n on the 24th, I am giving a reading from
my own works at the United Intensities Club--"A Night with Endymion
Browne."

Dear Sir,--What you say is O.K. KITCHENER must have men and all that
sort of thing. Show the KAISER who's boss, and so on. But there are some
men who _can't_ possibly go. And I'm one. It's all very well to say
"Go," but _if_ I go--let me ask you quite seriously--how on earth is
Smoketown Tuesday F.C. to lift the English pot? I don't want to shout
about myself, but it is a known fact that I'm positively the _only_
centre forward they've got. I'm worth L200 a week to the gate alone. If
you don't care to accept my word, that it is absolutely _impossible_ for
me to go, I'll refer you to what our secretary says at foot.

Yours,
ALF BOOTER.

_Note by Secretary_--What Booter says is quite true. He is
indispensable. We paid L1,000 for his transfer, and could not possibly
sanction his leaving us. Besides, some of his many thousand admirers
might want to follow his example, and where would our gate be then?

Dear Sir,--If I was to go and enlist, how could I follow the Occident
and help 'em to win the League Championship? There it is, quite
short--how? And if I didn't follow, and if others like me didn't follow,
how'd the club stick it? How'd it keep going? What price duty of staying
at home?

I am, yours truly,
BERT SOCKSLEY.

[Dictated.]

Sir,--I snatch a moment to answer your letter, "Why don't I go to fight
the Germans?" I _am_ fighting them. I cleared L500 this morning which,
before the war, would have gone into a German pocket. My motto is
"Business as usual," and I have no complaints whatever against the
Germans so long as I can go on fighting them some more in my own way.

Yours faithfully,
GEORGE CRABBE.

My Dear Sir,--Your letter for my brother, John Halton, has reached me by
mistake, but I'll answer it. "Why don't I go?" Just send me a recipe for
turning me into a boy, and you'll not have to ask me twice.

Yours very sincerely,
JOAN HALTON.

Dear Sir,--I know what my job is, so don't you come poking your nose in
where it isn't wanted. I'm for England, I am. And I'm doing my bit. _The
Evening Wiper_ said only the other day that a Britisher's duty was to
keep cheerful, and that the man who did that was serving his country.
Well, I _am_ cheerful--I didn't turn a hair even over Mons--slept
exactly the same, and had bacon and tomato for my breakfast. Then they
say, "Carry o