She seemed incapable of conceiving that such perverted creatures could exist.

“Do they never whistle in an objectionable manner while waiting for the soiled clothes?”

“Whistling on duty is strictly forbidden, Madam.”

“Well, all these things I have mentioned my laundry does to me, and even more, and when I write to complain they disregard my letters.”

“We rarely have complaints, Madam, and all such receive prompt attention.  I can give references in this street—­in this block of flats even.”

“Well,” said I, “if you like to give me a card I am willing to let you have a trial.”

The young woman opened her bag with alacrity and handed me a card.

“The Superfection Laundry,” I read with amazement.  “Surely there must be some mistake?”

“Are you not Mrs. Fulton?” asked the young woman.

“No, you have come a floor too high.  Mrs. Fulton lives in the flat below me.”

“I must apologise for my call, then; I was sent to see Mrs. Fulton.  But all the same may we not add you to the list of our customers?”

“Impossible,” I said.

“May I ask your reasons, Madam?”

“Because the laundry I employ at present is the Superfection.”

* * * * *

=The Church Militant in the Near East.=

“Resht was bombed by Red aeroplanes on September 28 and 30; one of the machines was forced to descend on the latter date some 6 miles to the north of the town.  The pilot and observer were taken by the Cassocks.”—­Evening Paper.

[Illustration:  OUR VILLAGE SIGN.]

[Illustration: 

The Guest (exasperated with waiting). “I’VE A GOOD MIND TO DRIVE OFF, BUT I’M AFRAID OF HITTING THAT IDIOT IN FRONT.”

The Hostess. “HIT HIM WHERE YOU LIKE, DEAR—­IT’S MY HUSBAND.”]

* * * * *

=PROOF POSITIVE.=

This kind of thing had been going on morning after morning until I was quite tired.

They. You ought to get hold of a good dog.

It is extraordinary how many things one ought to get hold of in the country.  Sometimes it is a wood-chopper and sometimes a couple of hundred cabbages, and sometimes a cartload of manure, and sometimes a few good hens.  I find this very exhausting to the grip.

I. What for?

They. To watch your house.

I. I do not wish to inflict pain on a good dog.  What kind of a dog ought it to be?

They. Well, a mastiff.

I. Isn’t that rather a smooth kind of dog?  If I have to get hold of a dog, I should like one with rather a rougher surface.

They. Try an Irish terrier.

I. I have.  They fight.

They. Not unless they’re provoked.

I. Nobody fights unless he is provoked.  But more things provoke an Irish terrier than one might imagine.  The postman provoked my old one so much that it bit the letters out of his hand and ate them.