There was only one bag, but it was very bulky.  The contents were a tight fit; something round, about a yard in diameter, about a foot and a half in depth.

“Are you looking after this bag of yours properly, George?” I asked.  “We shall be very angry with you if you go and lose it.”  Something indefinable but intensely important in my tone caught Geraldine’s attention.

“That is between me and the F.O.,” said George irritably.

“When I was talking to them about it—­” said I.

“What have you to do with the Foreign Office?” asked Geraldine.

“Little enough,” I said modestly.  “I have my own business to see to.  But the F.O. have always wanted to have something to do with me.  So I gave them the job of looking after your mother’s hat.  Had I known that they would send it along by any Tom, Dick or George who happened to drop in and offer to take the bag—­”

George snatched the bag, examined it hastily and then tried to conceal it behind his own luggage.  But Geraldine knows enough about hats to be able to spot a hatbox, when put to it, through all the heavy canvas and all the fancy labels in the world.  So there was nothing more to be said about it; and there was little more to be done about it except for George to go on doing special messenger with it.  The inner histories died down and, after a brief silence, George affected to go to sleep.

I only woke him up once and that was to ask whether he cared to look after the rest of my luggage for me.

When we got to Paris I explained to George that I had not meant to hurt his feelings; there was no fellow I would more gladly entrust my odd jobs to.  Indeed Geraldine and I should want him to officiate in a similar capacity at the coming ceremony.

A very satisfactory conclusion.  I got Geraldine; Geraldine got her full deserts—­me; and if George had the misfortune to sit on the bag in the taxi, what matter?  Geraldine had acquiesced; after that who cared what Geraldine’s mother did, said, thought or wore?

* * * * *

[Illustration:  Small Boy.  “WHO’S THAT FAT MAN, DAD?”

Dad.  “DON’T KNOW.  HE LOOKS LIKE A PROFITEER.”

Small Boy.  “DON’T YOU THINK HE MUST BE ONE OF THE EXCESS PROFITEERS?”]

* * * * *

    “Lady Clerk wanted for office work, with an engineering firm, a few
    miles out of Leeds; also able to cook and serve a luncheon for the
    principals.”—­Yorkshire Paper.

If you want a cook nowadays you must employ a little diplomacy.

* * * * *

    “During a discussion on over-crowded motor ’buses a member declared
    that on one occasion 110 persons were found ‘clinging like bees’ to a
    car certified to hold 0.”—­Provincial Paper.

Some of these might have been accommodated in the bonnet.