"I fancy Jane has left the service. I don't know why."

"Probably they quarrelled because she gave him caviare two nights
running," I said. "Well, I suppose I shall have to go. But it will be no
place for women. To-morrow after-noon I will sally forth alone to do it.
But," I added, "I shall probably return with two coal-porters clinging
round my neck. Order tea for three."

Next evening, after a warm and busy day at the office, I put on my
top-hat and tail coat and went out. If there was any accident I was
determined to be described in the papers as "the body of a well-dressed
man." To go down to history as "the body of a shabbily-dressed
individual" would be too depressing. Beautifully clothed, I jumped into
a taxi and drove to Celia's greengrocer. Celia herself was keeping warm
by paying still more calls.

"I want," I said nervously, "a hundredweight of coal and a cauliflower."
This was my own idea. I intended to place the cauliflower on the top of
a sack, and so to deceive any too-inquisitive coal-porter. "No, no," I
should say, "not coal; nice cauliflowers for Sunday's dinner."

"Can't deliver the coal," said the greengrocer.

"I'm going to take it with me," I explained.

He went round to a yard at the back. I motioned my taxi along and
followed him at the head of three small boys who had never seen a
top-hat and a cauliflower so close together. We got the sack into
position.

"Come, come," I said to the driver, "haven't you ever seen a
dressing-case before? Give us a hand with it or I shall miss my train
and be late for dinner."

He grinned and gave a hand. I paid the greengrocer, pressed the
cauliflower into the hand of the smallest boy, and drove off....

It was absurdly easy.

There was no gore at all.

"There!" I said to Celia when she came back. "And when that's done I'll
get you some more."

"Hooray! And yet," she went on, "I'm almost sorry. You see, I was
working off my calls so nicely, and you'd been having some quite busy
days at the office, hadn't you?"

A. A. M.

* * * * *

[Illustration: This is not a cloak-room but the lounge of a fashionable
London hotel.]

* * * * *

OLYMPIC TALENT.

(A topical fantasy suggested by the decay of our athletic prowess and
the apparent apathy of the nation as to the fate that may befall it in
the international contest of 1916.)

My England, so the chance has fled!
Olympian