I accepted his invitation, if I may put it so, and on March 6th received the following:—­

“DEAR WILLIAM,—­I am not, as I think I said, at all well, and my doctor considers I had better break the journey at Plymouth, as it is a long way from Malvern to Cornwall.  Would you recommend me some hotels to choose from?  I hope to start by the middle of the month ...”

I recommended hotels, and on the 12th heard from him again:—­

“DEAR WILLIAM,—­I am very obliged to you.  In this severe weather my doctor says that I cannot be too careful, and I doubt if I shall be able to start for ten days or so.  Has your house a south aspect, and is it far from the sea?  I require air but not wind.  And could you tell me ...”

I told him all right, though as a guest I began to think him a little exigeant.  But he was unwell.

On the 17th he answered me:—­

“DEAR WILLIAM,—­I understand you live quite in the country.  Would you tell me whether a doctor lives near to you and whether you have a chemist within reasonable distance?  My doctor, who really understands my case, won’t hear of my starting until the wind changes:  but I hope ...”

I drew a map showing my house, the nearest chemist’s shop, the doctor’s surgery and a few other points of interest, such as Land’s End and the Lizard.  This I sent to him, and on the 22nd he replied:—­

“DEAR WILLIAM,—­I acknowledge your map with many thanks.  There is one more thing.  My doctor insists on a very special diet.  Can your cook make porridge?  I rely very largely on porridge for breakfast and ...”

I saw myself smiling at Lord DEVONPORT and wired back, “Have you ever known a cook who couldn’t make porridge?”

And on the 27th he issued his ultimatum:—­

“DEAR WILLIAM,—­I have consulted my doctor and he thinks I ought not to tempt Providence by travelling at present, so I have decided to remain in Malvern.  I do hope ...”

To this I replied:—­

“DEAR WIGGLES,—­Holding as you do the old pagan view of Providence, you are quite right not to tempt it.  The loss is mine.  I hope you will soon be rather less unwell.”

Then I went away for three days without leaving an address, and when I returned it was to learn that Wiggles had arrived on the previous evening.  And in my study I found him, together with four wires (two to say he wasn’t coming and two to say he was) and a table loaded with prescriptions.

He eats enormously.

* * * * *

INKOMANIA.

(Suggested by Mr. SIMONIS’ recently published volume.)

  O Street of Ink, O Street of Ink,
  Where printers and machinsts swink
  Amid the buzz and hum and clink;
  By night one cannot sleep a wink,
  There is no time to stop or think,
  One half forgets to eat or drink,
  One’s brains are knotted in a kink,
  One always lives upon the brink
  Of “happenings” that strike one pink. 
  One day the dollars gaily chink,
  The next your funds to zero shrink. 
  And yet I’m such a perfect ninc-
  Ompoop I cannot break the link
  That binds me to the Street of Ink.