It gave off blue smoke and fizzed
prettily. When last seen he was holding it to the ear of a chum, who was
smiling entrancedly, as a child smiles at the croon of a conch-shell.
By the way, whilst we are on the subject, who is this MILLS? The
illustrated papers have shown us THE MAN WHO WON THE WAR, the
thousand-and-one sole and only inventors of Tinribs the Tank; their
prattle-pages are crammed daily with portraits of war-worn flag-sellers,
heroic O.B.E.'s, and so on; but what of our other benefactors, the names
of whom are far more familiar to the average Atkins than are those of
the Twelve Apostles or his own Generals? I confess, to a great desire
to behold the features of Mr. MILLS, the bombster (I picture him a
benevolent-looking old gentleman with a flowing white beard), Mr. STOKES
of the gun, Mrs. AYRTON of the gas-fan, and Messrs. ARMSTRONG and
NISSEN, the hutters. Can no enterprising picture-paper supply the want?
But to return to ourselves. With the exception of the faithful
Celestial, the land is empty of human interest. The roads that once
rumbled unceasingly with wheels and swarmed with merry men now run bare
under a sad sky. The deepway side drains, in which our lorries used to
play at submarines, now harbour nothing more exciting than tadpoles.
Pages:
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31