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A MINISTERIAL ATTITUDE.

Wife (to amateur politician). "Nah then—where do you think you are? In the 'Ouse o' Commons?"

SO LONG.

THE NEW POOR.

"Good morning, Madam. I deal in cast-off clothing."

"Oh, how lucky! Do you think you have anything that would suit my husband?"

THE SMUGGLER.

(With the British Army in France.)

"If I am to be a bold bad smuggler, old scream," said Percival, packing pyjamas and parcels into his bag, "I demand the proper costume and accessories of the craft. No self-respecting smuggler can be expected to run a cargo in a British warm and field-boots."

"Of course, my swaggering buccaneer, if you want to do it in the grand manner," answered Frederick, "I'll arrange for the saucy little cutter, the sequestered cove an' the hard-riding exciseman with a cocked hat and cutlass. But the simpler if less picturesque way is to dump your bag on the counter at the Customs House and be taken with a fit of sneezing when the Grand Inquisitor asks you if you have anything to declare."

"Whereupon he'll hand me a quinine tablet and, when I show signs of convalescence, repeat the question in a loud voice. And if I don't know the correct answer I'll find myself meditating in Portland or Pentonville. That's what I'm exposing myself to by obliging corrupt an' unscrupulous friends," continued Percival bitterly.

"Hang it!" expostulated Frederick, "the potty little bottle of scent I'm asking you to deliver to my cousin Julia won't get you more than a seven-days' stretch. And you've got fourteen days' leave."

"Well, I won't grumble about that, although I'd arranged my programme differently. But what about the box of Flor Fantomas I'm taking for the Major, and the bottle of whisky with which the skipper has entrusted me for the purpose of propitiating his projected father-in-law, to say nothing of the piece of Brussels lace which Binnie says is for his aunt. Their combined weight will just about earn me a lifer. I can see me wiring the War Office for an extension of leave on urgent business grounds—nature of business, to enable applicant to complete term of penal servitude."

"Don't, Percival, old crumpet," murmured Frederick, visibly affected; "the thought of you languishing in a felon's cell, without cigarettes, gives me a pain in my heart. Let me see what I can do for you."

In a few minutes he was back, beaming. "I've fixed it all right, mon lapin," he said; "if the worst comes to the worst they'll bail you out with the Mess funds. But they won't accept further responsibility. The Major says, if a fellow who's spent his whole career dodging duties can't dodge the duty on a box of cigars he doesn't deserve sympathy."

So Percival proceeded on leave with a heavy bag and a heavier conscience. On the boat he was greeted hilariously by Gillow the gunner and Sparkes the sapper, who invited him below to drink success to the voyage. In order to give the voyage no chance of failure they continued to drink success to it until the vessel backed into Folkestone Harbour, when they felt their precautions might be relaxed.

"Thanks to our efforts we've arrived safely," said Gillow as they strolled up on deck; "but the sight of jolly old England doesn't seem to be moving you to mirth and song, Percival. Why this outward-bound expression when we're on the homeward tack, my hearty?"

"It's the gnawing molar of conscience," said Percival ruefully; "I've got a consignment of pink-ribboned parcels in my bag which I know to contain contraband and which I also suspect—Frederick's and Binnie's anyway—to contain amorous missives not meant for vulgar eyes. If I deliver the parcels with the seals broken I shall get the glacial glare from the damsels concerned, and when I get back scorpions and poisoned bill-hooks will be too good for poor Percival."

"Phew!" whistled Sparkes. "They go through your baggage with a fine toothcomb nowadays. Couldn't you drop over the side with your bag and drift ashore on a deserted beach, disguised as a floating mine?"

"I've cut impersonations of hardware out of my répertoire since the day I failed to get past an R.T.O. disguised as a brass-hat," said Percival sadly. "I suppose I must fall back on direct action. I've a feeling that England expects every man this day to pay his duty."

On the quay there was the usual mad charge of porters. Percival indicated his bag to one of them with a distracted air, and followed him to the Customs House guiltily. The porter dumped the bag before an official, who had a piece of chalk hopefully poised between his fingers.

"'Nything t' 'clare?" he asked, preparing to affix the sign which spelt freedom.

Percival blew his nose violently, hoping the chalk would descend to save him the necessity of answering, but it remained poised in mid-air.

"Anything to declare?" repeated the official, with emphasis.

"Er," said Percival weakly—"nothing that you need worry about—only a few presents."

"I'll have to trouble you for your keys, then," said the incorruptible.

Percival sighed dismally and produced them. Suddenly he noticed Gillow declaring his baggage, and became so interested that he failed to perceive that the official was in difficulties with the lock of his bag.

"This the right key, Sir?" demanded the latter at length.

"Oh, yes," said Percival absently. "But perhaps the bag isn't locked."

The bag wasn't. It opened easily, and the official plunged into a welter of articles of personal use; but no parcels or dutiable goods came to light.

"P'raps you think it's a joke, wasting my time like this," snorted the official indignantly. "All I can say is, it's an infernal bad one."

"Awf'lly sorry," said Percival sweetly, as his eye followed Gillow, who had emerged unchallenged. "I must have forgotten to bring the parcels I spoke about."

Smiling cheerfully, he directed the porter to place his bag by the side of Gillow's in a Pullman, and took his seat with an expression of complete content.

"How fares the master criminal?" asked Sparkes.

"A sympathetic friend took my troubles on his shoulders," said Percival, "and got the parcels through with an effrontery which amazed me. I always took him for an upright youth, too."

"Who was it?" asked Gillow.

"You! Didn't you notice you took my bag by