_(With acknowledgments to some of our contemporaries.)_
_A Long-Felt Want._
The opening, next week, of a Training School for Bus and Tube Travellers
will, it is hoped, supply a long-felt want in the Metropolis. I
understand that a month's course at the establishment will enable the
feeblest of mortals to hold his own and more in the fearful mêlée that
rages daily round train and vehicle. I have a prospectus before me as
I write; here are some of its sub-heads: "The Strap-Hanger's
Stranglehold," "Foot Frightfulness," "How to Enter a Bus Secretly," "The
Umbrella Barrage," "Explosives--When their Use is Justified," "What to
do when the Conductor Falls off the Bus." This certainly promises a
speedy amelioration of present-day travelling conditions.
_Timbuctoo Tosh_.
Last week, when all those ridiculous rumours anent Timbuctoo were flying
about, you will remember how I warned you to set no faith in them. You
will admit that I was a good counsellor. Nothing _has_ happened at
Timbuctoo. I doubt very much whether anything _could_ happen there.
_Hush!_
On the other hand, keep your eye on a spot not a thousand miles away
from Clubland. Something will certainly happen there some day, and, when
it does, bear in mind that I warned you.
_Amazing Discovery._
Mr. ROOSEVELT'S discovery that, unknown to himself, he has been blind in
one eye for over a year, is surely surpassed by the experience of Mr.
Caractacus Crowsfeet, the popular M.P. for Slushington, who has just
learnt, as the result of a cerebral operation, that he possesses no
brain whatever. "It is indeed remarkable," said Mr. C. to me the other
day, "for I can truthfully assert that in all my arduous political
labours of the past ten years I have never felt the need or even
noticed the absence of this organ." He coughed modestly. "I have always
maintained that in politics it is the man, not the mind, that counts."
_She Has One!_
Mrs. Zebulon Napthaliski proposes to spend the winter on her Brighton
estate. "Yes--I _have_ received my sugar card," she told me, in answer
to my eager query. "More than that I cannot say."
_Fare and Foliage._
That charming fashion of decorating the dinner-table with foliage will
be all the rage this winter. Well-known London hostesses, basket on arm,
may daily be seen in Mayfair garnering fallen leaves from lawn, path or
roadside. Some very daring Society women are dispensing altogether with
a cloth, the table being covered with a complete layer of leaves. I
doubt, however, whether this will become popular, guests showing a
tendency to mislay their knives and forks in the foliage.
_A Bon Mot._
Have you heard the latest _bon mot_ that is going the round of the
clubs? Mrs. Savory Beet, of Pacifist fame, has, as you will recall,
announced her intention of taking up war work. "Ah!" was the comment of
a cynical bachelor, "it was a case of her taking up something or being
taken up herself!" His audience simply screamed with laughter.
* * * * *
_Watch Out!_
Don't be surprised if you hear of some sensational political
developments in the near future. The Minister who said recently that
the inevitable sequel to war was peace, was, in the opinion of those
competent to judge but, by reason of their official position, unable to
criticise, hinting at proposals which, if the signs and portents of the
time go for anything, would have far-reaching effects on the question of
Electoral Representation. I will say no more. Time alone will disclose
my meaning.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Urchin (with an inborn terror of the Force)._ "Oo,
MUVVER! IT WON'T, WILL IT?"]
* * * * *