New novelists are always welcome if only for the titles of their books, for, after all, perusal of their contents is not compulsory. In this category may be included _Telepathic Theodora_, by Beryl Smuts; _The Rottenest Story in the World_, by Dermot Stuggy; and _In the Doldrums_, by Wally Gogg. * * * * * [Illustration: HOW TO TAKE YOUR PART IN A DIALOGUE. "WHY, MRS. CODLINS, 'OW ARE YOU, 'OW ARE YOU? I 'AVEN'T SEEN YOU TO SPEAK TO FOR AGES." "NO, MRS. WHIDDEN; NO MORE 'AVEN'T I YOU, NEITHER."] * * * * * The Latest Cinema Poster. "Amazing Realistic Drama, featuring Big Game Hunting. 1500 feet--BETWEEN MAN AND BEAST." This is not realistic enough for us. * * * * * Seen on an Islington baker's shop:-- "CURRENT BREAD." A marked improvement on the stale back-numbers supplied by some bakers. * * * * * "We understand that Prince William of Wied intends to proclaim himself King of Albania as soon as certain technical difficulties have been overcome."--_Times._ Unfortunately there are several thousand "technical difficulties"--all well-armed. * * * * * THE OBVIOUS. Celia had been calling on a newly-married friend of hers. They had been school-girls together; they had looked over the same Algebra book (or whatever it was that Celia learnt at school--I have never been quite certain); they had done their calisthenics side by side; they had compared picture-postcards of LEWIS WALLER. Ah me! the fairy princes they had imagined together in those days ... and here am I, and somewhere in the City (I believe he is a stockbroker) is Ermyntrude's husband, and we play our golf on Saturday afternoons, and complain of our dinners, and---- Well, anyhow, they were both married, and Celia had been calling on Ermyntrude. "I hope you did all the right things," I said. "Asked to see the wedding-ring, and admired the charming little house, and gave a few hints on the proper way to manage a husband." "Rather," said Celia. "But it did seem funny, because she used to be older than me at school." "Isn't she still?" "Oh, _no_! I'm ever so much older now.... Talking about wedding-rings," she went on, as she twisted her own round and round, "she's got all sorts of things written inside hers--the date and their initials and I don't know what else." "There can't be much else--unless perhaps she has a very large finger." "Well, I haven't got _anything_ in mine," said Celia mournfully. She took off the offending ring and gave it to me.