He is used to adventure and pain;
But if ever he sat on Aunt Maggie's cretonne
And found what a curious colour he'd gone,
I don't think he'd do it again.
A.P.H.
THAT TEA INTERVAL.
Before the last ball of 1920 is bowled and the last wicket in a first-class match falls (as will most probably happen at the Oval this very afternoon, September 15th), I should like to let the Gods of the Game know how I propose to spend the following winter in their interests, so that when the season of 1921 is with us the happiness of the cricket spectator may be even greater than it has been in the one now expiring.
I am going to devote the time to invention. With every grain of intellect and ingenuity that I can scrape together I am going to devise a means of humanising the tea interval.