I suppose one does get used to these little eccentricities of Nature. I remember, when I visited far-away Thursday Island, the landlord of the Grand Hotel, who had arranged a match for me, said in a confidential aside to me just as I landed on the quay:-- "I don't think you will find the table very straight, Mr. Inman. We had a bit of an earthquake here last night, which shook it up a bit!" "That's nice, cheerful news," I said. "How often do you have earthquakes?" "Well, we're not so bad as some places," he answered. "They only happen about three times a week!" My stay at Thursday Island lasted exactly twenty-four hours; I am not anxious to acquire an intimate knowledge of earthquakes. I brought away with me as a souvenir a copy of what is proudly claimed to be "the smallest newspaper in the world," the _Thursday Island Pilot_, a facsimile of which is here reproduced. It is a single sheet, measuring about fourteen inches by eight. On one occasion I "put my foot in it" fairly. It happened in Southern India, at a place where I was booked to play at the local club. The journey took twelve hours by boat, and when I arrived I was told that a gentleman was waiting for me. I thought that he was bound to be the secretary of the club, who had arranged all details with me, and chatted to him as we made our way towards the village. Presently we passed a ramshackle-looking building, the walls of which, as far as I could judge, were made out of empty biscuit-tins and soap-boxes. It straggled over half an acre of ground, and troops of hungry dogs were sniffing around it. [Illustration: THE "THURSDAY ISLAND PILOT," WHICH IS BELIEVED TO BE THE SMALLEST NEWSPAPER IN THE WORLD.] I thought that I might venture on a little humour just to liven up the conversation, so, pointing to the building, I said:-- "A cow shed, I suppose?" He followed the direction of my outstretched finger, and a pained look came into his eyes. "That's the hotel you're going to stay at," he said. I gasped, but blundered on. "What a horrible-looking hole!" I cried. "I shall never be able to get my wife to stay there." "It's not so bad inside," was the reply, in rather a peculiar tone of voice. The rest of our tramp was finished in a strained silence. I thought that, perhaps, as secretary of the club, my new friend was afraid that the accommodation would not please me. On the steps of the club I was met by a dapper little gentleman, and my companion, nodding to both of us, turned on his heel and disappeared. "I am Mr. ----, Mr. Inman," said the man on the steps, and mentioned the name of the secretary with whom I had been in communication. "Then who was that gentleman I have just left?" I asked, in surprise. "That is the landlord of the hotel!" he explained.