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Page 8
Then I re-travelled South by West
Inflated with a joy
Which in the suit I called my best
No buffet could destroy;
I may remark I'd come full-dressed
From lunch at the Savoy.
But when the hills began to shout
I coloured to the roots,
And when the valleys cried, "Get out!"
To the last word in suits,
My joy, displaced by sudden doubt,
Leaked through my spatted boots.
* * * * *
Of the mysterious Marconigrams:--
"They may be the effort of sentiment beings in some neighbouring planet
to communicate with us."--_Evening Paper._
Can we have broken in on a conversation between _Venus_ and _Mars_?
* * * * *
[Illustration: MANNERS AND MODES.
PROFITEERING IN THE WEST END COMPELS MAYFAIR TO PUT ON ANY OLD RAGS AND DO
ITS SHOPPING IN SHOREDITCH.]
* * * * *
[Illustration: BEHIND THE SCENES IN CINEMA-LAND.
"WILL YOU STAND BACK, SIR? YOU'RE SPOILING THE PICTURE."]
* * * * *
A CONFLICT OF EMOTIONS.
(_With the British Army in France._)
"I've seen rivetters at New York pie-foundries and stew-specialists on
North Sea trawlers," said Percival severely, "but I never realised how
monotonous feeding could be till I got into a Mess controlled by Binnie."
Binnie puffed his pipe severely, being of the tough fibre which enables
Mess Presidents to endure. Frederick, who had been silent, rose from his
seat, heaved a distressing sigh and left the room.
"There's the moral that adorns the tale, you--you public danger!" continued
Percival, indicating Frederick's retreating figure. "Look to what a
condition that once bright youth has been brought by your endless stews and
curries."
"Not a bit of it," answered Binnie lightly. "Frederico could eat patent
breakfast food and toasted doormats without taxing his digestion. His
complaint is the tender passion. I recognise the symptoms."
"It looks like an acute attack, anyhow," said Percival, rising, "and prompt
counter-irritants are indicated. But I'll confirm your diagnosis first."
Inside Frederick's quarters the sound of regular and sustained sighing
suggested that the sufferer was in the throes of a spasm of melancholy.
Percival entered and narrowly escaped being drawn into the vortex of a
particularly powerful inspiration.
"Freddy, old pard," he said kindly, "why so _triste_? If the trouble's
financial, my cheque-book is unreservedly at your service. Havin' no
balance at the bank I've no use for it myself."
"It's not that--at least not worse than usual," groaned Frederick.
"Then tell me all about it."
"It's a long story," commenced Frederick.
"Let me off with a synopsis," interrupted Percival.
"Once upon a time," continued Frederick, "there was a big war, which made
quite a stir in the daily papers and was a common subject of discussion in
the clubs. There were many casualties, amongst them being a blithe young
laddy who came down to the Base with a fractured maxilla caused by nibbling
an M. and V. ration without previously removing the outside tin--or
something of the sort. He was sent to hospital and devotedly tended by a
Sister of exquisite beauty--such a figure and such hair! It wasn't exactly
auburn and not exactly burnished bronze--"
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