t never occurred to me before.

A TRUNK CALL

Last Wednesday, being the anniversary of the Wednesday before, Celia
gave me a present of a door-knocker. The knocker was in the shape of an
elephant's head (not life-size); and by bumping the animal's trunk
against his chin you could produce a small brass noise.

"It's for the library," she explained eagerly. "You're going to work
there this morning, aren't you?"

"Yes, I shall be very busy," I said in my busy voice.

"Well, just put it up before you start, and then if I _have_ to
interrupt you for anything important, I can knock with it. _Do_ say you
love it."

"It's a dear, and so are you. Come along, let's put it up."

I got a small screw-driver, and with very little loss of blood managed
to screw it into the door. Some people are born screwists, some are not.
I am one of the nots.

"It's rather sideways," said Celia doubtfully.

"Osso erry," I said.

"What?"

I took my knuckle from my mouth.

"Not so very," I repeated.

"I wish it had been straight."

"So do I; but it's too late now. You have to leave these things very
largely to the screw-driver. Besides, elephants often do have their
heads sideways; I've noticed it at the Zoo."

"Well, never mind. I think it's very clever of you to do it at all. Now
then, you go in, and I'll knock and see if you hear."

I went in and shut the door, Celia remaining outside. After five
seconds, having heard nothing, but not wishing to disappoint her, I
said, "Come in," in the voice of one who has been suddenly disturbed by
a loud "rat-tat."

"I haven't knocked yet," said Celia from the other side of the door.

"Why not?"

"I was admiring him. He _is_ jolly. Do come and look at him again."

I went out and looked at him again. He really gave an air to the library
door.

"His face is rather dirty," said Celia. "I think he wants some brass
polish and a--and a bun."

She ran off to the kitchen. I remained behind with Jumbo and had a
little practice. The knock was not altogether convincing, owing to the
fact that his chin was too receding for his trunk to get at it properly.
I could hear it quite easily on my own side of the door, but I felt
rather doubtful whether the sound would penetrate into the room. The
natural noise of the elephant--roar, bark, whistle, or whatever it is--I
have never heard, but I am told it is very terrible to denizens of the
jungle. Jumbo's cry would not have alarmed an ant.

C