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ANOTHER KNOCK FOR “THE TIMES.”

    “WE ARE BACKING NORTHCLIFFE.”

    Poster of “John Bull."

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[Illustration:  “I SUPPOSE YOUR LANDLORD ASKS A LOT FOR THE RENT OF THIS PLACE?”

“A LOT!  HE ASKS ME FOR IT NEARLY EVERY WEEK.”]

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DOGS’ DELIGHT.

SCENE.—­Interior of shop devoted to the sale of cutlery, leatherware and dogs’ collars, leads, etc.  Customers discovered lining the counter, others in background leading puzzled and suspicious dogs.  The proprietor is endeavouring to serve ordinary purchasers, answer questions, punch holes in straps and give change simultaneously.  A harried assistant in a white coat is dealing, as well as he can, with overwhelming demands for muzzles.

Proprietor.  Yes, Sir, you’ll find that razor-strop quite...  Six holes wanted in that strap? (To Assistant) Right—­leave it here and—­Sorry, Madam, I can’t attend to you just now....  Don’t happen to have a ten-shilling note, do you, Sir?  No?  Well, I may be able to manage it for you....  If you’ll speak to my assistant, Madam; he’s attending to the muzzling.

The Owner of a subdued nondescript (calling Assistant). Will you ask this lady to kindly keep her dog from trying to kill mine, please?

The Other Lady (whose dog, a powerful and truculent Airedale, seems to have conceived a sudden and violent dislike for the nondescript). Yours must have done something to irritate him—­he’s generally such a good-tempered dog.

Assistant (to the Airedale, which is barking furiously and straining at his lead). ’Ere, sherrup, will you?  Allow me, Mum.  I’ll put ’im where he can ’ave ’is good temper out to ’imself. (He hustles the Airedale to a small office, where he shuts him in—­to his and his owner’s intense disapproval.  A fox-terrier in another customer’s arms becomes hysterical with sympathy and utters ear-rending barks.) Oh, kindly get that dawg to sherrup, Mum, or we’ll ’ave the lot of ’em orf; or could you look in some day when he’s more collected?

Another Lady.  I say, I want a muzzle for my dog.

Assistant (sardonically). You surprise me, Mum!  We’re very near sold out, but if you’ll let me ’ave a look at your dawg, p’r’aps—­

The Lady.  Oh, I haven’t brought him.  Left him at Barnes.

Assistant.  ’Ave yer, Mum?  Well, yer see, I can’t run down to Barnes—­not just now I can’t.

The Lady.  No, but I thought—­he’s rather a large dog, a Pekinese spaniel.

Assistant.  Then I couldn’t fit ’im if ’e was ’ere, cos ’e’d want a short muzzle and we’ve run out o’ them.

A Customer with a Pekinese.  Then will you find me a muzzle for this one?