By the time the office opened the queue reached from the Opera House steps nearly to the tramway _Haltestelle_, and much speculation was going on as to how many would be sent empty away. Inch by inch we moved forward, mounted the steps one by one, and came within the relative warmth of the vestibule. At last the weary waiting-time was over; the young subaltern stepped before the _guichet_ and, pointing to a handbill, demanded in a loud and dignified voice a ticket for next Monday's performance of "_KEINE VORSTELLUNG_!" How shall I describe the painful scene that followed--a scene in which, as a mere Tommy, I had too much discipline to intervene? In vain the obsequious purveyor of tickets offered a selection of the world's most popular and celebrated operas for any other day but Monday. Nothing would do for my officer but _Keine Vorstellung_. Indeed, as he explained in his best and loudest English, Monday was his only free evening. _Keine Vorstellung_ he wanted and _Keine Vorstellung_ he must have. Followed reiteration, expostulation, vituperation in yet louder English than before, and when at last he turned away without his ticket he was still convinced that the authority of the _Britische Besatzung_ had been outraged and defied by the man behind the window. I often wonder what he said when the precise meaning of those two mystic words was revealed, to him. I like to think that it may have happened at the Requisition Office, whither he had gone to procure an order to compel that recalcitrant square-head to supply him with the ticket so unwarrantably withheld. * * * * * "Wanted a good Cook; kitchen-maid kept; small fairy."--_Provincial Paper_. It is pleasant to come upon a really appreciative mistress. * * * * * [Illustration: _Little Girl (to Bride at wedding reception)._ "YOU DON'T LOOK NEARLY AS TIRED AS I SHOULD HAVE THOUGHT." _Bride._ "DON'T I, DEAR? BUT WHY DID YOU THINK I SHOULD LOOK TIRED?" _Little Girl._ "WELL, I HEARD MUMMY SAY TO DAD THAT YOU'D BEEN RUNNING AFTER MR. GOLDMORE FOR MONTHS AND MONTHS."] * * * * * PTERO-DACTYLS. (_OF THE PIONEERS OF THE AIR._) Dædalus, once in the island of Crete, Finding his host tried to limit his scenery, Foiled in his efforts to flee on his feet, Went and invented some flying machinery; Then, when he thought it was time to make tracks Free from pursuit, for he felt he could dodge any, Brought out his wings, which he fastened with wax, Fitting another pair on to his progeny; So, if the legend to credence can wheedle us, First of air-pilots was old Father Dædalus.