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to-morrow, And would you check the list again
and see, Because she thinks she never had two collars Of what you sent,
but only five, because You marked it seven; and Mrs. Cobley says
There must be some mistake.
REV. A. HAVERTON (_pompously_): I will attend to it.
MRS. HAVERTON (_whispering angrily_): How can you, Archibald!
You haven't got The ghost of an idea about the washing! Sit down. (He
does so.) (_To Matilda_) Send the Girl in here.
MRS. HAVERTON sits down in a fume.
REV. A. HAVERTON: I think....
MRS. HAVERTON (_snapping_): I don't care what you think!
(Groans.) Oh, dear! I'm nearly off my head!
Enter MISS COBLEY. (She bobs.)
Good evening, m'm.
MRS. HAVERTON (_by way of reply_): Now, then! What's all this
fuss about the washing?

MISS COBLEY: Please, m'm, the seven collars, what you sent-- I mean
the seven what was marked--was wrong, And mother says as you'd
have had the washing Only there weren't but five, and would you
mind....
MRS. HAVERTON (_sharply_): I cannot understand a word you say.
Go back and tell your mother there were seven. And if she sends home
five she pays for two. So there! (Snorts.)
MISS COBLEY (_sobbing_): I'm sure I....
MRS. HAVERTON (_savagely_): Don't stand snuffling there! Go back
and tell your mother what I say.... Impudent hussy!...
(Exit MISS COBLEY _sobbing. A pause._)
REV. A. HAVERTON (_with assumed authority_): To return to Helen.
Tell me concisely and without complaints, Why did she give you
notice?
(_A hand-bell rings in the passage_.)
FIDO: Bow-wow-wow!
REV. A. HAVERTON (_giving him a smart kick_): Shurrup!
FIDO (_howling_). Pen-an'-ink! Pen-an'-ink Pen-an'-ink! Pen-an'-ink!
REV. A. HAVERTON (_controlling himself, as well as he can, goes to
the door and calls into the passage_): Miss Grosvenor! (_Louder_) ...
Miss Grosvenor!... Was that the bell for prayers? Was that the bell for
prayers?... (_Louder_) Miss Grosvenor. (_Louder_) Miss Gros-ve-nor!
(Tapping with his foot.) Oh!...
MISS GROSVENOR (_sweetly and, far off_): Is that Mr. Haverton?
REV. A. HAVERTON: Yes! yes! yes! yes!... Was that the bell for
prayers?

MISS GROSVENOR (_again_): Yes? Is that Mr. Haverton? Oh! Yes! I
think it is.... I'll see--I'll ask Matilda.
(_A pause, during which the_ REV. A. HAVERTON is in a qualm.)
MISS GROSVENOR (_rustling back_): Matilda says it is the bell for
prayers.
(_They all come filing into the study and arranging the chairs. As they
enter_ MISS HARVEY, _the guest, treads heavily on MATILDA'S
foot._)
MISS HARVEY: Matilda? Was that you? I beg your pardon.
MATILDA (_limping_): Granted, I'm sure, miss!
MRS. HAVERTON (whispering to the REV. A. HAVERTON): Do not
read the Creed! Miss Harvey is a Unitarian. I should suggest some
simple form of prayer, Some heartfelt word of charity and peace
Common to every Christian.
REV. A. HAVERTON (_in a deep voice_): Let us pray.
_Curtain._

ON A NOTEBOOK
A dear friend of mine (John Abdullah Capricorn, to give him his full
name) was commandeered by a publisher last year to write a book for
£10. The work was far advanced when an editor offered him £15 and
his expenses to visit the more desperate parts of the Sahara Desert, to
which spots he at once proceeded upon a roving commission. Whether
he will return or no is now doubtful, though in March we had the best
hopes. With the month of May life becomes hard for Europeans south
of the Atlas, and when my poor dear friend was last heard of he was
chancing his popularity with a tribe of Touaregs about two hundred
miles south of Touggourt.
Under these circumstances I was asked to look through his notebook

and see what could be done; and I confess to a pleased surprise.... It
would have been a very entertaining book had it been published. It will
be a very entertaining book if it is published.
Capricorn seems to have prepared a hotchpotch of information of
human follies, of contrasts, and of blunt stupidities of which he
intended to make a very entertaining series of pages. I have not his
talent for bringing such things together, but it may amuse the reader if I
merely put in their order one or two of the notes which most struck me.
I find first, cut out of a newspaper and pasted into the book (many of
his notes are in this form), the following really jovial paragraph:
"Archdeacon Blunderbuss (Blunderbuss is not the real name; I suppress
that lest Capricorn's widow should lose her two or three pounds, in case
the poor fellow has really been eaten). Archdeacon Blunderbuss was
more distinguished as a scholar than as a Divine. He was a very poor
preacher and never managed to identify himself with any party.
Nevertheless, in 1895 the Prime Minister appointed him to a stall in