off," and vanishes. Look up
something else. "Liver and bacon." Not had it for years! Used to like
it. On reappearance of the planetary waiter, give my order. He nods
and vanishes. Wait patiently. Rather annoyed that my nearest neighbour
has used my part of the table for a dish containing broad beans. Glare
at him. No result. Planetary waiter has passed me twice--stop him
angrily the third time. He is less busy now--he pauses. He thrusts
bill of fare before me, and asks me "what I would please to want."
Explode and shout in tones of thunder, "Liver and bacon!" He
disappears, and comes back a few minutes later, saying, "Very sorry,
but when I first ordered it, liver and bacon _was_ on--now it's off.
Will I have a chop?" Reply angrily, "No." Same answer to "Steak,"
"Duck and green peas," "A cut off the beef joint," and "Irish stew."
Waiter asks (with forced civility), "What _will_ I have!" I return, as
I leave the restaurant, "Nothing!" On regaining the street (although
hungry) I am pleased to think that I am still obeying Dr. MORTIMER
GRANVILLE's directions!

No use trying cab or omnibus. Both failures. Why not walk? Good way
of wasting time, so begin to go northward, and in due course get to
Bloomsbury. Enter Museum. Umbrella seized. Approach Reading Room.
Civil attendant informs me that the Library is closed--taking stock,
or something! Then I have come all this way for nothing! Angry, but
inwardly contented. Doing nothing "very thoroughly!"

[Illustration]

Turn back. Why not go to a theatre? Certainly. Go to four in
succession, and find them all closed! Well, good way of wasting time,
Shall I visit one of the Exhibitions? Chelsea or Earl's Court? After
consideration, come to the conclusion that this would be worse than
doing nothing. Must draw the line somewhere!

After all, there is no place like home. Or shall I go to my Club? Yes.
Get there. Find it is being repaired, and that the members are taken
in somewhere else. Hate new scenes and new faces. Return to my first
idea, and make for my private address; but feel that it may be rather
dull, as my wife and the children are at the seaside. Still, somebody
can get me a little supper. At least, I hope so. Find my latch-key
is of no use, on account of the chain being up. Ring angrily, when
a charwoman in a bonnet appears, and explains that the servants,
not expecting me home so early, have gone to the play, having
locked up the larder. Charwoman agrees with me tha