“A gem ring lost last summer by Franz Schroder while travelling in a steamer on the Danube, near Prague, was found inside a carp caught at Mayence by his nephew.”—­Manchester Evening News.

The fact that Mayence is not on the Danube need not bother you.  Only last week our uncle lost a white elephant while travelling in a barge on the Regent’s Park Canal, near Maida Vale, and it was found inside the hat-box of the Editor of The Manchester Evening News by FRANZ SCHRODER.  Bless you, these things are always happening.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  Irate Cottager. “Hi!  YOU’RE BREAKIN’ MY ’EDGE!”

Mild Sportsman. “OH, NO; YOUR HEDGE IS BREAKING MY FALL, AND IF YOU WILL KINDLY PUSH ME BACK AGAIN I SHALL TRY TO REJOIN MY HORSE.”]

* * * * *

THE COWARD.

It is impossible to describe to you exactly how Herbert looked.  But shame, defiance and unconcern were the principal ingredients in his expression as he stood on the kerb and stared across the road.

He started guiltily as I approached.

“Hallo, Herbert!” I began with my customary bonhomie.

“Hallo!” he said dismally.

“What are you doing here?” I asked sternly.

“Nothing,” said Herbert.  “Have you ever noticed what a fine building that post-office is?”

“No,” I said; “neither have you.  Herbert, you are concealing something from me.  What have I done to deserve it?  Have I not enjoyed your confidence these many years, and have you ever known me betray it?  Is it marriage that has changed you thus?  Is it—­”

“Shut up,” said Herbert.  “I’ll tell you, if you stop talking.”

I stopped talking.

“It’s this way.  My wife and I have had a little discussion.  And I stated my belief that there was nothing in an ordinary way that a woman could do that a man couldn’t.  Whereupon she defied me to go out and—­er—­buy a bloater.  As you see, I have gone out, and—­er—­”

“Yes,” I said, “you have gone out.  Splendid of you!  And all that remains to be done is to buy a bloater.  Why not?  Yonder, if I mistake not, is the shop of a bloaterer.”

“But a bloater!” said Herbert.  “It isn’t fair.  If she’d said some salmon, or a lobster, or even a pound of sausages; or if she’d allowed me to ’phone for it.  It’s not as if I’d ever had any practice.  It’s not decent to start a beginner on a hand-bought bloater.”

“Tush!” I said.  “This is not manly.  Remember, our sex is at stake.  Come!”

I took him by the arm.  He advanced under protest.

Four paces from the shop he stopped abruptly and laughed—­a horrible laugh.

“Do you know,” he said, “I do believe I’ve come out without a cent on me.”

“I don’t believe it for a moment,” I said, “but as it happens I can lend you pounds and pounds—­almost enough for two bloaters.”