"She'd be a fool if she did now," answered Colin grimly. "Let's get out of this." And then John had a third brain-wave. He ordered George on guard, and descended with Colin in search of the concrete proof of our sanity. And Madame's voice, faint yet pursuing, followed us down. "No beds," it said. In ten minutes we were back triumphant with the three stretchers. It was a full six months since we had written to England for them, and they had come at last. Visions of rest went upstairs with us, and under the big eyes of Madame and Mademoiselle and several more Madames who had collected as unobtrusively as a silk hat collects dust we slashed at the coverings, ripped them off and disclosed--three deck-chairs. We did not attempt to meet the situation. We left it to the devil--or Madame. And she, with the lofty serenity of one who through long and grievous misunderstanding has won home at last, was completely adequate. "No beds," she said. * * * * * [Illustration: _Grieved Wife_. "OH, SIMON, ALL OVER YOUR NOO CONTROLLED TROUSERS."] * * * * * "ADOPTION.--Fine healthy boy, 3½ years; entire surrender to good home. reception. 5 bedrooms; £1,100."--_Provincial Paper_. What an exacting young rascal! * * * * * "Liebknecht was the son of a father who opposed tyranny in earlier days, who sounded the toxin for liberty."--_Express and Star_ (_Wolverhampton_). But, to do old LIEBKNECHT justice, it was the son, not the father, who spelt it that way. * * * * * THE WAR-DOG'S PARTY. (_CONTINUED._) I expected, of course, when I declared the resolution, "Dogs not Doormats," open for general discussion that there would be some pretty plain barking, but nothing calling for the intervention of the Chair. Britain's dogs are sound at heart, even if they do talk a bit wildly about the Tyranny of Man and Rabbitism and Abolishing the Biscuiteer. I don't agree with a lot of it myself--we Airedales have always been conservatively inclined; but I am bound to say that three years in the Army open one's eyes to a lot of things. Nothing of a really seditious character was said until the Borzoi commenced to address the meeting. I had always disliked the fellow and half suspected him of being an Anarchist or the president of some brotherhood or other. (It's funny how these rascals, whose one idea is to get something which belongs to somebody else without working for it, always call themselves a brotherhood.) But those Russian dogs have such a shifty slinking way with them that you can't always tell what they are driving at. This Borzoi chap had tried once or twice to interest me in what he called the Community of Bones doctrine, but I soon found out that his master was a conscientious objector and a vegetarian and that the doctrine really meant that he would do the communing and I would provide the bones.