At the Purrsweet Tribunal, Messrs. Prongingham and Co., proprietors of the popular multiple grocery establishments, applied for exemption for their local branch manager, William Dudd (28, B 1). The chairman of the Tribunal, Sir George Prongingham, stated that he had had some doubts as to whether his position as president of Prongingham's, Ltd., did not require him to leave the disposition of this case to his colleagues. They had persuaded him to a contrary view, and certainly his patriotism could not be questioned. His son Reginald had been serving gallantly in the Army Pay Department since the outbreak of war, and he himself had been consulted by the Government on several occasions. In deciding the case of the applicant, William Dudd, he felt no bias of any kind, and the Tribunal's decision to grant total exemption was made wholly out of regard to the young man's prospects, and not in the interest of Prongingham's, Ltd. (Cheers.) ALGOL. * * * * * [Illustration: _Farmer._ "YOU'LL NOT BE FEELING GIDDY, SURR?" _R.F.C. Officer (on leave)_. "NOT TILL WE REACH TEN THOUSAND FEET."] * * * * * THE CONVERT. There were three of us--a soldier, a _flâneur_ and myself, who am neither but would like to be either. We were talking about the strange appearance--a phenomenon of the day--of French wine in German bottles, and this led to the re-expression of my life-long surprise that bottles should exist in such numbers as they do--bottles everywhere, all over the world, with wine and beer in them, and no one under any obligation to save and return them. "Well," said the soldier (who may or may not have known that I was one of those writing fellows), "that has never struck me as odd. Of course there are lots of bottles. Bottles are necessary. But what beats me is the number of books. New books and old books, books in shops and books on stalls, and books in houses; and on top of all that--libraries. That's rum, if you like. I most cordially hope," he added, "that there are more bottles than books in the world." "I don't care how many there are of either," said the _flâneur_; "but I know this--another book's badly wanted." "Oh, come off it," said the enemy of authorship. "How can another book be needed? Have you ever seen the British Museum Reading Room? It's simply awful. It's a kind of disease. I was taken there once by an aunt when I was a boy, and it has haunted me ever since. Books by the million all round the room, and the desks crowded with people writing new ones. Men _and_ women. Mixed writing, you know. Terrible!" "All that may be true," said the _flâneur_, "but the fact remains that another book is still needed." "Impossible," said the soldier, "unless it's a cheque-book. There I'm with you." "No, a book--a real book. Small, I admit, but real. And I believe I can make you agree with me. I'm full of it, because I discovered the need of it only this last week-end."