Monday.

Henpecked Joe Thompson called in the other day with both eyes very black and swollen.

"Looks like the effect of inflamed cysts caused by pressure of the brain on the ball of the foot," I said.

"Wrong," he grumbled, "it's the effect of an inflamed wife caused by pressure of the hand on the housemaid's knee."

Tuesday.

"Dunna what the younger generation is coming to, "deed I don't." said doddering old Luke Hester, chewing his beard savagely. "They used to need two whiffs to muddle 'em, and now they need two Waafs to cuddle 'em."

Wednesday.

Took the morning off to play golf with my old crony Alan Bluegetts. Alan was not playing his heat, and was continually rubbing his sternum with the head of his No. 2 driver.

Thursday.

"I've been treating it with one of Mother's remedies," said haggard Mrs. Gilthorpe, showing me Willie's neck, which was red and angry.

"I boil a lb. of goose grease with six penorth of onion seed, beat to a stiff cream and strain through a hair net. I then apply it to Willie's big toe, and rub his neck with a porcelain cameo. This is the first time it hasn't worked."