ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.
EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.
House of Commons, Monday, June 10.—School reopened after Whitsun Holidays. Occasion marked by lamentable episode. Attendance, as usual on Black Monday, very small. Speaker took Chair at three o'clock. No private business on hand; nothing to be done till half-past three. Meanwhile, Speaker and Members sit with hands folded.
Everyone knows the temptation of such opportunity for a nameless Personage. Tommy's idle hands instinctively clutched after mischief. Suppose he were to move to have House counted? Evidently not forty present; nothing very serious would follow. Speaker would count. If not forty on hand, would leave Chair, sit at table, and wait till they came. Or he would go off, come back any time before four when message brought in that a quorum was in sight. Still, it would be a lark; would startle the House, frighten Ministers, possibly postpone commencement of business by half an hour.
Cap'en just rising with intent to observe that there are not forty Members present, when happier thought struck him. Why not get some landsman to do the trick? The more venerable and venerated the agent the better. Tommy knows himself to be a wicked old salt. House not shocked now at anything he does. Half the fun gone if he played this prank himself. Shifting his quid and scanning horizon, noted in his place Sir Richard Temple, Bart., G.C.S.I., late Lieutenant-Governor of Bengal, once Governor of Bombay, sometime Chief Commissioner of Central Provinces of India.
The very man for the job. Buttonholing him with his hook, Cap'en Tommy opened his little plot. Temple aghast at first. Never known such a thing done, and the like. Tommy jawed away, twisting Temple round the tip of his hook like a marlingspike on a flying jibboom. Convinced him that public duty called for sacrifice of private prejudices. Having squared Temple, Tommy got men near him to walk out before House was counted, so as to reduce chances of quorum.
Bell rang; Members rushed in; Ministers huddled on Treasury Bench like flock of frightened sheep. Tommy, looking down from shrouds in Strangers' Gallery, carefully counted.
"Only thirty two," he said. "Done it!"
But Speaker can count as well. "One-two—four—fourteen—twenty-seven—thirty-nine, forty," said he, with tone of conviction that precluded contradiction.
"Blow me tight!" said Tommy, coming out of the shrouds, a deathly pallor shining through his tan. That was not his exact expression; but it was equivalent to his remark.
Business done.—Quite a lot.
Vantage in (Sir E. Gr-y and Sir E. Ashm-d-B-rtl-tt.)
Tuesday.—Edward Grey is a hard nut for Irresponsible Verbosity to crack. Silomio, his jaws aching with attempts at crunching Sydney Buxton, sometimes turns to him, and goes away sorrowing. Tommy has a tuck in at him occasionally, but makes nothing of the job. To night Ambrose, Q.C., took him in hand. Drew up stupendous question on subject of Great Britain's relations with the Porte in respect of Armenia.
"That'll fetch him," he said, as he ogled the paper on which the question was set forth in bold type. Is there a treaty obligation, he wanted to know, as distinguished from mere discretionary right, authorising Great Britain to interfere in the affairs of Armenia, or make war upon the Porte? If so, specify the treaty and the particular article or articles creating such obligation.
This a bare summary of question, the drafting of which had cost Ambrose, Q.C., some sleepless nights. Silomio had looked over it; Tommy had touched it up; Bartley had beamed over it; Hanbury had hugged it. Grey's last hour (of course in Parliamentary sense) had evidently come. He had wriggled out of some earlier man traps set for him. This would settle him.
And this is what Grey said in reply:—"The article of the Treaty of Berlin relative to the point raised by the hon. member is the sixty-first."
Only that, and nothing more. The raven on the pallid bust of Pallas was scarcely more disappointingly laconic. There was a shocked pause; then allied forces swooped down on Under Secretary, crying, in chorus. Did the clause mean this? Did it mean that?
"The hon. member," said Grey, not even smiling, "must place his own interpretation on the clause."
Evidently nothing to be done with a person of this temperament. Silomio, with a wild shriek, learned in Swaziland, dashed in with fresh questions; was neatly tripped up by Speaker; lay sprawling on ground with dishevelled hair. Before he could get up, Snape was asking Home Secretary if the police might not be supplied with lighter clothing in summer months.
Don Currie, Lord High Admiral.
Business done.—Crofters Bill read second time.
Wednesday. Off Tilbury.—Yes, I'm off Tilbury, and shall be off to the Baltic at four bells, whatever time that may be. Mr. G. is responsible for it. Tired of doing nothing; pondering perilously over growing temptation to run up to town, plunge into Parliamentary work; address meeting at Blackheath on Armenian question. In nick of time comes letter from Don Currie, proposing a trip to Kiel for opening of Baltic Canal.
"The very thing!" said Mr. G., vaulting over the library table at Hawarden, where he was sitting when letter arrived. "But Toby, M.P., must come with us."
Objections urged in vain. What would Constituents in Berks say, me running away from work? Who was to write the only authentic matter-of-fact record of Parliamentary doings for future historians? Mr. G., with all the impetuosity of youth, would listen to nothing. So here I am, onboard the R.M.S. Tantallon Castle. Here, also, is quite a quorum of members. Curious to see how they all trooped in just now when luncheon-bell rang. Said they thought it was a division; being in saloon, might as well stay.
That's all very well. By-and-by we'll be on the North Sea, where the stormy winds do blow, do blow. Shall see then whether we can keep a House through the dinner hour.
Business done.—Anchor weighed. Mr. G. taking the helm till we're out in the open, when anyone can steer. Looks more than usually knowing in a sou'wester. Wind N.S.E. Barometer falling.
Startling News! All's Well that Ends Well.—Grace caught!! Wright at last.