Monday was devoted entirely to final rehearsings, the soloists having arrived meantime, Albani, Brema, Edward Lloyd, and Plunket Green among them.

He clumsily made a pass at the prom queen, and she responded with a scowl.

The word ‘ivory’ rang in the air, was whispered, was sighed. You would think they were praying to it. A taint of imbecile rapacity blew through it all, like a whiff from some corpse. By Jove! I’ve never seen anything so unreal in my life.

Did you ever stop to wonder Why, in Berkeley, our police Are such handsome and such prancesome, Stalwart guardians of the peace?