My years weighed on my shoulders again, and I
am afraid I was more than a little tart with my typist.
I was kept late for dinner, and when I entered the room I found Joan
minor sitting in her place, her eyes bright with expectation. Beside
my place was a covered muffin dish. There was no dallying with the
pleasure this time, for I had suddenly become young again, and could
not have waited had I tried. I lifted the cover, and there, about the
size of a well-nourished pea, lay the first-fruit of Joan minor's
peculiar and personal allotment, prepared, planted and dug by Joan
minor's own hands, a veritable and unmistakable potato.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Official of Lady War-workers' Bureau_. "WHAT SORT OF
WORK DO YOU FEEL FITTED FOR?"
_Applicant_. "I DON'T QUITE KNOW, BUT I WANT TO WEAR THESE CLOTHES."]
* * * * *
Our Official Pessimists.
From an Admiralty notice:--
"It is to be particularly noted that entries are only being made
for 12 years' service, and not for duration of war.
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