The electric bells were ringing for a "count out." He opened both eyes to watch if forty Members came in. They did; and three times forty.
"Torment 'em! Keep me here all night, I see."
Samuel Banks Waddy—Pleader, Preacher, Parliamentarian (as he is designated in a work on M.P.'s)—continues preaching. He is followed by the Leader of the House. My soliloquising friend continues:
"Ah, Old Morality—as Lucy calls ye—up at last. Move the closure, now then, that's right; speak of yer dooty to the House and Country. Set the Rads laughing, shut yer own mouth, and sit down. Oh lor! 'Ere's the Grand Old Muddler up. We're getting 'usky, old 'un; both of us have 'ad too much of this job. We're very much alike, Gladdy and me—both great eaters and great sleepers."
Mr. Gladstone was telling the House all about black plaster, and gave three points why it should not be used in public hospitals. With the third point he landed a blow at Home Rule, and his ingenuity in doing so brought forth a derisive cheer from the Irish benches, which roused my neighbour.
I looked up at him smiling, as much as to say, "Just like the Old Parliamentary Hand."
"What are you?" he growled.
"Punch."
"Ticket?"
Same reply and promise.