A good deal, of course, can be done by any ordinary householder. "I
have had great fun," one correspondent writes, "with a very deliberate
and heavily-striking Dutch clock, which I have lately put against my
party-wall. My neighbour's family frequently jump up and run for the
basement. When they get used to the thing I shall give the other side
a turn."

* * * * *

THE FIRE-DRILL.

Once a month, as laid down in "Orders for Auxiliary Hospitals for
Officers," or some such document, we practise fire-drill. This
consists of escaping from upper windows by means of precarious
canvas chutes. The only people exempted from this ceremony are Mrs.
Ropes--who watches with great delight from a safe distance--and
Sister, who stands sternly at the top to make sure (a) that those
patients who don't want to go down do go down, and (b) that those
patients who do want to go down don't go down more than once. No
excuses are taken. The fixed ration is one slither per chute per
person.

We had this month's rehearsal last Tuesday. The patients were put
through it first, Major Stanley--to his great disgust--being chosen
to lead the way and set his juniors an example. He was told that it
was possible, by sticking out his elbows, to go down as slowly as he
liked; but he must have done it wrong somehow, for he disappeared with
startling suddenness the instant he let go the window-sill, and almost
simultaneously his boots shot out at the other end and doubled Dutton
the butler up so badly that he had to be taken away and reinflated.