a man were just making me up as he went along.

And the next article? Yes, my imagination.

I have imagination of a certain kind. It has nothing to do with
invention or fancy. It is not a mental faculty at all. It is not
physical. Neither is it paralysis, butterscotch, or three spades
re-doubled. I should so much like to give some idea of it if I
had any. Perhaps an instance will help.

I remember that I once said to the Dean of Belial that I thought the
naming of a Highland hotel "The Light Brigade" showed a high degree of
imagination.

"Half a moment," said the Dean. "I think I know that one. No--can't get
it. Why was the hotel called that?"

"Because of its terrific charges."

"Yes," he said wearily. "I've heard it. But"--more brightly--"can you
tell me why a Highland regiment was called 'The Black Watch'?"

"I can, Massa Johnson. Because there's a 'b' in both."

"Wrong again. It's because there's an 'e' in each."

I gave him a half-nelson to the jaw and killed him, and the entire
company then sung "Way down upon de Swannee Ribber," with harmonium
accompaniment, thus bringing the afternoon performance to a close. The
front seats were half empty, but then it was late in the season, and
looked like rain, and--

Certainly, I can stop if you like. But you do see what I mean, don't
you? The imagination is something that runs away with you. If I were to
let mine get away with me, it would knock this old autobiography all to
splinters.

But I do not appear to have the kind of imagination that makes me know
what will hurt people's feelings. If I love people I always tell them
what their worst faults are, and repeat what everybody says about them
behind their back. That ought to make people say: "Thank you, Marge, for
your kind words. They will help me to improve myself." It has not
happened yet. It is my miraculous power of criticism that causes the
trouble. Whenever I let it off the lead it seems to bite somebody; a
muzzle has been suggested.

The other day I said to Popsie Bantam: "You're quite right to bob your
hair, Popsie. When you have not got enough of anything, always try to
persuade people that you want less. But your rouge-et-noir make-up is
right off the map. If you could manage to get some of the colours in
some of the right places, people would laugh less. And I can never quite
decide whether it's your clothes that are all wrong, or if it's just
your figure. I wish you'd tell me. Anyhow, you shou