“That’s all right,” I said. “Mind the candle.” He was tracing smoke-patterns on the wall. “But what I want to know is whether we’ll succeed in acclimatisin’ the blighter, or whether Sir William Gardner’s keepers ’ll kill ’im before ’e gets accustomed to ’is surroundin’s?” Some day, I think, we must go up the Linghurst Road and find out. “WIRELESS” KASPAR’S SONG IN VARDA (_From the Swedish of Stagnelius_.) Eyes aloft, over dangerous places, The children follow where Psyche flies, And, in the sweat of their upturned faces, Slash with a net at the empty skies. So it goes they fall amid brambles, And sting their toes on the nettle-tops, Till after a thousand scratches and scrambles They wipe their brows, and the hunting stops. Then to quiet them comes their father And stills the riot of pain and grief, Saying, “Little ones, go and gather Out of my garden a cabbage leaf. “You will find on it whorls and clots of Dull grey eggs that, properly fed, Turn, by way of the worm, to lots of Radiant Psyches raised from the dead.” “Heaven is beautiful, Earth is ugly,” The three-dimensioned preacher saith, So we must not look where the snail and the slug lie For Psyche’s birth … And that is our death! “WIRELESS” “It’s a funny thing, this Marconi business, isn’t it?” said Mr. Shaynor, coughing heavily. “Nothing seems to make any difference, by what they tell me—storms, hills, or anything; but if that’s true we shall know before morning.” “Of course it’s true,” I answered, stepping behind the counter. “Where’s old Mr. Cashell?” “He’s had to go to bed on account of his influenza. He said you’d very likely drop in.” “Where’s his nephew?” “Inside, getting the things ready. He told me that the last time they experimented they put the pole on the roof of one of the big hotels here, and the batteries electrified all the water-supply, and”—he giggled—“the ladies got shocks when they took their baths.” “I never heard of that.” “The hotel wouldn’t exactly advertise it, would it? Just now, by what Mr. Cashell tells me, they’re trying to signal from here to Poole, and they’re using stronger batteries than ever. But, you see, he being the guvnor’s nephew and all that (and it will be in the papers too), it doesn’t matter how they electrify things in this house. Are you going to watch?” “Very much. I’ve never seen this game. Aren’t you going to bed?” “We don’t close till ten on Saturdays. There’s a good deal of influenza in town, too, and there’ll be a dozen prescriptions coming in before morning. I generally sleep in the chair here. It’s warmer than jumping out of bed every time. Bitter cold, isn’t it?” “Freezing hard. I’m sorry your cough’s worse.”