oon to melt your nape
As it were butter.

"His clothes are not the man," I freely own,
Yet often they express the stuff they hide,
As yours, I like to fancy, take their tone
From stern, ascetic qualities inside;
Just as the soldier's heavy marching-gear
Conceals a heart of high determination,
Too big, in any temperature, to fear
Nervous prostration.

I cite the warrior's case who goes through fire;
For you, no less a patriot, face your risk
When in your country's service you perspire
In blacks that snort at Phoebus' flaming disc;
So, till a medal (justly made of jet)
Records your grit and pluck for all to know 'em,
I on your chest with safety-pins will set
This inky poem.

O. S.

* * * * *

"THE PURPLE LIE."

"Arabella," I said, examining the fuzzy part of her which projected
above the dome of the coffee-pot, "I perceive that you mope. That being
so, I am glad to be able to tell you that I have been presented with two
tickets for _The Purple Lie_ to-morrow evening."

"Sorry," she replied, "but it's off."

"Off!" I exclaimed indignantly, "when the box-office is being besieged
all day by a howling mob, and armoured commissionaires are constantly
being put into commission to defend it. Off!"

"What I mean to say is," said Arabella, "that we're dining with the
Messington-Smiths to-morrow evening."

I bowed my head above the marmalade and wept. "Arabella," I groaned,
looking up at last, "what have we done that these people should continue
to supply us with food? We do not love them, and they do not love us.
The woman is a bromide. Her husband is even worse. He is a phenacetin. I
shall fall asleep in the middle of the asparagus and butter myself
badly. Think, moreover, of the distance to Morpheus Avenue. Remember
that I have been palpitating to see _The Purple Lie_ for weeks."

"So have I," said Arabella. "It's sickening, but I am afraid we must
pass those tickets on."

I happened that day to be lunching with my friend Charles. "The last
thing in the world I want to do," I said to him, "is to oblige you in
any way, but I chance to have--ahem!--purchased two stalls for _The
Purple Lie_ which I cannot make use of. I had forgotten that I am dining
with some very important and--er--influential people to-morrow night.
When a man moves as I do amid a constant whirl of gilt-edged
engagements----"

"Ass!"