red an overwhelming victory. Bear
with me while I tell you the whole story.

I was struggling through the porridge of a late breakfast when Geoffrey
strolled in. I gave him a cigarette and went on eating. He wandered round
the room in a restless sort of way and I could see he was thinking out an
ending for his latest lie. I was well away with the toast and marmalade
when he started.

"You know that dog of mine, Rupert? Well, yesterday--"

I let him talk; I could afford to be generous this morning. He had hashed
up an old story of how this regrettable hound of his had saved the
household from being burnt to death in their beds the night before.

I did not listen very attentively, but I gathered it had smelt smoke, and,
going into the dining-room, had found the place on fire and had promptly
gone round to the police-station.

When he had finished I got up and lit a pipe.

"Not one of your best, Geoffrey, I'm afraid--not so good, for instance, as
that one about the coastguard and the sea-gulls; still, I could see you
were trying. Now I'll tell you about Leopold's extraordinary acuteness
yesterday afternoon.

"We--he and I--were out on the parade, taking a little gentle after-
luncheon exercise, when I saw him suddenly stop and start to point at a man
sitting on one of the benches a hundred yards in front of us; but not in
his usual rigid fashion; he seemed to be puzzled and uncertain whether,
after all, he wasn't making a mistake."

Here Geoffrey was unable to contain himself, as I knew he would be.

"Lord! That chestnut! You went and asked the man his name and he told you
that it was Partridge."

"No," I said, "you are wrong, Geoffrey; his name, on inquiry, proved to be
Quail. But that was only half the problem solved. Why, I thought, should
Leopold have been so puzzled? And then an idea struck me. I went back to
the man on the bench and, with renewed apologies, asked him if he would
mind telling me how he spelt his name. He put his hand into his pocket and
produced a card. On it was engraved, 'J.M. QUAYLE.' Then I understood. It
was the spelling that puzzled Leopold."

* * * * *

THE NEW APPEAL.

We observe with interest the latest development in the London Press--the
appearance of the new Labour journal, _The Daily Nail_.

In the past, attempts to found a daily newspaper for the propagation of
Labour views have not always met with success. Possibly the fault has been
that