QUESTIONS.
How did mankind get to all corners of the earth? and what is the cause of exploding suns? These are among the questions put by Professor A. W. Bickerton, of the London Astronomical Society, and they would be solved, it seems, if our learned men would only band themselves together. I have no wish to hamper the good work, but a moment's reflection suggests a number of other questions simply asking to be answered.
For instance, what happens when an irresistible force meets Sir Eric Geddes?
And why is it that while we hear of thousands of people losing their umbrellas we have never yet heard of a single case where a man openly admitted that he had found one?
And is there any reason why the modern novel should not end happily, instead of the hero and heroine always marrying at the last moment.
And how does it happen that Thanet is the best holiday-place in this country and enjoys more sunshine than any other resort?
And could not The Daily Mail extend the same sunshine privilege to other parts?
And what makes a music-hall audience laugh when a comedian changes his hat and mutters the mystic word, "Winston"?
And who is the gentleman referred to?
And why is it that nine-tenths of the coon-singers on the halls are always wanting to get back to their dear old homes? And who is stopping them in their noble desire? And is there any explanation why all these singers seem to have their homes in distant Alabam, where the roses keep on climbing round the door, just close to where the cotton and the corn are growing all the year round, only later in life to leave the dear old place to take up music-hall work here, and then spend the remainder of their lives telling us of their passionate determination to get away back to the old folks?
And would I be right in my surmise that very few homes in Wigan have roses round the door or stand in fields of growing cotton and corn or reek of new-mown hay?
And why is it that, when you tell a man there are so many million stars in the skies, he will believe you, but the moment he sees a notice on a gate bearing the words "Wet Paint" he puts his finger upon it just to find out for himself?
And why did Mrs. Asquith——But perhaps that will be enough for the Professor to be going on with.
Commercial Candour.
"My Studio is the most up-to-date and my methods of photography just a little bit different."
—Canadian Paper.
Hostess. "What—going already? Why, it's only three o'clock."
Guest. "I know. But I'm dead tired, and I've got to be up early for a 'déjeuner dansant.'"