"It is to be particularly noted that entries are only being made
for 12 years' service, and not for duration of war."--_Evening
Paper_.
* * * * *
"Summoned at Barry for having driven a horse whilst drunk, Antonio
Millonas was stated to have narrowly missed a policeman and two
children."--_Western Mail_.
We are all in favour of prohibition for horses.
* * * * *
=IN A GOOD CAUSE.=
The Newport Market Army Training School, Greencoat Place, Westminster,
which has for over fifty years been training homeless and destitute
boys to become soldiers of the KING, and has sent over two thousand
into the Army, is in great need of funds. Mr. Punch cordially supports
the appeal of the President of the School, H.R.H. the Duke of
CONNAUGHT, who "sincerely hopes the public will generously support
an Institution that has for so many years quietly and unobtrusively
furnished a Christian home and education to poor and outcast lads, and
has supplied the Army with so many good and gallant soldiers."
Donations and inquiries should be addressed to the Secretary, the Rev.
H.A. WILSON, 20, Great Peter Street, Westminster, S.W.1.
* * * * *
A Credit to the Commonwealth.
"COCKATOO, Australian, splendid talker, does not
swear."--_Newcastle Evening Chronicle_.
* * * * *
=THE HAT AND THE VISIT.=
"Francesca," I said, "does my hat really look all right?"
When I put this momentous question we were in a train, being bound on
a visit to Frederick at his preparatory school. A sudden doubt had
just assailed me as to my presentability. Should I, as a father, be
looked upon as a credit or a disgrace to my son? Francesca took some
time before she answered my question. Then she spoke.
"Your hat," she said, "is well enough."
"I see what it is," I said; "you think I ought to have worn a top-hat.
There are still occasions when a top-hat may, nay, must be worn; and
this, you think, is one of them. There are solemnities and venerations
that only a top-hat can inspire in the naturally irreverent mind of
youth. A father in any other hat is a ridiculously youthful object and
has no business to inflict himself on his son. Very well. I would not
for worlds spoil Frederick's half-holiday by shaming him in the eyes
of his schoolfellows."
"What do you propose to do about it, then? You can't alter your hat
now."
"No," I said, "I can't; but I can get out of the train at the next
station and go home and leave you in your comparative spickness and
your relative spanness to spend your afternoon with the boy. Or, stay,
there must be a shop in Belfield where top-hats can be bought. It is a
cathedral city and possesses dignitaries of the Church who still wear
top-hats, and----"
"But those are special top-hats. You couldn't go to Frederick in a
bishop's hat, now could you?"
"No-o-o," I said doubtfully, "perhaps I couldn't. But suppose I wore
the gaiters too--wouldn't that make it all right?"
"I should like," she said, "to see Frederick's face on perceiving the
new bishop."
"Francesca," I said, "you talk as if no boys ever had bishops for
their fathers. Let me assure you, on the contrary, that there are many
bishops who have large families of both sexes. I once stayed with a
bishop, and I never heard anybody attempt to make a mockery of his
gaiters."
"But they were his own. He couldn't be a bishop without them."
"That fact doesn't render them immune from laughter. My present hat,
for instance, is my own, and yet you have been laughing at it ever
since I called your attention to it."
"Not at all; I have been admiring it. I said it was well enough, and
so it is. What more can you want?"
"I only hope," I said, "that Frederick will think so too. It would be
too painful to dash the cup of half-holiday joy from a boy's lips by
wearing an inappropriate hat."
"You're too nervous altogether about the impression you're going to
make on Frederick. Take example by me. I've got a hat on."
"You have," I said fervently. "It has grazed my face more than once."
"It is feeding," she said, "on your damask cheek. But I'm quite calm
in spite of it."
"But then," I said, "you never knew Rowell."
"No. Who was he?"
"Rowell," I said, "was a schoolfellow of mine, and he had a father."
"Marvellous! And a mother too, I suppose."
"Yes," I said, "but she doesn't come into the story. Rowell's father
had a passion, it appears, for riding, and one dreadful afternoon,
when we were playing cricket, he rode into the cricket-field. _He was
wearing trousers, and his trousers had rucked up to his knees._ It was
a terrific sight, and, though we all pretended not to see and were
very sorry for young Rowell, he felt the blow most keenly. I hope my
hat won't be like Rowell's father's trousers."
"It isn't a bit like them yet," said Francesca.