* * * *

[Illustration: _Neighbour (bearer of message, to billiard
enthusiast)._ "YOU'RE WANTED AT 'OME, CHARLIE. YER WIFE'S JUST
PRESENTED YER WITH ANOTHER REBATE OFF YER INCOME-TAX."]

* * * * *

HOW TO DEAL WITH WINDBAGS.

"The address was punctured throughout with cheers."--_West
Indian Paper._

* * * * *

"There would be a grand dinner and music, and
splendidly-dressed ladies to look at, and things to eat that
strangely twisted the girls' paws when they tried to tell
about them," _Weekly Paper._

Mem.--Never try to talk the deaf-and-dumb language after dinner.

* * * * *

[Illustration: _Profiteer (to his wife)._ "PRETTY MIXED LOT AT THIS
HOTEL. 'ERE COME SOME MORE O' THEM PRE-WAR BLIGHTERS."]

* * * * *

THE BARKER THAT MISSED FIRE.

On hearing a shuffle of feet in the porch and the clearing of little
throats, I exclaimed, "Those carols again!" If between "those" and
"carols" I inserted another word, I withdraw it.

I went into the hall and barked like a dog.

I have often said that, if anyone could earn a hundred pounds a week
on the stage by barking like a dog, I could. Children like to come to
my house to tea merely for the thrill of listening to my imitation. I
used to flatter myself that I could bark like a dog even better than
NELSON KEYS can imitate GERALD DU MAURIER.

I hardly gave the carol-singers time even to mention Royal David's
city before I barked. Instantly one pair of little feet scuttled away
towards the gate; then a voice called, "Don't be silly, Alfy; come on
back."

Two small girls stood at the front-door as I opened it. One of them
smiled up at me and said, "He thinks he's going to be bit." She
appeared to be amused by the idea. Down by the gate was a small
muffled figure carrying a Chinese lantern. "Come on back, Alfy,"
she called again, "and let's sing to the gentleman. You see," she
explained to me in confidence, "he's got addleoids and can't sing
loud, so we let him hold the lantern."

I was beginning to feel sorry that I had played a trick on such
inoffensive children and was about to assure them that my savage
bull-terrier was safely locked up in the kitchen when the brave little
lass began chattering again.

"My dad keeps dogs--all sorts," she told me, "and sells them to
gentlemen. So I'm used