"Oh, but of course! I mean—THACKERAY! When I said MEREDITH I was thinking of the others. But THACKERAY—I mean THACKERAY is— er—" (I've forgotten his name for the moment and go on hastily) I mean—er—THACKERAY, obviously."
He shakes me by the hand. I am his friend.
But this conversation only takes place in my more hopeful moments. In my less hopeful ones I see myself going into the country for quite a long time.
A.A.M.
Another Impending Apology.
"The book contains a portrait of the author and several other quaint illustrations."—Daily Paper.
"Miss Leitch played delightful golf up to the hole, but when once she had arrived there the result was almost ludicrous, as she could not hit the ball truly with her puttee."—Evening Paper.
Personally we have always found this an ineffective weapon.