* * * * *

[Illustration:  AT OUR RED CROSS SALE.

“MR. JEM WALLOP, A RETIRED HEAVY-WEIGHT CHAMPION, HAS VERY KINDLY CONSENTED TO GIVE A LESSON IN BOXING TO THE HIGHEST BIDDER.”]

* * * * *

COMMERCIAL CANDOUR.

    “Electric hoist for passenger or goods; to lift 10cwt.;
    little use.”—­Manchester Paper.

* * * * *

    “CHINESE CRISIS.

    DISTRUST OF THE ICE-PRESIDENT.”—­Times and Mirror (Bristol).

Yet one would have thought him the very man to preserve his coolness.

* * * * *

    “HAIR REPORTS PROGRESS.

    G.H.Q., Tuesday, 11.46 a.m.”—­Star.

It is hoped now that the British communiqués will be a little less bald.

* * * * *

THE BOAT.

A STUDY IN INDIFFERENCE.

One likes to think of oneself as a person of some importance, whose vital spark, even in these days when life is so cheap, ought to be guarded with solicitude.  Indeed, to adapt CLOUGH’S phrase, one wants other people—­and especially those whose prosperity is dependent upon us—­officiously to keep us alive.

This being my not unnatural attitude, you will understand what a shock I had when the owner of the boat, who would expire of starvation if his boats were not hired, treated me as he has done.

The boat in question was needed for an estuary or bay in which sailing is permitted.  Since we had decided to take a holiday on the shores of this water it seemed well to secure something to navigate; and as I detest rowing it had to be something with sails, petrol being too scarce.  The hotel people sent me the name of a man who had sailing-boats for hire.  I corresponded with him, fixed up the price (an exorbitant one), and arranged for the boat to be ready on Monday afternoon.

On Monday afternoon it had not arrived.  There was the sea; there was the little pier; there were plenty of rowing-boats, but my vessel was—­where?

After breakfast the next day there was still no boat, but word came that its owner had called and would I see him?

“About the boat,” he began.

“Where is it?” I asked.

“She’s moored just round the point there,” he said.

“Why isn’t she here?” I asked, adopting his pronoun.  I had forgotten for the moment that boats belong to the now enfranchised sex.

“Did you want her so soon?” he replied.

“It was all arranged for her to be here yesterday afternoon,” I said.  “I have your letter about it.”

“Oh, well, she’ll be here directly,” he answered.

“I should have preferred you to keep your word,” I said stiffly.

He made no reply.

“Send for her at once,” I said.  It was now half-past ten.  “I want to go out this morning;” and he agreed.