Officer (anxious to pass his recruit who is not shooting well). "DO YOU SMOKE MUCH?"
Recruit. "ABOUT A PACKET OF WOODBINES A DAY, SIR."
Officer. "DO YOU INHALE?" Recruit. "NOT MORE THAN A PINT A DAY, SIR."
THE WOBBLER.
My friend, whom for the purpose of concealing his identity I will call Wiggles, opened fire upon me on March 1st (coming in like a lion) with this:
"DEAR WILLIAM,—I have not been well and my doctor thinks it might do me good to come to Cornwall for a few weeks. May I invite myself to stay with you?..."
I accepted his invitation, if I may put it so, and on March 6th received the following:—
"DEAR WILLIAM,—I am not, as I think I said, at all well, and my doctor considers I had better break the journey at Plymouth, as it is a long way from Malvern to Cornwall. Would you recommend me some hotels to choose from? I hope to start by the middle of the month ..."