"I've just found it under the kitchen table," said Emily. "I am thankful."
"This company's year ended on the 40th June, and a good distribution is looked for by the market."—Journal of Commerce.
With such help from the calendar any company should do well.
THE SIGNAL SECTION.
You know how the great hunter who sleeps with his gun at his pillow is awake in an instant, with all his faculties alert, when the sacred spider breaks a twig in the jungle? You remember how the handsome highwayman, at the first far clatter of hoofs on the great North Road, is up and out on the scullery roof of the inn before you have turned the page, and is deep in Lonely Copse (wearing the serving-wench's stomacher) before his first fat pursuer has said, "Open in the name of the Law," below his window? Well, like Jimmy's bloodhound in Punch, I am very good at that.
But it is a telephone-bell that does it. You go down seventy-two steps—backwards, or you hit your head—to a German room, which smells German, and you will find my boudoir, furnished with sandbags, a shaving mirror and a telephone.
At eleven o'clock I lie on the sandbags and, like the great hunter, close my eyes immediately in dreamless sleep.