handbills of the Conversation Club.

"That ought to do our business," said Langrish, flourishing one of the
documents in my face.

I took it, and read it with mingled pride and concern. It ran as
follows:--

Under the distinguished Patronage of the Nobility and Gentry of Low
Heath:

*A Philosophical Conversation Club* has been started for conversation on
Philosophy, Picnics, and Cross-country Runs. Meetings weekly; to be
announced. Subscription: Two shillings in advance; every member to find
himself. No town-boys or masters eligible. "Come in your hundreds!!!
No questions asked. Evening dress or flannels. The Inaugural Picnic
next week. Particulars on receipt of subscription. No connection with
any other so-called club in Low Heath! For further particulars apply to
the following:

Sarah Jones, Esquire, Pr.Ph.C.C, President.
Ted Langrish, Esquire, S.Ph.C.C, Secretary.
Wilfred Trimble, Esquire, T.Ph.C.C, Treasurer.
Jos. Warminster, Esquire, L.Ph.C.C, Librarian.
Tom Coxhead, Esquire, A.Ph.C.C, Auditor.
Michael Purkis, Esquire, R.Ph.C.C, Registrar.

P.S.--As the membership is strictly limited to 500, early application is
advised. No eligible cash offer refused! Our motto is "_Mens sano in
corpore sanae_."

I naturally bridled up at the record of my own name.

"Look here," said I; "you've stuck it down wrong again."

"Awfully sorry," said Langrish; "the printer chaps made a little slip
over the Christian name, but all the rest seems right. It's wonderful
how sharp they are, isn't it?"

"But you're going to have it corrected, surely?" said I.

"Why, it would cost a frightful lot!" protested the company. "We might
alter it in ink, but that would only call attention to it. Bless you,
no one will notice it. They'll put it down to a printer's error."

I was by no means satisfied, but their delight at the whole performance
was so unbounded that it was impossible to be as angry as I felt.

"It'll draw, and no mistake," said Trimble, who had evidently never seen
his name in print before. "Jolly well drawn up of you, Lang."

"Oh," said Langrish modestly, "when you know what you want to say, it's
easy enough to stick it down."

"That's why you stuck down 'Sarah,' I suppose," said I, rather crossly.

"I never knew such a kid as you," retorted Langrish; "you seem to fancy
nobody can think of anything but you and your washerwoman."

The conversation was drifting on to dangerous ground