"See me! Confound it, sir, you can see through me now!"
The State of the Game.—Lady Customer. "How much are grouse to-day, Mr. Jiblets?"
Poulterer. "Twelve shillings a brace, ma'am. Shall I send them——"
Lady Customer. "No, you need not send them. My husband's out grouse-shooting, and he'll call for them as he comes home!"
