_David_ (_protesting)_. But, feyther, 'tisn't near time for bed yet.

_Bully_, (_grimly_). Maybe; but 'tis more than time play was finished. And
this is how.

[_He turns the tap. A few moments later the light is switched off with
a faintly audible click, and upon a stage in total darkness the curtain
falls._

* * * * *

[Illustration: _Officer_ (_anxious to pass his recruit who is not shooting
well_). "DO YOU SMOKE MUCH?"

_Recruit._ "ABOUT A PACKET OF WOODBINES A DAY, SIR."

_Officer._ "DO YOU INHALE?" _Recruit._ "NOT MORE THAN A PINT A DAY,
SIR."]

* * * * *

THE WOBBLER.

My friend, whom for the purpose of concealing his identity I will call
Wiggles, opened fire upon me on March 1st (coming in like a lion) with
this:

"DEAR WILLIAM,--I have not been well and my doctor thinks it might do me
good to come to Cornwall for a few weeks. May I invite myself to stay with
you?..."