’It’s beginning to work,’ whispered Ross. ’I will give you orders to view both of these.’ ’Are they near the railway?’ ’I haven’t actually seen them myself,’ said Mr Cardew Thompkins, ’but I think from the description of your requirements they are just what you need. Good-morning.’ If he had looked out of his office window a moment later he would have seen Ross and me with our handkerchiefs stuffed in our mouths fleeing down the road till we got round the corner out of sight. ’Oh,’ sobbed Ross, ’do stop. I told you so, but it’s worked better than I thought. Read this:— ’"St JULIANS.—Very desirable gentleman’s country residence."’ ’Oh, that won’t do, Meg.’ ’Why not? Sounds rather nice, I think.’ ’Is Michael a very desirable gentleman?’ ’Oh, I never notice those mistakes, or spelling ones, I wish I did; they’re so amusing when you see them.’ ’Can’t think what they teach in girls’ schools,’ said Ross gloomily. ’Daddy used to groan about the bills, tons of extras too, and when it’s all said and done you don’t know the most elementary things.’ ’Grammar,’ I observed, ’is very difficult; some of the best people can’t spell.’ ’But geography, your geography’s no better. Why, I heard some one tell you the other day that her son was in Dunkirk, and you said that she must be so thankful to have him in Scotland. I could see the woman thought you dotty, only she was too polite to say so.’ ’But, Ross, Dunkirk is so difficult, don’t you see how Scotch it sounds. It’s one of those places that I try to remember by reversing it. There is a system like that. I think of shortbread and then I know it’s France.’ ’Well, your system doesn’t seem to have worked that time. But now I come to think of it, Meg, you’re right. There is a system, whatever is the beastly thing called? Mell-gell-Hell-man-ism, I think it is.’ ’Ross!’ ’What?’ ’You’re not to put bad words into my mind.’ ’I’m not, I said a sentence.’ ’But no sentence could possibly begin with "Hell man."’ ’Of course it could. I could say heaps.’ ’Yes, but not fit for my young ears.’ ’Meg, I could say one that a Plymouth Brother wouldn’t mind Aunt Amelia hearing.’ ’I’ll give you a bob if you can while I count twenty.’ So my brother thought hard and said, ’Suppose.’ ’But that doesn’t begin with the right word,’ I said. ’I must tell you the context, child. Suppose a Plymouth Brother were arguing with an atheist.’ ’One, two, three,’ I counted. ’He might with perfect propriety say.’ ’Four, five, six.’ ’Hell, man, is _not_ a myth. Aunt Amelia would say he was "one of the right sort," so that’s worth 3d. extra. Give me that bob, Meg.’ So I gave him six pennies, six halfpennies, and a threepenny bit, and he said it wasn’t a bob. He said it was a shilling, which was different, and he "couldn’t be fashed with all that muck in his pockets," so we bought sweets. Then he exclaimed,— ’Come on, Meg,’ as if it had been I who had stopped first.