FATHER AND SON.

Father. And now, my dear Son, I must ask you for your rent.

Son. But surely, Father, I am entitled to a room in your house?

Father. Out of my love and affection; but this is a matter of business; and, if you desire to be a Voter, you must behave as such.

Son. But I have had some difficulty in scraping up enough to pay you.

Father. Surely, eighteen shillings a-week is a reasonable sum for an apartment, however small, in Mayfair?

Son. I do not deny it; still it seems hard that I should be mulcted to that extent some fifty times a-year.

Father. I cannot see the hardship, nor the money!

Son. If you really want it, it is here.

[Produces a pocket-book, from which he takes sufficient change to satisfy the claim.

Father (pocketing coin). Thank you; and now we may say, adieu!

Son. But how about dinner—am I not to dine with you?

Father. Dine with me! What an idea! Why should you?

Son. Because I am your Son.

Father. You mean someone infinitely more important—my Lodger.

Son. And you absolutely refuse me food?

Father. Not I, my boy; not I! It is the law! If I was to give you what you ask, you and I would be had up for bribery.

Son. Then you prefer patriotism to paternal affection?

Father. Well, to be candid with you, I do! It is distinctly cheaper!