beauty and his wealth? (Aloud, hopefully, as a thought strikes him) But stay—war with Germany—perhaps you are a pauper also?

M.B. Not I, indeed. I am a maker of munitions. A-ha!      [Twirls his moustache.

G.J. (losing his temper). Cur!      [Exit, to enlist, into cupboard. Before he has time to realise his mistake the curtain falls.

ACT II.

Hyde Park, August, 1915.

A dozen energetic supers, by being extremely glad to see one another very many times, are creating the illusion of a gay and fashionable throng. Enter Marmaduke Beltravers with Mary. She is distraite.

M.B. (in full hearing of fashionable throng). Darling, I have waited patiently for you. Say that you will marry me now.

Mary. Marmaduke, you are rich, you are beautiful and you are kind to me in your rather wicked way. But, alas! I cannot forget the noble figure of George—my George.     [She sobs.

Enter George Jeffreys, in the uniform of a private.

G.J. Mary!

M.B. (intervening jauntily). Well, my man?

G.J. (his vocabulary strengthened by Army life). You dash blank blighter! You ruddy plague-spot!

Mary (gazing at him with horror). Oh, George, those—clothes—don't—fit!      [Sobs heartbrokenly.

M.B. (striking while the iron is hot). Mary, you shall choose between us, here and now.

G.J. (yearningly). Mary, with you to cheer me on I will win the V.C. I swear it. My beloved, come with me; there will be a separation allowance.

Mary (shuddering). Not in those trousers. I—can't.      [She swoons in Marmaduke's arms. George raises his fist to strike Marmaduke. Enter Sergeant Tompkins.

Sergt. T. 'Ere, none o' that. Private Jeffreys, 'SHUN! Right—TURN! About—TURN! Left—TURN! Quick—MARCH!      [Exit George to win V.C.

CURTAIN.

ACT III.

Marmaduke's Mansion in Park Lane, August, 1916.

[Enter Mary Beltravers (née Gray), unhappy.

Mary. My little dog—my only friend—I cannot find him. (She rummages absently among the papers on her husband's desk. Suddenly she snatches up a document, reads it through and clutches at her throat.) My husband—a German ser-py! (She turns savagely on Marmaduke, who has just entered.) So this—this is the source of our wealth! Your munitions arm our enemies. You play the German game.

M.B. (simply). I do. I have a birth qualification.

Mary (wildly). But I'll thwart you; I'll denounce you (seizes telephone). You shall rue the day you married a true daughter of England.

M.B. (with sinister significance). Remember, Mary, "to love, honour and OBEY." Put down that instrument.      [With a gesture of despair she lets the receiver fall, thus driving the girl at the exchange nearly frantic. Suddenly the door is thrown open. Enter Captain George Jeffreys with Sergeant-Major Tompkins and squad of soldiers.

G.J. Marmaduke Beltravers, né Heinrich Hoggenheimer, the game is up. (Marmaduke dashes to the window. The dozen supers outside raise a howl of execration mingled with cries of "Lynch the spy!") You see, there is no way of escape.

M.B. (drawing revolver). You shall not long enjoy your triumph. I have but one cartridge, but perchance it will be enough for you.      [Pulls trigger, but finds action rather stiff.

G.J. Look out, Mary! These things are rather tricky in inexperienced hands.      [Marmaduke succeeds in pulling trigger. There is a violent explosion and a large hole appears in George's breeches.

G.J. (calmly to the baffled Marmaduke). Bad luck! That's my cork one. I lost the original when I got this.      [Touches V.C. pinned on his breast.

M.B. (annoyed). Curse, and curse again!      [Gnawing his moustache he falls in with squad.

Sergt.-Major T. Prisoner and escort, 'SHUN! Stand at—EASE. 'SHUN. Move to the right in fours. Form—FOURS. RIGHT. By the left, quick—MARCH.      [Exeunt, leaving Mary in George's arms. The howls of execration redouble. Then there is a tense silence, broken by the sound of a volley.

George. Mary, my own! At last!

Mary. My hero.

CURTAIN.

SEASONABLE NOVELTIES.

The enterprise of the London and North-Western Railway officials, in designing a button to obviate delays at the gate caused by the new show-your-season order, has (we understand) spurred other lines to a similar ingenuity. Below are some of the latest novelties in ticket-substitutes.

THE POM-POM.—May be worn in any variety of hat. Very suitable for short travellers. A simple inclination of the head permits verification by the inspector. Made in two shades—dark green, covering any distance up to twenty-five miles of town, or red (as worn by anarchists and the staff of the L. & S.W.R.), covering a journey up to fifty miles.

UMBRELLA AND STICK TOPS, unscrewable, faced with plate-glass, permitting the insertion of a ticket, and its easy verification on being thrust under the nose of an official. Special quality fitted with small electric bulb for evening wear.

For those who desire a really striking and chic novelty, that up-to-date line, the Great Eccentric, is reported to have engaged a staff of expert tattoo artists, who will puncture the date and designation of the pass upon the left cheek of the holder. Being not only elegant in design but practically irremovable, these markings will form a permanent and increasingly interesting memento of the Great War. Price according to distance and lettering.

REAL PROBLEMS AT THE FRONT.

First C.O. "I TELL YOU WHAT. FIND ME A MAN WHO CAN COOK CUTLETS DECENTLY, AND YOU SHALL HAVE OUR SECOND-BEST PIERROT."

Tactless.

"THANKSGIVING SERVICE on Sunday, February 18th, Canon ——'s last day as Vicar of ——."—Midland Paper.

Another Glimpse of the Obvious.

"There is very general agreement in banking circles in the City as to the satisfactory character of the response which has already been made to the new War Loan, but good though it has been, the total must still be small compared with the need, and must fall infinitely short of the figure aimed at, which, of course, is unlimited."—Sunday Times.

THE SMILE OF VICTORY.

[According to Reuter's Washington Correspondent, women suffragists have of late regularly picketed the White House. When President WILSON appears "they deploy so that he cannot fail to see their banners. The President smiles broadly and passes on."]