And there are living painters too who would come in. Our own old
master--AUGUSTUS JOHN (who is now, I am told, a major)--would, no
doubt, be delighted to lend the hoardings one of the pictures from
his exhibition now in progress. The portrait of Mr. G.B. SHAW, for
example, in which the eyes of the great seer are closed. "Why is
this old gentleman not looking at you?" "Because he is afraid you
may not have bought any War Bonds and he can't bear to see anything
unpatriotic."
But enough has been said. The National War Bonds must be sold, and Art
must help, and no one must wince.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Mother_ (_in course of an arithmetic lesson_). "WHAT
IS HALF FOUR?"
_Daughter_. "TWO."
_Mother_. "AND CAN YOU TELL ME WHAT IS HALF FIVE?"
_Daughter_. "WELL, MUMMIE, IT DEPENDS WHICH HALF YOU MEAN--THE TWO OR
THE THREE."]
* * * * *
OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.
(_BY MR. PUNCH'S STAFF OF LEARNED CLERKS._)
Many years ago, when I was younger and more optimistic than to-day, I
thought out what struck me as an adventure-story of wonderful promise,
and confided the plot to a friend, reputed expert in such matters. He
heard me with indulgent attention and, when I had finished, "Capital,"
says he; "but do you propose to differentiate it in _any_ way from
_Dead Man's Rock?_" I am reminded of this ancient wound by the
appearance of a new buccaneering book by Sir ARTHUR QUILLER-COUCH;
and that not only on account of the name of the author, but because
when a tale of this kind begins in Bristol Docks, with a company
that includes an apprentice-hero, a one-eyed sailor and a parrot of
piratical past, it is impossible not to recall _Treasure Island_.
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