"Er—" hesitated the young man.

"Well, I had thought of the R.A.M.C. Mother's idea was——"

Private Penny groaned. "You know," he said with emotion, "I've took a kind of fancy to you, Percy. And if it's me dying breath I says—don't! That kind of work ain't right nor proper for the likes of you. Why, you 'ave to go out in the field there (and you ain't even armed, nor protected, mind you!) and you 'ave to see the most orrerble sights! Can't I tell by yer face, can't I see with me understanding eyes that you're the sort that would go mad in no time if you 'ad some o' them things to do? If it's me last word——" Emotion choked him.

Percy looked wildly around. "There's the Artillery," he gasped, "if that's your advice."

Private Penny burst into a sob of uncontrollable anguish. "Percy," he moaned, "if you want to break me heart, that's the way to do it! Say I've advised you to that, if you like, but it ain't true. With all me soul I says—don't do it. Think, dear boy, think. Kinsider the guns!—the noise—the smoke—the smell—the bursting shells all round—the mad horses and mules everywhere. If you 'ave any affection for me in your 'eart, Percival, leave the guns alone! If you can't control your courage for my sake—your fool'ardiness, Percy!—think of all your dear ones at 'ome and turn back before it is too late!"

Percy shuddered. "I might try the Engineers," he said hopelessly, "but I don't——"

"If," said Private Penny in the still tones of despair, "I have druv you to this, I shall cut me throat. I can't live with that on me conscience. 'Ave you thought of the danger of mining and sapping? 'Ave you kinsidered field telegrafts? 'Ave you—'ot-'eaded and impulsive as you are—'ave you kinsidered anything? Percy, if you're set on this job, tell me quick, and put me out of me agony!"

"No," said Percy abruptly. "But"—with sudden misgiving—"w-what can I do? I'm on my way to join and I must join something."

Private Penny pushed his mug over to be re-filled. "I'm an infantryman myself," he said carelessly, "and I speaks as one that knows. And wot I says is—if you wants a cheerful protected kinder life, with a quiet 'ole to 'ide yer 'ead in—if you wants rest and comfort, kimbined with plenty o' fresh air—if you wants to serve yer King and country without any danger to yer 'ealth, then the infantry's the life for you, and the trenches is the place to spend it in. Ain't I been out there one solid year, and no 'arm 'appened to me yet? It's child's play, that it is, sitting there in a 'ole, with big guns booming over you protective-like from be'ind and killing all the enemy in front for you. And yer food and yer love-letters brought to you regular, and doctors and parsons to see you whenever you feels queer. Take my advice, Percy my son—join the Infantry at once and make sure of a gentleman's life. I've took a fancy to you, and I tells you straight." And he eclipsed himself behind his replenished mug.

"Thank you very much," said Percy gratefully, "I can see that the Infantry is the place for me. I shall insist upon joining it. Thank you very much for all your advice——"

At this moment a great wave of khaki burst into the room and swept to the counter, clamouring for attention. On the crest of it came Percy's friends in mufti, and once, across the tumult, his voice reached my ears. "... quite decided...." he was saying loftily, "some infantry regiment or other just seems...." and he was jostled away in the centre of an admiring group.

Involuntarily I looked across at Private Penny.

One eye met mine from behind an upturned mug, and the lid fell and rose again, once, rapidly; he too had heard.

"A Council of War in the Desert.

"British Officers are here seen holding a 'bow-wow.'"—Western Weekly News.

Very natural. In the desert most days are "dog-days."

Colonel (on a round of inspection, during prolonged pause in manœuvres). "And what is the disposition of your men, Sergeant?"

Sergeant. "Fed-up, Sir!"

THE NEUTRAL NEWSMONGER.

Humiliation of Jones, who hitherto has been accustomed to drop off unaided.

HINTS TO MANAGERS.

A new and very popular addition to the comic opera, Tina, at the Adelphi, is a stage representation of "Eve," the writer of "The Letters of Eve" in The Tatler, together with her retinue and her dog.

Here we see Journalism and the Drama more than ever mutually dependent, and the developments of the idea might be numberless. Lord Times, in A Kiss for Cinderella, already illustrates one of them; but why not a complete play, with favourite newspaper contributors as the dramatis personæ? or a revue, to be called, say, The Tenth Muse, or Hullo, Inky!

Or, if not a whole play or revue, a scene could be arranged in which the great scribes processed past. One group might consist of Carmelite Friars, with "Quex" and "The Rambler," each with a luncheon host on one arm and a musical-comedy actress on the other; "An Englishman," with his scourge of knotted cords, on his eternal but honourable quest for a malefactor; and "Robin Goodfellow," still, in spite of war and official requests for economy, pointing to the glories of the race-course and pathetically endeavouring to find winners. These would make an impressive company—with a good song and dance to finish up with.

The Referee's contribution would obviously be too easy; it would simply be like a revival of King Arthur. The audience, however, would be in luck when "Dagonet" got really warmed up to tell yet once more the thrilling story of how he met Henry Pettitt in the brave days of old.

A whiff of The Three Musketeers would exhilarate the house at the entry of "Chicot," the Jester of The Sketch; while finally we might look for an excellent effect from "Claudius Clear" and "A Man