He let his gaze wander round the room until it fell upon the face of his master, and then, under some impulse, he wrote the fateful words, "Mr. Smith is a man." "Finish off now!" rang out the command from Mr. Smith. Tommy saw the other boys putting sheet after sheet together, and he had hardly filled one. He racked his brains for something to add to his essay, and there came to his mind the words written under his father's portrait. He had only time to put down "England expecs----" when his paper was collected. No one ever read Tommy Brown's essay excepting Mr. Smith, and he burnt it. * * * * * A lady teaches Form II. now, and Tommy Brown is eagerly looking forward to the day when Mr. Smith will return to occupy once more the post that is being kept open for him, for Mr. Smith has promised to bring Tommy home a German helmet. * * * * * "A number of shells burst together and almost at the same moment he saw a large cigar-shaped cigar fall to the earth." _Bolton Evening News._ The unusual shape of it struck him at once. * * * * * Illustration: THE GREATER GAME. MR. PUNCH (_to Professional Association Player_). "NO DOUBT YOU CAN MAKE MONEY IN THIS FIELD, MY FRIEND, BUT THERE'S ONLY ONE FIELD TO-DAY WHERE YOU CAN GET HONOUR." [The Council of the Football Association apparently proposes to carry out the full programme of the Cup Competition, just as if the country did not need the services of all its athletes for the serious business of War.] * * * * * THE SUNDAY EVENING EDITION. Mrs. Henry looked up. "I think I hear that boy again selling evening papers," she said. "I suppose they must come off the 9.5 train. But it's a strange thing to happen on a Sunday--here." The Reverend Henry was already at the window. He threw it up and leaned out. "One can't approve of it, but I suppose in war time--" Mrs. Henry was beginning when her husband cut her short. "Hush--I'm trying to hear what he is saying. I wish boys could be taught to speak distinctly." There was a pause. "I can't make him out." The Reverend Henry's head reappeared between the curtains. "It's really most exasperating; I'd give a lot to know if the Belgian army got out of Antwerp before it fell." "Couldn't you shout down and ask him?" "No, no. I cannot be discovered interrogating urchins about secular affairs from a second storey window on Sunday evening. Still, I'd like to know." The Reverend Henry perambulated the room with knitted brow. "I never bought a Sunday paper of any sort in my life. Never." "I suppose one must have _some_ principles," said his wife. "But it's enormously important, you know. They may easily have been surrounded and captured." He returned to the window. "Hullo, he's gone to the door. I say, Cook has bought one. This is exciting. I should never have thought Cook would have done that."