“And what’s happened to that?”

“That’s put into War Certificates.  It was his own idea.  He was fascinated by the poster, and insisted that his money should go in the purchase of cartridges, so there it is.”

“And at the end of five years he’ll get back L1 for every 15_s._ 6_d._ he’s put in.”

“Yes, he’ll get L5.  He made a lot of difficulty about that.”

“You don’t mean to say he jibbed about getting his money back?”

“That’s precisely what did happen.  He said he’d given the money for cartridge buying, and how could he take it back with a bit extra after the cartridges had been bought.  He’s really rather annoyed about it.”

“I shall tell him,” I said, “not to let it worry him, and shall explain to him how much per cent. he’s getting per annum.”

“You’ll have to work it out yourself first of all,” she said, “and I know you can’t do that.  And, by the way, you may as well be ready for him; he’s going to ask you if he may join the Army as a drummer-boy.”

“What on earth’s put that into his head?”

“He’s been talking to the Sergeant-Major, and he’s invented a musical instrument of his own.  It’s made out of a cardboard box, some pins and two or three elastic bands.  There it is—­you’ll find its name inscribed on it.”

I took it up and saw inscribed upon it in large pencilled letters this strange device:  “THE TIPINBANOLA; made for soldiers only.”

“Francesca,” I said, “it’s a superb name.  Where did he get it from?”

“Out of his head,” she said.

“I wonder,” I said, “if he keeps any arithmetic there?”

“Ask him; I’m sure he’d be proud to help you.”

“No,” I said, “I must plough my weary furrow alone.”

“And the guinea-hens,” she said, “are still squawking.”

“Yes,” I said, “isn’t it awful?”

“I’ll go and stop them,” she said.

“It’s no good,” I said, “I shan’t hear them stop.”

  R.C.L.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  THE MODERN RALEIGH.]

* * * * *

    “If the ploughman is taken the farmer may as well put up his
    shutters.”—­A farmer in “The Daily News."

And if the shop-walker is taken, the tradesman may as well let his windows lie fallow.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  Officer.  “WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY FEEDING THAT HORSE BEFORE THE CALL SOUNDED?”

Recruit.  “I DIDN’T THINK AS ’OW ’E’D START EATING BEFORE THE TRUMPET BLEW, SIR.”]

* * * * *

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

(By Mr. Punch’s Staff of Learned Clerks.)