“Over” says I to catch him, and this got him for a moment. Then he dartled to a little exercise book and made a mark in it on some squares, and rang his bell at which a seceretary came in, and mutered with her, till she went out. A nice girl in a white blouse too.” “Ha” said Selia as tho’ stung. “But what were they at.” “Well dearest you see it is a new disease. The doctors being hard up between you and me and the gatepost because the herd are not dying off so much as they did.” “No I’ve noticed that, there’s hardly ever a nice funeral nowadays,” said Selia. “Well and what with that and having no more apendicles to cut out they had to be at something fresh,” he continued. “I see” said Selia who as will have been noticed had growed almost meek in these latter days and sat merely stroking her Harolds hand in pity. “So now they declare in their bold way that all clever folk have a brane sickness on the lines of a drain stoppage (if you will excuse me) and he was artful-like pumping me to try and find out what had stopped the drain.” “Oh!” With a yell Selia lept from the bed. “Calm yourself Selia” said her Harold, preparing to rise from his couch, “for you know what bad form it is to show emoshun. And all these adventers of mine are very smart indeed.” “Smart? How smart?” snapt she quivering with distres partly from the snub she had had. “Sit down dear Selia” he said with a cool drorl, “and I will tell you how for you know we must let nothing get past us even if it is only a sickness.” “Too true” she said subsidising somewhat and becoming seated though at a distance. “Well I think this must be very like the latest craze of all” he said passing his hand over his brow and settling again on the bed, “though come too soon in my career as it is more fitted to those who are played out whereas I am only at the post as you might say and in my first flush. Still there is no saying but it _is_ smart.” So Selia came and sat again on the bed’s side while her love got it off his chest which is always a good thing even in high life. “Well this old meddiko kept on at me and on and on and I began to get sleepy because it was hot and there was a blue-bottel buzzing. I do not know what I said but he was very interested. Suddenly he sprang up. ‘Eureka’ he cried, and began pacing up and down and down and up till I went quite swimmy. So then it all came out.” “And what was it” inquired Selia all agag. “It was cricket.” “What was?” “My sickness.” “How so? You were sick with cricket. What cricket? Come do not play any tosh with me.” “It is no tosh” said Harold simpering a little with pride. “I am the first case. Of course between you and me it is somewhat tosh. Still they are writing a article on me called ‘Sport and Poetry: a Sycoanalsis of Genius’ to prove that I am suffering from a sort of squashed wish to play cricket just as Shakespere suffered because his wish to play tennis was squashed as he had not got the price.”