Rabbitism and Abolishing the Biscuiteer.  I don’t agree with a lot of it myself—­we Airedales have always been conservatively inclined; but I am bound to say that three years in the Army open one’s eyes to a lot of things.

Nothing of a really seditious character was said until the Borzoi commenced to address the meeting.  I had always disliked the fellow and half suspected him of being an Anarchist or the president of some brotherhood or other. (It’s funny how these rascals, whose one idea is to get something which belongs to somebody else without working for it, always call themselves a brotherhood.) But those Russian dogs have such a shifty slinking way with them that you can’t always tell what they are driving at.  This Borzoi chap had tried once or twice to interest me in what he called the Community of Bones doctrine, but I soon found out that his master was a conscientious objector and a vegetarian and that the doctrine really meant that he would do the communing and I would provide the bones.

The rogue began with some fulsome ingratiating remarks about how pleased he was to see so many fine representatives of the canine race prepared to maintain intact their sovereign doghood whatever the sacrifice might entail.  This brought loud applause from the young hotheads; but I noticed traces of disgust along the backs of the older dogs.  The time had passed, he continued, for speeches and resolutions and votes of censure.  Dogs must act if Man, the enemy, was to be finally crushed.  I intervened at this point and told the Borzoi he must moderate his language, upon which he began to bluster, shouting that he would not be put down by an arrogant hireling of effete Militarism.  One learns to practise self-control in the trenches, so I was able to repress an inclination to assert my authority then and there.  It was no use striking at man himself, he went on, for he had guns and whips and stones at his command.  We must strike at him through his children.