ou think your wife puts
things in your tea?'

'Yes.'

'Ah!' joyfully uttered the doctor, 'that's what I wanted to get
at--_thinks people are trying to poison him_. What is it they put in, my
man?'

'Milk and sugar,' answered Mr Clinton.

'Very dull mentally,' said the specialist, in an undertone, to his
colleague. 'Well, I don't think we need go into any more details.
There's no doubt about it, you know. That curious look in his eyes, and
the smile--the smile's quite typical. It all clearly points to insanity.
And then that absurd idea of giving his money to the poor! I've heard of
people taking money away from the poor, there's nothing mad in that; but
the other, why, it's a proof of insanity itself. And then your account
of his movements! His giving ice-creams to children. Most pernicious
things, those ice-creams! The Government ought to put a stop to them.
Extraordinary idea to think of reforming the world with ice-cream!
Post-enteric insanity, you know. Mad as a hatter! Well, well, I must be
off.' Still talking, he put on his hat and talked all the way
downstairs, and finally talked himself out of the house.

The family doctor remained behind to see Mrs Clinton.

'Yes, it's just as I said,' he told her. 'He's not responsible for his
actions. I think he's been insane ever since his illness. When you think
of his behaviour since then--his going among those common people and
trying to reform them, and his ideas about feeding the hungry and
clothing the naked, and finally wanting to give his money to the
poor--it all points to a completely deranged mind.'

Mrs Clinton heaved a deep sigh. 'And what do you think 'ad better be
done now?' she asked.

'Well, I'm very sorry, Mrs Clinton; of course it's a great blow to you;
but really I think arrangements had better be made for him to be put
under restraint.'

Mrs Clinton began to cry, and the doctor looked at her compassionately.

'Ah, well,' she said at last, 'if it must be done, I suppose it 'ad
better be done at once; and I shall be able to save the money after
all.' At the thought of this she dried her tears.

The moral is plain.

DE AMICITIA

I

They were walking home from the theatre.

'Well, Mr White,' said Valentia, 'I think it was just fine.'

'It was magnificent!' replied Mr White.

And they were separated for a moment by the crowd, streaming up from the
Francais towards the Opera and the Boulevards.

'I think, if you don't mind,' sh