Periodicals Books

MISTAKEN CHARITY. Slip was riding a big chestnut mare down the street and humming an accompaniment to the tune she was playing with her bit. He pulled up when he saw me and, still humming, sat looking down at me. "Stables in ten minutes," I said. "You're heading the wrong way." "A dispensation, my lad," he replied. "I'm taking Miss Spangles up on the hill to get... more...

THE BALAAM STAKES . They were speeding along in the train to the Dispersal Area, and, having moved heaven and earth to achieve demobilisation, were now absolutely miserable on nearing their goal. "Like to pick your fancy for the Derby, Docker?" asked Jimmy Ferguson, proffering his daily paper with an air of acute cheerfulness. "Not fer me," said Docker Morgan dismally; "I sworn off... more...

HOW TO THROW OFF AN ARTICLE. "Do you really write?" said Sylvia, gazing at me large-eyed with wonder. I admitted as much. "And do they print it just as you write it?" "Well, their hired grammarians make a few trifling alterations to justify their existence." "And do they pay you quite a lot?" "Sixpence a word." "Oo! How wonderful!" "But not for every... more...

GETTING OUT. "If you belong to any of the following classes," said the Demobilisation advertisement, "do nothing." So Lieut. William Smith did nothing. After doing nothing for some weeks he met a friend who said, "Hallo, aren't you out yet?" "Not yet," said William, looking at his spurs. "Well, you ought to do something." So Lieut. William Smith decided to... more...

A PAIR OF MILITARY GLOVES. It was in Italy, on my way home from Egypt to be demobilised, that I decided to buy a pair of warm gloves from Ordnance. After being directed by helpful other ranks to the A.S.C. Depot, the Camp Commandant's Office and the Y.M.C.A., I found myself, at the end of a morning's strenuous walking, confronted by notices on a closed door stating that this was the... more...

THE CAREER. My dear James,—Ere long the military machine will be able to spare one of its cogs—myself. Yes, James, soon you will once again see me in my silk hat, cerise fancy vest and brown boots (among other garments). I think I shall have brass buttons on all my coats for the sheer joy of seeing them without let or hindrance grow green from lack of polish. I shall once again train my hair in... more...

EMBARRASSMENT AND THE LAWYER. Watson is a young barrister who is feeling rather pleased with himself. I confess that he has deserved it. The situation was as follows. Before the War he had had no briefs, but had always had a conscience. A hopeless state of affairs. Then he went to the War and shed his conscience somewhere in the Balkans. So far so good. But, when he was demobilised and began to take... more...

GOING TO THE BANK. She thought she had got a bargain. It was only marked "20/-," and would have been double the price at any of the West-end places. So she whipped out her Japanese note-case, paid for it, and carried it off like a whirlwind lest the shopman should find he had made a mistake. But it was she who had made a mistake, and she broke the news to me at breakfast on the following... more...

THE RULING PASSION. "Norman is coming to the dance," said my wife. "He would prefer to be shot," I answered. "You are coming too, and I want you to look after him." "I also would prefer to stop one." "It will do him all the good in the world. He wants bringing out." When Norman is alone with me he is natural and even interesting at times, but in company he is shy... more...

THE MUD LARKS. Yesterday morning, a freckled child, dripping oil and perspiration and clad in a sort of canvas dressing-gown, stumbled into "Remounts" (or "Demounts," as we should more properly call ourselves nowadays) and presented me with a slip of paper which entitled him, the bearer, to immediate demobilisation on pivotal grounds. I handed it back to him, explaining that he had come... more...