"One of our tests with regard to to-day's date--liars' day," he continued presently, "was rather amusing. We hired a room in the City for a week and sent out over three hundred letters to persons born on that day. Our notepaper was headed, 'Short, Stay and Hoppett, Solicitors,' and the letters were in identical terms. They said that we had been endeavouring for some time to trace the relatives of one Davy Jones, who, after acquiring a large fortune in Australia, had died intestate, and we had that morning been given to understand that the gentleman with whom we wore corresponding was a nephew of the deceased, etc., etc. You guess what happened. _Every one of them without exception claimed as his uncle this millionaire who never existed._" The train began to slow down, and the President rose to his feet. "I get out here," he said. "I'm sorry. I should like to have discussed the subject further. You, Sir"--he pointed threateningly at Ferguson--"will doubtless in future refrain from blaming Mr. ---- for a failing for which, as you see, he is in no way responsible." Ferguson quaked and said nothing. The President brushed up his moustache still higher and looked round in triumph. All of us were completely cowed--all of us, except little Windsor. "Just a moment, Sir," said the latter gently. "Before you leave us will you kindly accept this?" He took out his tie-pin and laid it in the other's hand. For the first time the burly one's confidence deserted him. He reddened slightly and looked embarrassed. "It's very kind of you," he said, "but really I--I don't quite understand." "It's a birthday present for you," said Windsor sweetly. * * * * * [Illustration: _Humorous Artist._ "I'VE BROUGHT YOU AN ORIGINAL FUNNY JOKE THIS TIME. A FRIEND OF MINE THOUGHT OF IT." _Editor_ (after reading it). "YES, IT _IS_ FUNNY; BUT I PREFER THE DRAWING THAT WAS PUBLISHED WITH IT IN THE 'SEVENTIES!"] * * * * * OUR BOOKING-OFFICE. (_By Mr. Punch's Staff of Learned Clerks._)