TO; THEY'VE BEEN SO BUSY GETTIN' OUT OF THE WAY OF
YOU YOUNG OFFICER GENTS SINCE YOU CAME 'OME."]

* * * * *

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

(_BY MR. PUNCH'S STAFF OF LEARNED CLERKS._)

Finding _Midas and Son_ (METHUEN) described on the wrapper as a tale
of "the struggle of a young man and his immense riches," I said to
myself (rather like _Triplet_ in the play) that here was a struggle at
which it would greatly hearten me to assist. As a fact, however, the
conflict proved to be somewhat postponed; it took Mr. STEPHEN McKENNA
more than two hundred pages to get the seconds out of the ring and
leave his hero, _Deryk_, face to face with an income of something over
a million a year. Before this happened the youth had become engaged
to a girl, been thrown over by her, experienced the wiles of Circe and
gone in more or less vaguely for journalism. Then came the income and
the question what to do with it. Of course he didn't know how to use
it to the best advantage; it is universal experience that other people
never do. But _Deryk_ impressed me as more than commonly lacking
in resource. All he could think of was to finance and share in an
archaeological venture (rather fun), and to purchase a Pall Mall
club-house--apparently the R.A.C.--and do it up as a London abode for
himself and his old furniture. Also for his wife, as fortune had now
flung him again into the arms of his early love. But it is just here
that the subtle and slightly cruel cleverness of Mr. McKENNA's scheme
becomes manifest. The million-a-year had been at work on _Deryk_; it
had slain his capacity for romance. In plain words, he found that he
cared more for his furniture than for his _fiancee_, whose adoration
soon bored him to shrieking point. So there you are. I shall not
betray the author's solution of his own problem. I don't think
he has proved his somewhat obvious point as to the peril of great
possessions. _Deryk_ was hardly a quite normal subject, and
_Idina_ (the girl) was a little fool who would have irritated a
crossing-sweeper. But what he certainly has done is to provide some
scenes of pre-war London not unworthy to be companion pictures to
those in _Sonia_; and this, I fancy, will be good enough for most
readers.

* * * * *

Its publishers call _The Pot Boils_ (CONSTABLE) a "provocative" book,
and certainly the title at least deserves this epithet. But I decline
to be drawn into the ob