Once a week Jane leaves us and goes to a cinema. Her life is full of variety. Ten days elapsed, and then one evening I said---- At least I didn't. Before I could get it out Celia interrupted: "No, not yet. You see, there's been a hitch." I curbed my anger and spoke calmly. "What sort of a hitch?" "Well, Jane forgot last Wednesday, and I forgot to remind her this Wednesday. But _next_ Wednesday----" "Why don't you do it yourself?" "Well, if you'll tell me what to do I'll do it." "Well--er--you just--you--I mean--well, they'll tell you at the post-office." "That's exactly how I keep explaining it to Jane," said Celia. I looked at her mournfully. "What shall we do?" I asked. "I feel quite hopeless about it. It seems too late now to do anything with Jane. Let's get a new staff and begin again properly." "Lose Jane?" cried Celia. "I'd sooner go to prison--I mean I'd sooner _you_ went to prison. Why can't you be a man and do something?" Celia doesn't seem to realize that I married her with the sole idea of getting free of all this sort of bother. As it is, I nearly die once a year in the attempt to fill up my income-tax form. Any traffic in insurance cards would, my doctor says, be absolutely fatal. However, something had to be done. Last week I went into a neighbouring post-office in order to send a telegram. The post-office is an annexe of the grocer's where the sardines come from on Jane's cinema evening. Having sent the telegram, I took a sudden desperate resolve. I--I myself--would do something. "I want," I said bravely, "an insurance stamp." "Sixpenny or sevenpenny?" said the girl, trying to put me off my balance at the very beginning. "What's the difference?" I asked. "You needn't say a penny, because that is obvious." However, she had no wish to be funny. "Sevenpenny for men-servants, sixpenny for women," she explained. I wasn't going to give away our domestic arrangements to so near a neighbour. "Three sixpenny and four sevenpenny," I said casually, flicking the dust off my shoes with a handkerchief. "Tut, tut, I was forgetting Thomas," I added. "Five sevenpenny." I took the stamps home and showered them on Celia. "You see," I said, "it's not really difficult." "Oh, you angel! What do I do with them?" "Stick them on Jane," I said grandly. "Dot them about the house. Stamp your letters with them--I can always get you plenty more." "Didn't you get a card too?" "N-no. No, I didn't. The fact is, it's your turn now, Celia. _You_ get the card." "Oh, all right. I--er--suppose you just ask for a--a card?" "I suppose so. And--er--choose a doctor, and--er--decide on an approved society, and--er--explain why it is you hadn't got a card before, and--er---- Well, anyhow, it's your turn now, Celia." "It's really still Jane's turn," said Celia, "only she's so stupid about it."