‘Certainly,’ bellowed the now infuriated female, ‘certainly. Maria James, 4 Smith Square; and I’ll take good care you’re not a collector of this company for long. Holland breeks indeed!’ ‘You see,’ mused the collector to the crowd, as he took the remaining tickets, ‘it tykes ’em this w’y sometimes--these ’ere _single_ femyles.’ Now in the meantime the ‘disturber of traffic,’ having said to himself, ‘my wants to pat that doggie,’ had to his great disgust only arrived at seeing the object of his desires lifted into a cab, and whirled from before his eyes, at the gates of St James’s Park. This was enough to damp the spirits of a hero. Tally Ho entered the park with a momentarily dejected step, and wandered on to the bridge; but there his dejection ceased, for below him, swimming in circles, in semi-circles, in parabolas, in zig-zags, were ducks--ducks more sleek and beautiful than any he had ever beheld, and fat--words could not describe the nature of their fatness. Tally Ho sank on his knees, stuck his head through the girders, and gazed. His affections particularly rivetted themselves on two small bronze-green ducks taking first lessons in diving from an attentive parent. ‘My wantles _dem_,’ said Tally Ho, joyfully and loudly, through the girders, to the intense astonishment of a military-looking old gentleman, from between whose legs the words arose. ‘Gawd bless me! What’s that?’ ‘My wantles ’oo for each of my’s tlowser’s pottets,’ bellowed Tally Ho across the water to the ducks. ‘Gawd bless me! It’s the ducks the boy wants,’ commented the ancient warrior, stepping with much care clear of Tally Ho, and noting the direction of his gestures. At this precise instant Tally Ho withdrew his head from between the girders and scrambled on to his feet, and as he did so his eye lighted on the stranger whose elderly but martial form he had been doing his level best to upset. ‘Salaam, Genelal Sahib,’ he said, saluting affably and without embarrassment, ‘my is Tally Ho--my wantles dose ducks.’ The General saluted in turn, screwed a gold-rimmed eyeglass carefully into his eye, stroked his grizzled moustache, and gazed curiously at his interlocutor. ‘Tan my have dose two nickle gleeny-blown ducks?’ said Tally Ho, pointing into the water, and pulling abstractedly at the General’s grey frock coat. ‘’Tenshun,’ said the latter, and Tally Ho dropped his hands mechanically to his side, and drew himself up with his feet at a correct 45 degrees. ‘Now, then, what d’ye want the ducks for, heh?’ The ‘heh’ was rather alarming, but Tally Ho passed it by unconcernedly. ‘Oos velly like my Daddy,’ he remarked with condescension; ‘but my wantles dose ducks to takle home in my’s pottets,’ he continued, reverting to business. ‘Bless the boy! But you can’t have those ducks; they belong to the Queen!’