evening paper to go and obtain an interview from the Russian general.
Mr. Hubert Wales had just published a novel so fruity in theme and
treatment that it had been publicly denounced from the pulpit by no
less a person than the Rev. Canon Edgar Sheppard, D.D., Sub-Dean
of His Majesty's Chapels Royal, Deputy Clerk of the Closet and
Sub-Almoner to the King. A morning paper had started the question,
"Should there be a Censor of Fiction?" and, in accordance with custom,
editors were collecting the views of celebrities, preferably of those
whose opinion on the subject was absolutely valueless.

All the other reporters being away on their duties, the editor was at a
loss.

"Isn't there anybody else?" he demanded.

The chief sub-editor pondered.

"There is young blooming Chugwater," he said.

(It was thus that England's deliverer was habitually spoken of in the
office.)

"Then send him," said the editor.

* * * * *

Grand Duke Vodkakoff's turn at the Magnum Palace of Varieties started
every evening at ten sharp. He topped the bill. Clarence, having been
detained by a review of the Scouts, did not reach the hall till five
minutes to the hour. He got to the dressing-room as the general was