On the Monday after her change of home, Sarah Brown found that the glory had gone out of the varied inks, and even a new consignment of index-cards, exquisitely unspotted from the world, failed to arouse her enthusiasm.  This was partly because the first name in the index that she looked up was that of Watkins, Thelma Bennett, single, machinist.  The ciphers informed the initiated that Watkins had called on the War Association, to ask for Help and Advice, See Full Report.  Sarah Brown felt sad and clumsy, and made two blots, one in green on the Watkins card, and the other in ordinary Stephens-colour on the card of one Tonk, chocolate-box-maker, single, to whom a certain charity was obstinately giving a half-pint of milk daily, regardless of the fact that last month she had received a shilling’s-worth of groceries from the Parish.

The air of that office rang with the name of Tonk that morning.  Hardly had the industrious Sarah Brown finished turning the blot upon her card into the silhouette of a dromedary by a few ingenious strokes of the pen, when the lady representing the obstinate charity came in, her lips shaped to the word Tonk.

“Tonk,” she said.  “Late of Mud Street.  She has changed her address.  I am the Guild of Happy Hearts.  She still comes to fetch her half-pint of milk daily, and only yesterday I learnt from a neighbour that she had left Mud Street three weeks ago.  It really is disgraceful the way these poor people conceal important facts from us.  Have you her new address?”

“Our last address for Tonk was 12 Mud Street,” answered Sarah Brown coldly.  “But we have already notified you three times that the woman is not entitled to milk from the Happy Hearts, as she has been having parish relief, as well as an allotment.”

“Tonk is—­hm—­hm,” said the Happy Heart delicately in an undertone, so that the blushing masculine ear of the Dog David might be spared.  “After Baby Week, you know, we feel bound to help all hm—­hm women as far as we can, regardless of other considerations—­”

“Really you oughtn’t to.  Tonk is posing as a single chocolate-box-maker.”  Sarah Brown was rapidly becoming exasperated with everybody concerned, but not least with the evidently camouflaging Tonk.

“She has a soldier at the Front,” said the Happy Heart.  “I am sorry to say that she will not promise to marry him, even if he does come home.  But even so—­”

Sarah Brown wrote down on Miss Tonk’s card the small purple cipher that stood for hm—­hm.  “I will make enquiries about her address,” she said.

But that was not the last of Tonk.  Presently the red face of the Relieving Officer loomed over the index.

“In the case of Plummett—­” he began loudly.

“In the case of Tonk—­” interrupted Sarah Brown, to whom, in her present mood, Plummett could only have been a last straw.  She hated the Relieving Officer unjustly, because he knew she was deaf and raised his voice, with the best intentions, to such a degree that the case papers on the index were occasionally blown away.  “We have already notified you three times that Tonk is having a half-pint of milk daily from the Happy Hearts, as well as an allotment from a soldier.”