The Chronicles of Clovis
as incapable of taking flying leaps into futurity as of executing more than a severely plantigrade walk across the stage.
"Woe! Trojans, woe to Troy!" was the most inspired remark she could produce after several hours of conscientious study of all the available authorities.
"It's no earthly use foretelling the fall of Troy," expostulated Clovis, "because Troy has fallen before the action of the play begins. And you mustn't say too much about your own impending doom either, because that will give things away too much to the audience."
After several minutes of painful brain-searching, Cassandra smiled reassuringly.
"I know. I'll predict a long and happy reign for George the Fifth."
"My dear girl," protested Clovis, "have you reflected that Cassandra specialised in foretelling calamities?"
There was another prolonged pause and another triumphant issue.
"I know. I'll foretell a most disastrous season for the foxhounds."
"On no account," entreated Clovis; "do remember that all Cassandra's predictions came true. The M.F.H. and the Hunt
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