I guess I don't hold with missionaries. I've been in most corners of thisglobe, and I reckon that the harm they do easily outweighs the good.Stands to reason, don't it, that we can't all have the same religion,same as we can't all have the same shaped nose? So what in thunder is thegood of trying to put my nose on to your face, where it won't fit? And itsort of riles me to see these good earnest people labouring and sweatingto do to others what they would only describe as damned impertinence ifthose others tried to do it to them. Yet, as I see it, there's no reasonwhy the others shouldn't. 'Tisn't as if any particular bunch had acomplete corner in truth, is it?But there are exceptions, same as to most things. And for the past twentyyears whenever I've said I don't hold with missionaries, I've alwaysadded a saving clause in my mind. Care to hear what that saving clauseis? Right: mine's the same as before.It was just after the Boer War that it happened. I'd come home: got a jobof sorts in London. Thought a few years of the quiet life would do megood, and an old uncle of mine wangled me into the office of a pal ofhis. Funny old thing my boss was, with a stomach like a balloon. And Igive you my word that he was the last man in London whom you'd haveexpected to meet at the Empire on a Saturday night. It was sheer badluck, though I don't suppose I could have stood that job, anyway, forlong.I'd met a pal there, you see, and I suppose we'd started to hit it a bit.Anyway a darned great chucker-out came and intimated that he thought themoment had come when we'd better sample the cool night air of LeicesterSquare.Well, I don't say I was right: strictly speaking, I suppose I should haveaccepted his remark in the spirit in which it was intended. But the factremains that I didn't like his face or his frock coat--and we had words.And finally the chucker-out sampled the cool night air--not me. The onlytrouble was that just as he went down the stairs, my boss was coming upwith wife and family complete. And that chucker-out was a big man: Iguess it was rather like being bit by a steam roller. Anyway the wholeblessed family turned head over heels, and landed on the pavementsimultaneously with the chucker-out on top.Again strictly speaking, I suppose I should have gone and picked them upwith suitable words of regret. But I just couldn't do it: I was laughingtoo much. In fact I didn't stop laughing till I began to run--the policewere heaving in sight. Still you boys know what the Empire was like inthose days: so I'll pass on to Monday morning.Not that there's much to say about Monday morning, except that it dosedmy connection with the firm. The old man had a black eye where thechucker-out had trodden on his face, and the hell of a liver. And heutterly failed to see the humorous side of the episode. As far as I couldmake out his wife had smashed her false teeth in the melee, and was aswild as a civet cat; and only the fact that his own firm would beinvolved had prevented him giving my name to the police. My own privateopinion was that it wasn't so much the firm he was worrying about ashimself. Still, that's neither here nor there: all that matters is thatmy job in London terminated that morning.