* * * * *

    “L5 Reward—­Lost from Ruislip (July, 1214), half-persian dark
    tabby tom cat.”

Harrow Observer.

And they tell us that a cat has only nine lives!

* * * * *

=The prophetic present.=

    “There is no Hindenburg line.”

Inspired German Press.

By nature they abhor the light,
But here in this their latest tract
Your parrot Press by oversight
Has deviated into fact;
If not (at present) strictly true,
It shows a sound anticipation
Born of the fear that’s father to
The allegation.

For, though the boasted “line” of which
No trace occurs on German maps
Retains the semblance of a ditch,
It has some nasty yawning gaps;
It bulges here, it wobbles there,
It crumples up with broken hinges,
Keeping no sort of pattern where
Our Push impinges.

When the triumphant word went round
How that your god, disguised as man,
At victory’s height was giving ground
According to a well-laid plan,
Here he arranged to draw the line
(As Siegfried’s you were told to hymn it)
And plant Nil ultra for a sign—­
Meaning the limit.

  And now “There’s no such thing,” they say;
    Well, that implies prophetic sense;
  And, if a British prophet may
    Adopt their graphic present tense,
  I would remark—­and so forestall
    A truth they’ll never dare to trench on:—­
  There is no HINDENBURG at all,
          Or none worth mention.

O.S.

* * * * *

=Ways and means.=

I met her at the usual place, and she looked much the same as usual—­which astonished me rather.

“Now that we’re engaged,” I began.

“Oh, but we aren’t,” said Phyllis.

“Are you by any chance a false woman?” I asked.  “You remember what you said last night?”

“I do, and what I said I stick to.  But that was pleasure, and this is business.”

I looked at her in sudden alarm.

“You’re—­you’re quite sure you aren’t a widow, Phyllis?”

“Quite.  Why?”

“Talking of business at a time like this.  It sounds so—­so experienced.”

“Well, if you will try to settle our whole future lives in one short week-end leave, we must at least be practical.  Anyway, it’s just this.  I’m not going to be engaged to you until there’s some prospect of our getting married.  I hate long engagements.”

“That means not till after the War, then,” said I disconsolately.

“I’m afraid it does.  But when once the War’s over it won’t be long before you’ll be able to keep me in the style to which I’m accustomed, will it?”

“Years and years, I should think,” said I, looking at her new hat.  “It’ll take at least a pound a day even to start with.”