It happened on the first day of my leave, just after I had, as is my custom on this day, had my hair cut and otherwise made beautiful at a place in Bond Street. (I am afraid this sounds as if I was a rich man, but really I am a Naval Officer.) I was wearing--well, that would not interest you, but it really was rather a pleasant suit, with a hat which even _The Daily Mail_ could not improve upon. Briefly, I was strolling along in a perfectly contented frame of mind when a horse, drawing a van, chose to fall down right alongside me. In a moment of rashness and chivalry--have I said that the horse was being driven by a girl?--I promptly sat on the brute's head, an act which I had always been told is the correct thing to do, though, I should imagine, discouraging for the horse. In my haste I sat down with my back to the van, so was unable to gauge the progress of the refitting work which was going on. In an effort to convey to the crowd, which had, of course, collected, that I was in no way embarrassed, nay more, that I was well accustomed to sitting on horses' heads in the middle of Bond Street, I lit a cigarette and tried to look _blase_, no easy thing to do in the circumstances. Small boys made tactless remarks about my personal appearance and eccentric habits, but I ignored them, feverishly thinking that this adventure would necessitate an early visit to my club. I had just decided what brand of cocktail would best meet the case when I felt a tap on my shoulder and looked up at a vast blue expanse which I realised later was a policeman. "If you've quite finished with that there 'orse you're sitting on, young man," he said, "the leddy wants to take it 'ome." The crowd chuckled and I rose hurriedly. Unfortunately, so did the horse, urged on, possibly by the cries and kicks of several willing helpers, or possibly by the sight of his mistress, who had come up, I hoped, to thank me. Not only did the horse rise, but he rose at full speed and without giving me time to get my foot off the rein on which I was unwittingly standing. My leg shot into the air and I lost all sense of direction for a few seconds. Then a slight shock, and I found myself clasping the "leddy" firmly round the neck. At this juncture my aunt appeared. My aunt, I should explain, is nothing if not dignified. She is built on the lines of a monitor, bluff in the bow, broad in the beam, slow and majestic of movement. Her lips were moving feebly when I saw her, but she uttered no sound, uncertain, I suppose, whether to intervene or to pretend that I was in no way connected with her. Paralysed by her arrival, I saw her slowly take in the scene. Her eye wandered from the policeman to me, from me to the unfortunate girl to whom I still clung. I could see her jumping--no, moving ponderously--towards the wrong conclusion. Mr. Punch, what would you have done? Yours faithfully, An N. O.