THE PRAIRIE LILY.

CHAPTER II.

    All went merrily on the good ship Astarte until the evening of
    the third day out, when it ran into another and larger ship and
    was sunk with all hands.  No one was saved.

    THE END.

“But, my dear,” I said, “you can’t write novels like that.”

“Why not, Uncle Dick?” Enid asked.

“Because it’s not playing the game,” I said.  “After arousing everyone’s interest and exciting us with the first chapter, you can’t stop it all like this.”

“But it happened,” she replied.  “Ships often sink, Uncle Dick, and this one sank.”

“Well, that’s all right,” I said, “but, my dear child, why drown everyone?  Why not let your own people be saved?  Not the Duke and Duchess, perhaps, but the others.  Think of all those jolly things that were going to happen in Texas, and the duel, and—­”

“Yes, I know,” she replied sadly.  “It’s horrid to have to give them up, but I couldn’t help it.  The ship would sink and no one was saved.  I shall have to begin another.”

There’s a conscience for you!  There’s realism!  Enid should go far.

I have been wondering if there are any other writers of serial stories whose readers would not suffer if similar visitations of inevitability came to them.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  “DO TELL ME, UNCLE, ALL ABOUT THIS PERSIFLAGE YOU PUT ON YOUR TENTS.”]

* * * * *

ANOTHER IMPENDING APOLOGY.

  “SOME OF THE FREAKS FOUND IN NATURE
  DOG MOTHERS TURKEYS
  IRISH PEERESS IN KHAKI.”

    Toronto Star Weekly.

* * * * *

    “Attracted by anti-aircraft guns the Zeppelin bounded
    upwards.”—­Daily Chronicle.

That was in France.  In England the lack of firing (according to our pusillanimous critics) was positively repulsive.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  Tommy. “‘ANDS UP, ALL OF YER, I’M GOIN’ ON LEAVE TERMORRER.  AIN’T GOT NO TIME TO WASTE.”]

* * * * *

OUR INNOCENT SUBALTERNS.

The leave-boat had come into port and there was the usual jam around the gangways.  On the quay at the foot of one of them was a weary-looking officer performing the ungrateful task of detailing officers for tours of duty with the troops.  He had squares of white cardboard in his hand, and here and there, as the officers trooped down the gangway, he picked out a young and inoffensive-looking subaltern and subpoenaed him.

I chanced to notice a young and rosy-cheeked second-lieutenant, innocent of the ways of this rude world, and I knew he was doomed.

As he passed out on to the wharf I saw him receive one of those white cards; he was also told to report to the corporal at the end of the quay.