arf the screw as I earn

By my six days of nose-to-the-grinstone of Gaffer. He'd larf if he knowed.

But if it ain't his bloomin' fault for his sport-'ating 'umbug, I'm blowed.

Derby Dampers.

Having no invitation to join a company on a drag. Having no money to pay for a railway ticket to the course. Having no friends rich enough or rash enough to advance a trifle on account. Having no notion of the betting and no knowledge of the horses engaged. Having no time, no money, and last, but not least, no inclination.

"All Noddin'."—The Western Daily Mercury records that the New Woman has broken out in a new place—as A Lady Auctioneer. Woman at all times has known how to go it hammer and tongs. Advanced Femininity drops the tongs, but sticks to the hammer. Formerly man was often gone on fair woman—rather expected of him. The lady now prefers to do the "Going, going, gone," herself. Awful vistas opened up. Will a wink be as good as a nod to the Lady Auctioneer? Will "dinner eyes" have to yield to "auction winks"? A for-bidding prospect.

A DOUBTFUL "STAYER."

L-bby. "YOU AIN'T GOT MUCH OF A MOUNT, GUV'NOR!"

R-s-b-ry. "P'R'APS NOT,—BUT I'LL RIDE HIM FOR ALL HE'S WORTH!"

THE SCARLET PARASOL.

Scene II.—Drawing-room. Windows opening on to Terrace.
Ladies alone.

Muriel (to Viola). Claude Mignon has been saying that I am the only woman he has ever loved!

Viola. Exactly what he says to me!

Muriel. Is it a boast—or a confession?

Viola (quietly). It is a lie, that's all. But what did Alan Roy say? He didn't speak to me.

Muriel. He says you have a far-away look in your eyes.

Viola (eagerly). Yes? I did my best!

Muriel (simply). So I told him you wanted to have a secret in your life—a romance. He seemed very much interested.

Viola. Oh, Muriel! How could you? How silly of you! I am very angry indeed.

Muriel (calmly). Why, Viola? Albert is getting accustomed to his being grown-up, and Claude to his being so young. They all like him immensely. But I think they will be glad when he goes away.

[Enter gentlemen.

Claude (talking to Alan). Yes, I felt I had something to say—and I said it—in one volume.

Alan. There is no mistake so fatal as to write because one has something to say.

Claude. How about Robinson Crusoe, Don Quixote——

Alan. I am afraid I never read them. I couldn't read till I was ten—and then I read dear Herbert Spencer.

[He tries to join Viola and passes Mrs. Averidge, who moves to leave room for him on the sofa, and smiles.

Alan (standing by the sofa). Weren't the flowers quite sweet on the table to-night, Mrs. Averidge?

Mrs. Averidge (trying to be original). I can't bear flowers.

Alan. What do you like, Mrs. Averidge?

Mrs. Averidge (looking out of the window). Oh—trees, I think.

Alan. What! on the table! (He escapes, and joins Viola.) Is that the moon outside, Mrs. Travers?

Viola (gazing at it intensely). I think it is.

Alan. Shall we go and see?

[They move out on to the terrace.

Muriel (sitting next to Mrs. Averidge). Isn't Alan Roy a little dear?

Mrs. Averidge (spitefully). So your sister seems to think. I had no idea she was so fond of children.

Muriel. He has such pretty ways! That new shade of blue is very fashionable, Mrs. Averidge. But it's a little trying to you, do you know? You don't mind my saying so, do you? [Amenities continue.

Mr. Averidge. It's perfectly amazing! That boy knows everything. He talks politics——

Claude. He's a staunch Tory!

Mr. Averidge. Literature——

Claude. He tells me he's not a Romanticist; he cares only for the Classics.

Mr. Averidge. Art——

Claude (resigned). He dismisses Symbolism with a word, smiles at Impressionism as old-fashioned, but speaks most kindly both of Millais and Whistler. He calls them "poor dears." I think that was the phrase. I won't be sure, but I think so.

Mr. Averidge. Yes, he's astounding.

[Ponders.

Claude (to Muriel). Aren't we going to have some music? How I should like you to play those chants to me again! Won't you, Miss Vane? I love sacred music so.

Muriel. Yes; with pleasure. Viola has had my organ put in the billiard-room, to be out of the way.

[Rises.

Claude (as he and Muriel go into the billiard-room). The worst point about these clever boys is that they are so cynical! No sentiment—no heart!

[Continues ad lib.

On the Terrace.

Alan (to Viola). You have very wonderful eyes, Mrs. Travers, haven't you?

Viola. Have I?

Alan. You know you have. Do you believe in palmistry?