Ask the mail officer to lunch;
But give me time to peep at _Punch_
Before you let him in."

* * * * *

LONDON'S LITTLE SUNBEAMS.

THE TAXI-MEN.

What (writes a returned traveller) has happened to London's
taxi-drivers? When I went away, not more than three months ago, they
occasionally stopped when they were hailed and were not invariably
unwilling to convey one hither and there. But now ... With flags
defiantly up, they move disdainfully along, and no one can lure them
aside. Where on these occasions are they going? How do they make a
living if the flag never comes down? Are they always on their way
to lunch, even late at night? Are they always out of petrol? I can
understand and admire the independence that follows upon overwork;
but when was their overwork done? The only tenable theory that I have
evolved is that Lord NORTHCLIFFE (whose concurrent rise to absolutism
is another phenomenon of my absence) has engaged them all to patrol
the streets in his service.

Sometimes, however, a taxi-driver, breaking free from this bondage,
answers a hail; but even then all is not necessarily easy. This is the
kind of thing:--

_You_. I want to go to Bedford Gardens.