In reply I pointed out: (_a_) That ninety-seven was an extremely unlikely number for anyone to have made. (_b_) That if he had been asked he evidently hadn't accepted, which showed the sort of man he was: besides which, what was his county? (_c_) That, assuming for the moment he had made ninety-seven, was it likely he would consent to go in last and play for a draw, which was why we wanted the artist? And that, anyhow, he was a jolly bad artist. (d) That hadn't we better put it to the vote? This was accordingly done, and an exciting division ended in a tie. Those in favour of Higgins 1 Those against Higgins 1 The Speaker gave his casting vote against Higgins. Prior to this, however, I had laid before the House the letter of invitation. It was as follows (and, I flatter myself, combined tact with a certain dignity):-- "DEAR----, I am taking a team into the country on Friday week to play against the village eleven. The ground and the lunch are good. Do you think you could manage to come down? I know you are very busy just now with Contangers, Briefs, Clients, Your Christmas Number, Varnishing Day, (_Strike out all but one of these_) but a day in the country would do you good. I hear from all sides that you are in great form this season. I will give you all particulars about trains later on. Good-bye. Remember me to----. How is----? Ever yours. "_P.S._--Old Henry is playing for us. He has strained himself a little and probably won't bowl much, so I expect we shall all have a turn with the ball." _Or_, "I don't think you have ever met Henry Barton, the cricketer. He is very keen on meeting you. Apparently he has seen you play somewhere. He will be turning out for us on Friday. "_P.P.S._--We might manage to have some bridge in the train." "That," I said to Henry, "is what I call a clever letter." "What makes you think that?" "It is all clever," I said modestly. "But the cleverest part is a sentence at the end. 'I will give you all particulars about trains later on.' You see I have been looking them up, and we leave Victoria at seven-thirty A.M. and get back to London Bridge at eleven-forty-five P.M." The answers began to come in the next day. One of the first was from Bolton, the solicitor, and it upset us altogether. For, after accepting the invitation, he went on: "I am afraid I don't play bridge. As you may remember, I used to play chess at Cambridge, and I still keep it up." "Chess," said Henry. "That's where White plays and mates in two moves. And there's a Black too. He does something." "We shall have to get a Black. This is awful." "Perhaps Bolton would like to do problems by himself all the time." "That would be rather bad luck on him. No, look here. Here's Carey. Glad to come, but doesn't bridge. He's the man." Accordingly we wired to Carey: "Do you play chess? Reply at once." He answered, "No. Why?"