A TRIUMPH OF THINNESS.
Herbert is one of those troublesome men who are always asking why I don't what he calls "buckle to" and make some money. But his latest suggestion was his maddest, and I think that I got out of it rather neatly. For Herbert is a determined fellow from whom you can't escape until you have promised quite a lot and sometimes even had actually to do something.
"Do you want two hundred pounds?" he bounced in upon me and said.
"Who doesn't?" I replied.
"Well, here you are then. It's as easy as falling off a ladder. Only a little industry required;" and he threw a paper on to my table.
I spread it out and saw: "One Thousand Cash Prizes amounting to £1,000. First Prize £200. All you have to do is to make as many words as you can out of 'Jenkins' Glorious Gum.'"
"Thanks," I said; "this isn't intended for really thoughtful people."
At this, however, he merely sniffed and pulled a fountain-pen from his pocket.
"I'll make a start," he said; "'gin' one; 'niggle'—that's rather good—two; 'mug' three." But after that his mind seemed to wander, and he added rather feebly, "and so on. It's ridiculously easy when you have a dictionary. Will you try?"
"No," I replied, and a fierce argument followed.
But just as he was getting really angry my eye fell upon a condition that I had overlooked. "Ten pounds," I saw, "will be awarded to the competitor whose envelope is opened first."
"I'll go in," I said, and Herbert replied, "Good egg, I'll bet you win. Don't forget 'mug.'"
"No, I won't forget 'mug'," I assured him as he left, for his last word had given me an idea.
Solemnly I sat down in front of "Jenkins' Glorious Gum" and saw at once that my word would do. In two minutes "Juggins" had been put into a very large envelope all by himself, and I was out of work again.
But the part that you won't believe has to come.
I won the £10—I did really. Among the multitude of fat envelopes bulging with words, my thin "Juggins" simply insisted upon being opened first. The thousands of chartered accountants assembled for the counting almost fought for him, he was nearly torn in two in their desire to begin with what looked like an easy one—or so I like to imagine the scene. But Herbert is insufferably proud of himself.
THE SPECTRUM.
According to the Ladies' Press,
Who would be really smart must dress
In crimson puce or purple hair:
My Phyllis doesn't leave it there,
But less than ever doth she seem
Content with Nature's colour-scheme.
Her brow is scarlet; week by week
New tints bedeck her maiden cheek.
(To-day they wear the pleasing hue
Which Fashion calls "electric" blue,
And, when their owner's startled, show
A healthy blush of indigo.)
Her sense of artistry appears
In what she does about her ears;
With colours of the naval sort
She marks the starboard from the port.
Her lips are lemon; underneath
Appear her willow-pattern teeth.
But when, to serve another end,
She threatened to adopt a blend
Of tints with which I cannot cope—
The green and white and heliotrope,
"You know," said I, "your business best;
Myself, I lose all interest."
In other words, it may be said,
My love for you is frankly dead."
"Alas," she answered, "and alack!" ...
Her nose is now in mourning (black).
