The Mayor’s peroration annoyed Thompson; the cheers that followed it annoyed him still more, and the subsequent shower of congratulations and vigorous slaps on the back threatened to move him to reply in a speech which might have been unintelligible to the ladies present.

Fortunately the danger was averted.  Before he could come into action a select committee of two, specially appointed for the purpose, had seized him by the arms and was conducting him up the steps of the Town Hall.  The rapidity and the unexpected nature of the movement threw him out of gear, and he was forced to adopt an attitude of sullen silence during the progress of the little party across the Council Chamber and through a doorway leading into a small room.

This room was furnished only with a table and a chair.  On the former stood a phonograph; into the latter the Committee deposited ex-Private Thompson and explained to him that he was desired to sit there and in his own words to recount into the trumpet of the machine his experiences at the Front.  That becoming modesty, they added, which hitherto had sealed his lips should now be laid aside.  Posterity must not be denied the edification of listening to a hero’s story of his share in the Great War.  The phonograph was then turned on and the disc began to revolve with a slight grating sound that set Thompson’s teeth on edge.  He was about to address a few remarks to the Committee when they tactfully withdrew, leaving him alone with the instrument.

For a few seconds he was silent.  The machine rasped unchallenged through a dozen revolutions.  Then he took a deep breath and, leaning forward, thrust his head into the yawning mouth of the trumpet.

* * * * *

His Worship has sampled the record.  The session was a secret one, but the Town has been given to understand that the disc has been sealed up and put away for the use of posterity only.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  “HERE, STICK YOUR HEAD DOWN, CHARLIE.”

“WHAT—­IS THERE AN ORDER COME ROUND ABOUT IT?”]

* * * * *

COMMERCIAL CANDOUR.

Letter recently received from a firm of drapers:—­

“Madam,—­With reference to your blue Silk Mackintosh, our manufacturers have given the garment in question a thorough testing, and find that it is absolutely waterproof.  If you will wear it on a dry day, and then take it off and examine it you will see that our statement is correct.

    Assuring you of our best services at all times,

    We are, Madam,

    Your obedient Servants,

    ——­ & SONS, Ltd.”

* * * * *

A DEAL WITH CHINA.

Fritz having killed the mule, it devolved upon the village Sanitary Inspector to see the carcass decently interred, and on application to the C.O. of the nearest Chinese labour camp.  I presently secured the services of two beautiful old ivory carvings and a bronze statue, clad in blue quilted uniforms and wearing respectively, by way of head-dress, a towel turban, a straw hat and a coiffure like an early Victorian penwiper.  It was the bronze gentleman—­the owner of the noticeable coiffure—­who at once really took charge of the working party.