[Illustration: THE ELUSIVE PEST.

JOHN BULL. "GOT HIM!"

THE PROFITEER. "I DON'T THINK!"]

* * * * *

[Illustration: _Patient._ "AND YOU REALLY THINK THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH
MY EYESIGHT?"

_Oculist._ "NOTHING AT ALL. PERFECTLY NORMAL."

_Patient._ "AH, THEN IT MUST BE THE WAY I'VE BEEN HOLDING MY PUTTER."]

* * * * *

GEORGE AND THE COW-DRAGON.

The "rockerty-tockerty-tock" refrain of the carriage-wheels below me
changed into a jarring whine as the train came to a full stop. I looked out
on a dim-lit platform which seemed to be peopled only by a squad of
milk-cans standing shoulder to shoulder like Noah's Ark soldiers.

As the engine shrieked and plunged into its collar again the door was
jerked open and a man projected himself into the carriage and, opening the
window so that the compartment was flooded with cold air, leaned out and
resumed his conversation with a friend till the train bore him out of
shouting range. He then pulled up the window, trod on my foot, sat on my
lap and eventually came to rest on the seat opposite me.