MR. SMEETH GETS HIS RISE ai*

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"Yes, trust 9im" screamed Mrs. Fred, putting down
her empty glass. "If you don't take that bottle away
from him, hell have it all before you know where you
are."

"Ah like ma droap OT Scoatch, d'ye ken/' Fred
bellowed in a very hoarse voice and in what he imagined
to be a Scots accent. "Wha' day ye say, Meesees Mao
phairson? Hoch aye!"

"Oh, stop it, Fred," cried his wife,

"Good as a turn, you are, Fred," said Mrs. Smeeth
admiringly.

"Reminds me of the chap from Aberdeen," Dalby
began. But it was no use. It was not his evening.

"There was a Scottie I knew in Bruin," Fred shouted.

Mrs. Fred let out a piercing shriek. "Oh, yes, tell
'em about him."

Fred did, but Mr. Smeeth, by a tremendous effort,
contrived not to listen, although Fred's voice more than
filled the room. Indeed, there was so much of it that
it was possible not to take it in properly. Mr. Smeeth
thought about other things, and paid no attention until
he suddenly discovered that he was being addressed.

"Yes, do let's have that," cried Mrs- Smeeth, her face
very red and her eyes moist with laughter. "YJknow,
that one you did the other night for me—that man in
Birmingham. Laugh! I thought I'd have died. Dad,
you remember me telling you? Do listen to this."

'That's right, Pa," roared Fred, with mock severity.
"A little of your attention, please, while I endeavour
to give you a slight impersonation of—Mis-ter Snook-urn
of Brum."

"That wasn't his real name, you know," Mrs. Fred
screamed, turning on Mr, Smeetb su that he got she full