To have your photograph taken in your militia uniform, as now there is no one in town to watch you getting out of a cab in full war paint.
To stroll into Mudie's Library to get all the new novels, because after reading them you may suddenly find yourself inspired to write a critique that will make your name (when the article has been accepted and published) as a most accomplished reviewer.
To read all the newspapers and magazines at the hairdresser's while your head is being shampooed (for the fourth time), as now is the time for improving your mind (occupied with so many other things during the season) with popular current literature.
To walk to your club (closed for repairs, &c.) to see how the workmen are progressing with the stone scraping of the exterior, as you feel yourself responsible to hundreds of your fellow-creatures as a member of the house committee.
To write a long letter to your friend Brown, of the 121st Foot, now in India with his regiment, to tell him how nothing is going on anywhere, because you have not written to him since he said "Good-bye" to you at Southampton.
To go home to bed at nine o'clock, as early hours are good for the health, and because there is really nothing else to do.
And last, but not least, to leave London for the country by the very first train to-morrow morning!
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING IN THE CITY
Sigh no more dealers, sigh no more,