"Straight, I did," said her husband, earnestly. "You've no idea 'ow I'm
suffering; I've got a headache, I'm arf choked, and there's a feeling
about my waist as though I'm being cuddled by somebody I don't like."

Mrs. Jobson said it would soon wear off and, seated in the train that
bore them to the Crystal Palace, put the hat on the rack. Her husband's
attempt to leave it in the train was easily frustrated and his
explanation that he had forgotten all about it received in silence. It
was evident that he would require watching, and under the clear gaze of
his children he seldom had a button undone for more than three minutes at
a time.

The day was hot and he perspired profusely. His collar lost its starch--
a thing to be grateful for--and for the greater part of the day he wore
his tie under the left ear. By the time they had arrived home again he
was in a state of open mutiny.

"Never again," he said, loudly, as he tore the collar off and hung his
coat on a chair.

There was a chorus of lamentation; but he remained firm. Dorothy began
to sniff ominously, and Gladys spoke longingly of the fathers possessed
by other girls. It was not until Mrs. Jobson sat eyeing her supper,
instead of eating it, that he began to temporize. He gave way bit by
bit, garment by garment. When he gave way at last on the great hat
question, his wife took up her knife and fork.

His workaday clothes appeared in his bedroom next morning, but the others
still remained in the clutches of Aunt Emma. The suit provided was of