ave a little fun that
is not wholly connected with sordid domestic affairs and pothouse
commonness?"

"Never," he said, and I believed him.

"Haven't you children of your own?"

"Several."

"And is that how you amuse them at home?"

"Of course not. They're too young."

"How old are they?"

"From six to thirteen."

"But that's the age of the children who go to pantomimes," I
suggested.

"Well, it's different in your own home," he said. "Besides," he added,
"it isn't children I aim at in my jokes. There's other things for
them: the fairy ballets, the comic dog."

"And what is the audience you aim at?" I asked. "I suppose there is
one definite figure you have in your mind's eye?"

"Yes," he said, "there is one. The person in the audience that I
always aim at is the silly servant-girl in the front row of the
gallery. That's why I so often say 'girls' before I make a joke.
You've heard me, haven't you?"

"Haven't I?" I groaned.

* * * * *

THE GAME LICENCE.

It was yesterday afternoon, towards the close of the last beat of our
annual cover shoot, that I perceived a fellow in a yellow waterproof
popping up his head from time to time (at no little risk to his life)
over a dyke some way behind the line of guns. As soon as the beaters
came out he advanced and introduced himself as an Excise Officer,
asking "if this would be a convenient moment to examine the game
licences of the party."

It was not at all a convenient moment for Walter--who hadn't got one.
My thoughts flew at once to Walter in this crisis, for I knew he was
bound to be had. Walter never does have game licences, season tickets,
adhesive labels, telegraph forms or things of that sort. And as he
had only returned from Canada two days before and this was the first
time that he had been out, and further as he immediately disappeared
and hid behind the hedge, I knew that my worst suspicions must be
confirmed. While the Excise Officer was taking down the names and
addresses of the rest of the party I went after Walter. He was sitting
in the ditch with his head in his hands.

"If this had happened a few years ago, old chap," he said, "when I
was a younger man, I should have run for it. But to-day I believe that
feller would overhaul me within half-a-mile. My wind's rotten. Do you
think he'll find us here?"

"Yes," said I, "he is coming this way."

Walter got up. "There must be some way out of it," he said
thoug