under a bed."

So we are leaving him. And when I am in the mood for beauty I look at
William's mahogany sides and am soothed into slumber again ... and when
I want to adjust my watch (which always loses a little), I creep under
the spare-room bed and consult John. John alone of all our family keeps
the correct time, and it is a pity that he alone must live in
retirement.

THE MISSING CARD

What I say is this: A man has his own work to do. He slaves at the
office all day, earning a living for those dependent on him, and when he
comes home he may reasonably expect not to be bothered with domestic
business. I am sure you will agree with me. And you would go on to say,
would you not, that, anyhow, the insuring of his servants might safely
be left to his wife? Of course you would! Thank you very much.

I first spoke to Celia about the insuring of the staff some weeks ago.
Our staff consists of Jane Parsons the cook, the first parlourmaid
(Jane) and Parsons the upper housemaid. We call them collectively Jane.

"By the way," I said to Celia, "I suppose Jane is insured all right?"

"I was going to see about it to-morrow," said Celia.

I looked at her in surprise. It was just the sort of thing I might have
said myself.

"I hope she won't be unkind about it," I went on. "If she objects to
paying her share, tell her I am related to a solicitor. If she still
objects, er--tell her we'll pay it ourselves."

"I think it will be all right. Fortunately, she has no head for
figures."

This is true. Jane is an excellent cook, and well worth the L75 a year
or whatever it is we pay her; but arithmetic gives her a headache. When
Celia has finished dividing L75 by twelve, Jane is in a state of
complete nervous exhaustion, and is only too thankful to take the
nine-and-sixpence that Celia hands over to her, without asking any
questions. Indeed, _anything_ that the Government wished deducted from
Jane's wages we could deduct with a minimum of friction--from income-tax
to a dog-licence. A threepenny insurance would be child's play.

Three weeks later I said to Celia--

"Has an inspector been to see Jane's card yet?"

"Jane's card?" she asked blankly.

"The insurance card with the pretty stamps on."

"No.... No.... Luckily."

"You mean----"

"I was going to see about it to-morrow," said Celia.

I got up and paced the floor. "Really," I murmured, "really." I tried
the various chairs in the room, and finally went and