My last photo is considered to show the Allotment expression in utter perfection. (It's been in _People of Position, Mayfair Murmurs_, and several other weeklies.) I'm standing in my potato-patch (my Allotment toilette is finished off by a pair of _enthralling_ little hob-nailed boots!) and I'm holding a rake and a hoe and a digging-fork in one hand and a garden-hose in the other; there's a wheel-barrow beside me, and I'm looking at the potato-plants with the _true_ Allotment smile, my dearest. I sent a copy of this picky to Norty, and under it I wrote those famous last words of some celebrated Frenchman (I forget whether it was MOLIERE or MIRABEAU or NAPOLEON): "_Je vais chercher un grand peut-etre!_" Wee-Wee is frightfully worried about Bo-Bo being so overworked. He used to be at the head of the Department for Telling People What to Do, and he and his five hundred assistants were worked half dead; and _now_ he's at the head of a still newer department, the one for Telling People What They're _Not_ to Do, and, though he's eight hundred clerks to help him, Wee-Wee says the strain is too great for words. He goes to Whitehall at ten every day and comes back at three! And then he has the Long-Ago treatment that's being used so much now for war-frayed nerves. The idea is to get people as far away from the present as poss. So when Bo-Bo comes in from Whitehall he lies down on a fearful old worm-eaten oak settle in a dim room hung with moth-eaten tapestry, and Wee-Wee reads CHAUCER to him, and sings ghastly little folk-songs, accompanying herself on a thing called a _crwth_--(it's a tremendously primitive sort of harp, but I can't believe that even a _crwth_ meant to make such a horrible noise as Wee-Wee makes on it!). Myself, I don't consider Bo-Bo a bit the better for the Long-Ago treatment, and there's certainly a wild look in his eyes that wasn't there before! _M'amie_, would you like to hear the simply _odious_ storyette of Somebody's Cousin? Well, so you shall. Somebody is by way of being an intimate foe of mine, and Somebody's Cousin has long been a thorn in the flesh and a shaking of the head to his people. Before the War he belonged to the League for Taking Everything Lying Down, the Fellowship for Preventing People from Standing up against Foreign Aggression, and the Brotherhood for Giving up All Our Advantages to Aliens. He was of military age, and when war came, after giving vent to some completely detestable sentiments, he crossed to the U.S. and naturalised himself there, constantly attacking the country that was unlucky enough to produce him. [Illustration: _Recruit_. "EXCUSE ME, SIR, I FEEL GREATLY EXHAUSTED BY THIS EXERCISE." _Instructor_. "DO YOU, DEARIE? WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE TO PLAY AT? KISS-IN-THE-RING?"]