"LOOK HERE, MY PRINCE OF PICTURE-DEALERS--A GREAT FRIEND OF MINE, THE
COUNTESS OF WATERBRUSH, IS GOING TO HAVE AN ART STALL AT THE LITTLE
PEDDLINGTON BAZAAR. COULD YOU SPARE HER LADYSHIP ANY OLD RUBBISH YOU
CAN'T GET RID OF? IT'S FOR A CHARITY, YOU KNOW." -- "ACH! ZÔH! VELL,
MY YOONG VRENT, I HAFE ZUM TOZENS OF YOUR VATER-CULLERS ZAT PERHAPS
HER LATYSHIP _MIGHT_ MANAGE TO KET RIT OF--FOR A _CHARITY_, YOU KNOW!
SHE IS FERRY VELCOME, I ASSURE YOU!"]

* * * * *

DEATH IN THE POP.

Rather alarmed by reading in paper about "explosive buttons." Seems
that combs, collars, cuffs, buttons and things made to imitate ivory
and tortoiseshell are really highly combustible. Lady in West of
England had her dress ignited by sudden explosion of a "fancy" button!
In consequence, advise my wife "to use that new hairbrush I gave her
very gingerly, or she'll be blown up." She wants to know "why I didn't
find that out before buying it." Difficult to find suitable reply.
Result--nobody blown up so far, except myself.

Combing my few remaining locks. No harm in comb, I suppose, as maker
assured me it was "only made of celluloid." Comb suddenly driven a
couple of inches into my head, with loud report! In bed for three
weeks. Write to maker, who says, "Didn't I know celluloid was mixture
of camphor and gun-cotton?" No, I didn't.

Playing billiards, when sufficiently recovered. Just executing
fiftieth spot-stroke in succession, when--an explosion! Cue driven out