"I met a man in a motor-'bus," he said in a quiet voice, "who told me that he had four sons. The eldest son, Abraham, had a dog who used to go and visit the three brothers occasionally. The dog, my informant told me, was very unwilling to go over the same ground twice, and yet being in a hurry wished to take the shortest journey possible. How did he manage it?"
For a little while the company was puzzled. Then, after deep thought, the Professor said:
"It depends on where they lived."
"Yes," said Ellison. I forgot to say that my acquaintance drew me a map." He produced a paper from his pocket. Here it is."
Fig. 4.—To illustrate the journey of the sagacious hound.
The others immediately began to puzzle over the answer, Miss Phipps being unusually foolish, even for her. It was some time before they discovered the correct route. What do you think it is?
"Well," said the Squire, with a hearty laugh, "it's time for bed."
One by one they filed off, saying what a delightful evening they had had. Jack Ellison was particularly emphatic, for the beautiful Miss Holden had promised to be his wife. He, for one, will never forget Christmas at Happy-Thought Hall.
[Note.—The originals of the drawings are on sale from the Author at five guineas apiece.]
Little Tomkins (to Herculean Coalheaver). Why don't you come up the green a couple o' nights a week an' do a bit o' shootin' an' drillin'? You'd get as fit as a fiddle."
Our intercourse didn't extend
Past a grunt if we met on the journey to town
And a nod when I chose to unbend;
But times are mutata, and now I've begun
To cultivate Brown more and more
For Brown has a son who is friends with the son
Of a man at the Office of War.
And editors wearily use
(Upholding the goodly repute of the Press)
A headline from yesterday's news,
Brown's knowledge enables his friends to decide
What the future is holding in store,
For we gather that Kitchener loves to confide
In that man at the Office of War.
To the heart that is apt to be glum
And the spirit that suffers severely from doubt
Like a sunbeam in winter I come;
"The Teuton," I whisper, "will suffer eclipse
In the course of a fortnight—no more;
I have had it—well, almost direct from the lips
Of the Chief of the Office of War."
