Ob.  Vis. Quite so.  But I didn’t come to tell you about Herne Bay, although it is really a delightful spot.  The air—­

Ed. Yes, I know all about it.  First-rate, most salubrious, and the rest of it.  But, my dear friend, you really must—­

Ob.  Vis. Quite so!  Yes, everyone knows all about Herne Bay; and I really came to ask you if you had any room for an article.

Ed. (roused).  My dear fellow, I assure you we are quite full for months.  Any number of excellent things standing over.

Ob.  Vis. Oh, yes, I know you are always full.  You told me so the last time I called.

Ed. Quite so!  Very sorry, but it can’t be helped.  Have to look so far ahead nowadays, you know.

Ob.  Vis. Certainly; and that is why I thought I would just bring a half-finished article and show you what I had dome, and complete it if you thought it would do.  You can put it in whenever you like; so it would not hurt for standing over.

Ed. (with inspiration).  What is it called?

Ob.  Vis. “Russian Wheat and Chinese Tea or Free Trade in Australia.”  The subject is quite novel, and ought to attract considerable attention.

Ed. Novel!  Why, my dear fellow, I do believe I have an article somewhere in that heap upon the very subject.

    [Pretends to search pile of MS.

Ob.  Vis. (uneasily).  Oh, never mind.  I will read you what I have written, and—­

Ed. (genially).  Oh, no, I won’t give you the trouble.  I will read you what he has written, and then you can see.—­Ah, here it is!

    [Produces enormous pile of MS.

Ob.  Vis. (hesitating).  Well, perhaps, if you don’t mind—­

    [Suddenly remembers an appointment and exit.  Editor resumes
    hit work with an air of triumph.  Curtain.

* * * * *

THE THIEF’S MOTTO.—­“Take things quietly.”

* * * * *

[Illustration:  Jones.  “HOW IS IT WE SEE YOU SO SELDOM AT THE CLUB NOW?”

Old Member.  “AH, WELL, YOU SEE, I’M NOT SO YOUNG AS I WAS; AND I’VE HAD A GOOD DEAL OF WORRY LATELY; AND SO, WHAT WITH ONE THING AND ANOTHER, I’VE GROWN RATHER FOND OF MY OWN SOCIETY.”

Jones.  “EPICURE!”]

* * * * *

TO A PHEASANT.

A SPORTSMANLIKE(?) SONG FOR SEPTEMBER.

AIR—­“You are Queen of my Heart To-night.”

    I Stand in the copses sighing
      As the cruel hours creep by,
    And I see you slowly flying
      Above the trees on high. 
    Your wondrous wealth, of feather
      Has weaved a subtle spell,
    And I softly wonder whether
      You’d really taste as well. 
    For my hand is fairly steady