THE SUBSCRIPTION.
Charles, when our protest was lodged, merely replied that our favour of the 10th inst. was to hand, and that he really could not see his way to moving further in the matter. Let me explain the present extent of Charles's movement.
Miss Donelan, who ought to have known better, had allowed herself to be saddled with a thing called a Branch subscription list on behalf of the St. Nicholas New Year Offering.
Having exploited the probables and possibles she finally handed the document on to me with instructions to tout it round among my friends. (This is the sort of thing you get nowadays for placing your life at a young woman's disposal.)
Unfortunately I have no friends just now, except what I want to keep. While I was thus at a loss, Charles came to stay for a few days three doors off. He lives a long way away and would have time to forget before I saw him again. So on the day before his departure I bearded him like a man.
"Charles," I began, "you are fabulously rich. Your income comes in at such a pace that you hardly ever know within five shillings how much you have at the bank."
Charles blinked through the smoke of a violet-tipped cigarette.
"What about it?" he asked.
"This," I said; "I am, very reluctantly, offering you the chance of doing good. All you have to do is to sign your name here for anything up to a hundred pounds, and the good does itself. It is the Saint Nicholas New Year Offering."
"What does it do?" asked Charles uncomfortably.
"Do?" I answered. "Why, I don't think it does exactly do. You see it's a New Year Offering."
"I see," said Charles. "It doesn't do; it offers. Just like a Member of Parliament."
"I wish," I said, "instead of being funny at other people's expense you would be serious at your own, and tell me exactly how much I can put you down for?"
"There you go again," said Charles. "You want me to think of some definite amount on the spot. You know I hate thinking, and I hate definite amounts. And I loathe doing anything on the spot."
I looked at the subscription list. The last entry was:—
Major-General R. Hewland, £5 5s. 0d.
"You needn't do any thinking," I explained patiently. "You need only stick down exactly the same as the last man. And if you'll promise to do it I'll leave the list with you, and you can fill it in when you feel sufficiently off the spot."
"Exactly the same?" asked Charles.
"Exactly," I said, with rising hopes.
"All right," said Charles. "I'll let you have it some time."
Four days later, at Miss Donelan's urgent request, I wrote to Charles for it. It came in less than forty-eight hours.
Extract from conclusion of subscription list returned by Charles:—
Major-General R. Hewland, £5 5s. 0d.
" " " " " " "
Dinner-Table Topics.
"MR. LLOYD GEORGE
GOING TO A WARMER CLIMATE."Midland Evening News.
Another Accident to an Infinitive.
"It is good news to at last hear that progress is being made again towards healing the 'split.'"—Nottingham Football Post.
So far not much progress is visible.
"Lord and Lady Arthur Hill arrived at Maples yesterday from London."—Observer.
And Mrs. and Miss Tomkins (in pursuit of bargains) continue to arrive daily at Peter Snelbody's from Cricklewood.
