o carefully laid out on my bed and go out to
dinner in my place. He would doubtless make himself quite as agreeable
as I. And then--let me see--what would I do? I sit with one of my
accordion-plaited silk socks half on and surrender myself to all the
delights of the most reckless imagination!

Yes, what would I choose if I could do anything in the world for the
next three hours? First, I think, I would like an egg--a poached egg,
done just right, like a little snowball, balanced nicely in the exact
center of a hot piece of toast! My mouth waters. Aunt Jane used to do
them like that. And then I would like a crisp piece of gingerbread and a
glass of milk. Dress? Not on your life! Where is that old smoking-jacket
of mine? Not the one with Japanese embroidery on it--no; the old one.
Given away? I groan aloud.

Well, the silk one will have to do--and a pair of comfortable slippers!
Where is that old brier pipe I keep to go a-fishing? Now I want a
book--full of the sea and ships--of pirates and coral reefs--yes,
Treasure Island; of course that's it--and Long John Silver and the Black
Spot.

"Beg pardon, sir, but madam has sent me up to say the motor is waiting,"
admonishes my English footman respectfully.

Gone--gone is my poached egg, my pipe, my dream of the Southern Seas! I
dash into my evening clothes under the solicitous guidance of my valet
and hastily descend in the electric elevator to the front hall. My wife
has already taken her seat in the motor, with an air of righteous
annoyance, of courteously suppressed irritation. The butler is standing
on the doorstep. The valet is holding up my fur coat expectantly. I am
sensible of an atmosphere of sad reproachfulness.

Oh, well! I thrust my arms into my coat, grasp my white gloves and cane,
receive my hat and wearily start forth on my evening's task of being
entertained; conscious as I climb into the motor that this curious form
of so-called amusement has certain rather obvious limitations.

For what is its _raison d'etre_? It is obvious that if I know any
persons whose society and conversation are likely to give me pleasure I
can invite them to my own home and be sure of an evening's quiet
enjoyment. But, so far as I can see, my wife does not invite to our
house the people who are likely to give either her or myself any
pleasure at all, and neither am I likely to meet such people at the
homes of my friends.

The whole thing is a mystery governed by strange laws an