athroom (with one circular
bath) and one tool-shed to hold one tool.

Even so you will probably have to make concessions. Your window will be
hexagonal and your bath square. But your worries are over. The architect
will choose a builder and between them they will build your house during
the next six years, which you will spend in lodgings. It is a long time to
wait, certainly, but you will find plenty of amusement in occasionally
counting the number of bricks that have been laid since last time. And then
in 1926, as you smoke your pipe in your study and gaze out of your
hexagonal window, you will not covet the Paradise of ADAM, the first
gardener.

* * * * *

RHYMES OF THE UNDERGROUND.

Adolphus Minns resides at Kew
And does what people ought to do.

In boarding trains his instincts are
To "let 'em first get off the car,"
Then "hurry up" himself to enter,
And "pass along right down the centre."

Though nigh his destination be
No selfish "door-obstructor" he:
Rather than bear such imputation
He'll travel on beyond his station.

His unexceptionable ways
E'en liftmen have been known to praise--
A folk censorious and, as such,
Not given to praising over-much.

Small need have they to shout a grim
"No smoking in the lift" at him,
Or ask if he's the only one
For whom the lift is being run.

Adolphus Minns, who lives at Kew,
Does all that people ought to do--
Retires to bed before eleven,
Is up and shaved by half-past seven--
And, when he dies, he'll go to Heaven.

Perhaps he's gone; I've never met
His like at Kew or elsewhere yet.

* * * * *

THE DISSIMULATION OF SUZANNE.

The telephone bell rang just as I was beginning breakfast.

"What is your number, please?" asked an imperious voice.

In an emergency I never can remember my own number.

"Just hold on a minute while I look it up," I begged. Feverishly I turned
over the leaves of the telephone directory and, cutting with a blunt finger
the page containing the small advertisement that keeps my name before the
public eye, at last found and transmitted the desired information.

"Don't go away," said the voice again, this time with a shade of weariness
in its tone. "Chesterminster wants you."

I wasn't going away, because before Suzanne left me to visit her relatives
in Middleshire I had vowed that nothing would induce me to do so. But