“----_Home Companion._ ‘A little vinegar added to stewed prunes,’ says the writer, ‘greatly improves the flavour. And although it may seem strange, it causes less sugar to be used.’ What happens? What is the result? G. D. H.’s husband comes back tired and hungry after a day’s work. ‘Prunes for dinner again, I suppose?’ he says moodily. ‘Yes, dear,’ replies G. D. H., ‘but of a greatly improved flavour.’ Well, he doesn’t believe her, of course. He sits down sullenly. Then, as he deposits the first stone on his plate, a delighted smile comes into his face. ‘By Jove!’ he cries. ‘The flavour is greatly improved. They still taste like brown paper soaked in machine oil, but a much superior grade of brown paper. How did you manage it?’ ‘It was not I, dearest,’ says G. D. H., ‘but Pyke’s _Home Companion_. Acting on their advice, I added a little vinegar, with the result that not only is the flavour greatly improved but, strange though it may seem, I used less sugar.’ ‘Heaven bless Pyke’s _Home Companion_!’ cries the husband. With your permission then,” said Sam, “I will go straight to Mr. Wrenn and inform him that I have come to fight the good fight under his banner. ‘Mr. Wrenn,’ I shall say----” Lord Tilbury was perplexed. “Do you know Wrenn? How do you know Wrenn?” “I have not yet had the pleasure of meeting him, but we are next-door neighbours. I have taken the house adjoining his. Mon Repos, Burberry Road, is the address. You can see for yourself how convenient this will be. Not only shall we toil all day in the office to make Pyke’s _Home Companion_ more and more of a force among the _intelligentsia_ of Great Britain but in the evenings, as we till our radishes, I shall look over the fence and say, ‘Wrenn,’ and Wrenn will say, ‘Yes, Shotter?’ And I shall say, ‘Wrenn, how would it be to run a series on the eradication of pimples in canaries?’ ‘Shotter,’ he will reply, dropping his spade in his enthusiasm, ‘this is genius. ’Twas a lucky day, boy, for the old _Home Companion_ when you came to us.’ But I am wasting time. I should be about my business. Good-bye, Mrs. Hammond. Good-bye, Lord Tilbury. Don’t trouble to come with me. I will find my way.” He left the room with the purposeful step of the man of affairs, and Lord Tilbury uttered a sound which was almost a groan. “Insane!” he ejaculated. “Perfectly insane!” Mrs. Hammond, womanlike, was not satisfied with simple explanation. “There is something behind this, George!” “And I can’t do a thing,” moaned His Lordship, chafing, as your strong man will, against the bonds of fate. “I simply must humour this boy, or the first thing I know he will be running off on some idiotic prank and Pynsent will be sending me cables asking why he has left me.”