Max Beerbohm, surnamed by the immovable literary megalith, G. B. Shaw, "the incomparable," last week again popped out of his bottle.
He depicted the Prince of Wales in Manhattan, evidently in that holy of holies le grand monde. The Prince is surrounded by a mob of females of the heavily bejeweled ladder-climbing variety. One says:
"Prince, you were right through that great war, you know what a life and death struggle is and all I ask is that you'll win me mine for the social leadership."
"Don't you heed that plebian Prince. You've read your...