“Well,” resumed Albert Edward, “across the table from him sits our old MacTavish, lisping, ‘What is the Atlantic?  Is it a herb?’ I’ll bet my soul they’re in their billets at this moment, MacTavish mugging up some stable-patter out of NAT GOULD, and Blenkinsop imbibing a dose of ship-chatter from ‘BARTIMEUS.’  They’ll come in for food presently, MacTavish doing what he imagines to be a ‘cavalry-roll,’ tally-hoing at the top of his voice, and Blenkinsop weaving his walk like the tough old sea-dog he isn’t, ship a-hoying and avasting for dear life.”

“They’re both going on leave with you to-morrow, aren’t they?” I asked.

Albert Edward nodded.

“Then their game is up,” said I.

Albert Edward’s brow crinkled.  “I don’t quite get you.”

“My dear old fool,” said I, “it’s blowing great guns now.  With the leave-packet doing the unbusted broncho act for two hours on end it shouldn’t be very difficult to separate the sheep from the goat, the true-blue sailor from the pea-green lubber, should it?  They may be able to bluff each other, but not the silvery Channel in mid-winter.”

Albert Edward slapped his knee and laughed aloud.

* * * * *

They all came back from England last night.  I lost no time in cornering Albert Edward.

“Well, everything worked just as I prophesied, didn’t it?” said I.  “With the first buck the old boat gave Blenkinsop tottered to the rail and—­”

Albert Edward shook his head.

“No, he didn’t.  He ate a pound of morphia and lay in the Saloon throughout sleeping like a little child.”

“But MacTavish?” I stammered.

“Oh, MacTavish,” said Albert Edward—­“MacTavish took an emetic.”

PATLANDER.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  RECONSTRUCTION SHOCKS.

Pianist (accompanying celebrated prima donna at classical concert after three years of sing-songs in Army huts).  “NOW THEN, BOYS!  DROWN HER WELL IN THE CHORUS!”]

* * * * *

COMMERCIAL CANDOUR.

    “The post-war ——­ will be the one car from which the owner with
    moderate ideas can obtain the minimum amount of genuine pleasure
    and satisfaction.”—­Advt. in Trade Paper.

* * * * *

From an account of a film-drama:—­

    “Horrified at his pseudanimity she agrees to the
    deception,”—­Provincial Paper.

It sounds rather pusillonymous.

* * * * *

MUSICAL GOSSIP.

We are semi-officially informed on the best authority that the undermentioned nominations—­some of which have already been accepted—­to the thrones and chairs now vacant in various parts of the world have been made and approved by the Allied Governments.

Foremost among these is the nomination “by acclamation” of RICHARD STRAUSS as King of the Cannibal Islands.  It is understood that the illustrious composer has already arrived and that a grand congress of Anthropophagi with suitable festivities is in contemplation.