“I had a job there which consisted of going backwards and forwards on the railway between Otwiski and Triadropoldir in the Caucasus, a six days’ trip.  The possibilities of the situation never struck me till one day I, asked a shopman in Triadropoldir to give me my change in Otwiski roubles—­both towns had their own currency, of course.  He gave me five Otwiski roubles for one of his own town.  I thought a bit about that, and when I got back to Otwiski I tried the same thing, and found I could get three Triadropoldir roubles there for one Otwiski.”

“I see,” I remarked, as the beauty of this arrangement dawned upon me.

“All I had to do therefore was to change my money in Otwiski for three times as much Triadropoldir currency, and then go up the line to the other place and change it back again, making fifteen hundred per cent, on the round trip.  Of course you couldn’t always change the full amount, but in a couple of months I had sixty thousand roubles—­my valise was crammed with them—­and I was only waiting to get down to the Field Cashier to change out and make my fortune.”

“And did you?” I asked.

“No, I didn’t.  One morning the Reds arrived in Triadropoldir, and my servant and I only just got away with the valise on one of those inspection cars which you propel by pulling a handle backwards and forwards.  A section of Red Cavalry came after us, and we took it in turns to work the handle.”

“Your servant won’t ever be short of a job,” I commented.  “He ought to take to film-acting after that like a duck to water.”

“We soon finished my servant’s ammunition and they were closing in on us fast.  My hair had appreciably lifted my tin hat when I had a brain-wave and threw out a double handful of rouble notes.  It worked like a charm; they all stopped to collect the money, and we had gone quite a distance before they caught us up again, I threw out more notes at intervals, and the last thousand roubles went just as we came in sight of DENIKIN’S outposts fifteen miles down the line.  We were saved, but I had lost my fortune, for there was no chance of repeating the operation.”

I sighed.  Then, without any regard for the conclusions of my fellow-passengers, I silently raised both my hands above my head.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  Ordinary Man (to well-fed friend).  “HULLO!  HOW ARE THINGS WITH YOU?  MAKING LOTS OF MONEY, I SUPPOSE?”

Yorkshireman.  “NO.  WE DON’T MAKE MONEY AT BRADFORD—­WE JUST PICK IT OOP.”]

* * * * *

    “She had her hair cut short, and claimed to be a member of a
    tilted family.”—­Provincial Paper.

One with a bend sinister, we presume.

* * * * *

  A leader of fashion at Ely
  Whose clothes were a bit down-at-heely
      Was quite overcome
      When he found he’d the sum
  That would buy him a Mallaby-Deeley.