e
Fred took me we had stalls."

"How--how _jolly_!" I murmured. "I was thinking of--of----"

"If you please, Mr. Fred would like some soda-water and a few biscuits
taken up, Ma'am," said the servant, entering softly.

I rose.

"Must you go?" protested my conversationalist. "Oh, I am so sorry! But
come again soon--you have kept me quite lively. Good-bye."

I took the tube to Charing Cross and changed there for Putney and Ethel.
(Did I mention that her name was Ethel?) But when I told Ethel about it
afterwards she said she thought sarcasm in elderly ladies was very
objectionable.

* * * * *

COMMERCIAL ART.

Across the sundering gulf of time
I lift a song to you,
Melodious as a minster chime,
Loud, I expect, as two.
Years have flown swiftly since we met;
Do you, remembered one, forget
The rapturous moment and sublime
When I drew near to you? I bet
A half-a-crown you do.

Your name I never learned--Helene,
Beryl, perhaps Marie,
Phyllis, Estelle, or merely Jane--
It makes no odds to me.
I hymn you, maiden, none the less;
I toil in rhyme and metre; yes,
From noon till eve I bear the pain
Of this prolonged poetic stress
(With half-an-hour for tea).

Carrots your hair was (_i.e._, red;
"Carrots" is just my fun);
Blue were your eyes, and from them sped
A gleam that mocked the sun--
I _think_ that's so, but, as I say,
Time has moved quickly since that day,
And few, too few, the words we said
When languidly, as beauty may,
You handed me a bun.

Calmly you took it from the place
Where it was used to sit,
And I can still recall the grace
With which you dusted it.
I paid you, and we parted; so
Life's rich adventures come and go!
And did that brief glimpse of your face
Set love within me surging? No,
It didn't. Not a bit.

I only sing because I must;
Not mine the fret, the throb
Of fevered passion; verse is just
My livelihood, or job.
Searching for themes, I had a clear,
Swift vision of your dial; queer
How such things happen, but I trust
These lines will bring me in, my dear,
L1 or 30s.

* * * * *

[Illustration: AT THE COSTUMIER'S.

"OH YES, SHE'S SMART, BUT SHE HASN'T AN IDEA IN HER VOCABULARY."]

* * * * *

THE BURNING QUESTION.

Feeling that not all the representati