"Sometimes," I admitted. "But sometimes, if we are very, very clever, he doesn't. That, in fact, is the game." Our host got up and went to the door. "I think I see," he said; "and I want my pipe anyhow. So I'll go out first." "Now then," said Celia, when the door was safely closed, "what shall we have?" Of course you know this game, and you know the difficulty of thinking of a proverb which has no moss or stable-doors or glasshouses in it; all of them words which it is impossible to include naturally in an answer to an ordinary question. The proverbs which Mrs. Herbert suggested were full of moss. "What about 'It's never too late to mend?'" said Mrs. Peter. "The only difficult word is 'mend.'" "We mustn't have less than seven words, one for each of us." "Can't we get something from Solomon for a change?" said Peter. "'A roaring lion is a calamity to its father, but the cautious man cometh not again.' That sort of thing." "We might try it," said Celia doubtfully, not feeling quite sure if it were a real proverb; "but 'cometh' would be difficult." "I don't see why," said Herbert. "One could always work it in somehow." "Well, of course, if he asked you, 'By what train cometh thou up in the mornings?' you could answer, 'I cometh up by the ten-fifteen.' Only you don't get that sort of question as a rule." "Oh, I see," said Herbert. "I didn't quite understand." "After all, its really much more fun having camels and things," said Celia. "'It's the last straw that breaks the camel's back.' Who'll do 'camels'? You'd better," she added kindly to me. Everybody but myself seemed to think that this was much more fun. "I'll do 'straw,'" said Peter generously, whereupon Celia volunteered for "breaks." There were seven of us for nine words. We gave Mrs. Herbert the second "the," fearing to trust her with anything more alarming and in order to keep it in the family we gave the other "the" to Herbert, who was also responsible for "back." Our hostess had "last" and Mrs. Peter had "that." All this being settled, our host was admitted into his smoking-room again. "You begin with me," I said, and I was promptly asked, "How many blue beans make five?" When I had made a suitable answer into which "it's" came without much difficulty, our host turned to Herbert. Herbert's face had already assumed a look of strained expectancy. "Well, Herbert, what do you think of Lloyd George?" "Yes," said Herbert. "Yes--er--yes." He wiped the perspiration from his brow. "He--er--that is to say--er--Lloyd George, yes." "Is that the answer?" said our host, rather surprised. Herbert explained hastily that he hadn't really begun yet, and with the aid of an anecdote about a cousin of his who had met Winston Churchill at Dieppe once, he managed to get "the" in several times before blowing his nose vigorously and announcing that he had finished. "I believe he's playing a different game," murmured Celia to Mrs. Peter.