"Back!! Rasch intruder!"
Thursday Night.—House dying to know what Major Frederick Carne Rasch had to say on Navy Estimates. Not being Major of Marines, initial difficulty is to imagine what he did in this galley. If it had been the Army, or even the Militia, the Major would have seemed all right. But what had he to do with the Navy? That, however, is for the Major a minor point. "You Carne be too Rasch when attacking this Government," said Kenyon, with his pretty elliptical speech.
It was half-past ten, and a dull night. Navy Estimates been talked round for nearly five hours. Squire of Malwood meekly hoped that a Vote would now be taken; Dicky Temple presented himself at footlights with bewitching smile on his lips and elegantly bound gilt-edged volume under his arm; bowed to audience; opened volume; proceeding to offer few remarks when Squire swooped down on him with Closure.
This was cue for Rasch. Chairman rose to put question. So did Rasch. Closure must not be debated; attempt to speak is unpardonable breach of order. The Major stood in the imminent deadly breach; House howled; Chairman cried, "Order! Order!" Rasch glared round, and, after moment's hesitation, sat down; up again as soon as Question was put; howls more anguished than ever. Committee having agreed that Question be put, nothing to do but put it, and here was Rasch bubbling over with speech. Chairman on his feet peremptorily signalling Major to sit down; Members near him tugged at his coat-tails; those further off frantically wave deprecatory hands. Major stood to his guns; shouts of "Name! Name!" Chairman, desperately pegging away, succeeded in putting Question, being money-vote for Navy. Major by this time hauled down in his seat. Up again, like Jack out of box. Chairman also on his feet, putting next vote; hubbub tremendous; Major's lips observed in motion; not an articulate syllable rose above uproar.
