"By jingo! there's Menzies in! No, he's brought back. Isn't that most----" "Be careful, dear; people will hear you." "Another try for Wales--well, I'm----" "Hush, dear, we should really go away; you're getting quite cross." "No wonder; it would make a saint swear--two tries to nothing!" As Wales added a goal and a try to their score, M'Cranky got more excited, and his language waxed stronger; and when the game was over, he left in the worst of humours. "I'm sure you haven't enjoyed it a bit," said Mrs. M'Cranky, "and I'm very glad, for you'll not go back again. I know I wouldn't sit again to see young men treat each other so roughly." M'Cranky wished the game was to be played over again, and regretted there was not to be another International Match in Scotland this year; in any case, Mrs. M'Cranky won't be asked to go again. MR. M'CRANKY Mr. M'Cranky is not a bad sort of man--as long as things go smoothly, but he hasn't a morsel of patience, and gets out of temper if his wife can't find anything he wants at once. One night at dinner he said: "By the by, I've got two tickets for the concert to-night; care to go? I'm not one of those fellows who never think of taking their wives anywhere; in fact, I think wives would be much cheerier to their husbands if they were taken out oftener." "Oh, that will be delightful!" said Mrs. M'Cranky, "only I wish you had told me yesterday, so that I could have had my dress----" "Had your dress turned or trimmed, or something; that's the worst of asking a woman to go anywhere; as much trouble about it." M'Cranky settled down to the evening paper, in front of the fire, with his feet on the grate, and Mrs. M'Cranky bustled away to get out his dress suit, and put studs and links in his shirt, laying them all out, ready to put on. When she was half dressed she cried: "It's time you were getting ready, dear." "All right. I don't take an afternoon to dress; five minutes 'll do me." After being called on about a dozen times, he went to dress, and found his wife struggling with a hook-and-eye at her back. "Will you put in this hook, dear?" she said. "H'm, you might be able to put on your own clothes by this time; con--found--" then he gave a tug, and his finger slipped and got scratched against the hook, and he said something that sounded like "damaged." "Never mind, dear, I'll do it myself." "Where's my shirt?" "On the bed, dear." "It isn't." "I put everything out, ready for you; rise--oh! that's too bad, you've been sitting on it; your best one too, and look at it!" "Never mind, gimme't. Hullo, as usual, no button on the back; you might manage to keep one button on a shirt; if I were a woman----" "That's the new patent one you bought; it doesn't require a button." "Oh, you just glue the collar to it, eh? or fix it with a screw-nail to the back of my neck? D'ye think I'm going with a collar up the back of my ears, like Sir Walter Raleigh? Gimme a one-button shirt."