above, just as
if it were a piece out of a play? I've always brought the sense of the
theatre into real life.)

Poor Aaron Birsch! He was only one of the very many men who have been
extremely anxious that I should marry somebody else. Two years later
Alfred died of cerebral tumescence--a disease to which the ambitious are
peculiarly liable. That cat, Millie Wyandotte, happened to say to Birsch
that if I had married his son I should now have been a wealthy young
widow.

"Anybody who married Marge," said Birsch, "would not die at the end of
two years."

"I suppose not," said Millie. "He'd be more likely to commit suicide at
the end of one."

I never did like that girl.

But I must speak now of what was perhaps my most serious engagement.
Hugo Broke--his mother was one of the Stoneys--was intended from birth
for one of the services and selected domestic service. Here it was
thought that his height--he was seven foot one--would tell in his
favour. However, the Duchess of Exminster, in ordering that the new
footman should be dismissed, said that height was desirable, but that
this was prolixity.

However, it was not long before he found a congenial sphere for his
activities with the London branch of the Auto-extensor Co. of America.
The Auto-extensor Co. addresses itself to the abbreviated editions of
humanity. It is claimed for the Auto-extensor system that there is
absolutely no limit to the increase in height which may be obtained by
it, provided of course, that the system is followed exactly, that
nothing happens to prevent it, and that the rain keeps off.

Hugo walked into the Regent Street establishment of the Auto-extensor
people, and said:

"Good morning. I think I could be of some service to this company as an
advertisement."

"I am sure you could," said the manager. "If you will kindly wait a
moment while the boy fetches the step-ladder I will come up and arrange
terms."

In the result, the large window of the Regent Street establishment was
furnished as a club smoking-room or thereabouts. In the very centre, in
a chair of exaggerated comfort but doubtful taste, sat Hugo. He was
exquisitely attired. He read a newspaper and smoked cigarettes. By his
side, in a magnificent frame, was a printed notice, giving a rather
fanciful biography of the exhibit.

"This gentleman," the notice ran, "was once a dwarf. For years he
suffered in consequence agonies of humiliation, and then a friend called
his attent