But the business man, I daresay, will reply, as they said to the sonneteer in Molière, that “Le temps ne fait rien à l’affaire.” Certainly, the business man’s time doesn’t—for you next find him, in spick and span evening dress, at the dinner-table, beaming at the waiter who has brought him his favourite sauce. The business man collects sauces, but prefers the sauce that goes with everything. After dinner you may see him, before a roaring fire, holding up his glass of port to the light and telling another business man who the shipper is. Last scene of all, a night-piece, you have a glimpse of him in his pyjamas merrily discoursing with several other business men (in different patterns of the same unshrinkable fabric) all sitting cross-legged and smoking enormous cigars. This is the end of a perfect business day. And you conclude that business men sleep in dormitories. THE END. THE WHITEFRIARS PRESS, LTD., LONDON AND TONBRIDGE.