‘At the last General Election it was decided that our Party should appeal to the country to support those studied and careful reforms necessary from time to time in an enlightened community like ours. Questions of Tariff, Extension of the Franchise, Disestablishment of the Church, Free Commercial Education for the Masses, were to be the pillars by which our Party should stand or fall. I myself——’
‘It is too long,’ cried Arshel.
‘It is a poor tale,’ cried Zanoah.
‘It is the worst tale I have ever heard,’ cried the one whose name I can never remember, ‘and you are no company for us.’
So they thrust the Member of Parliament for West Churchling out into the cold night.
THE WRONG WORLD
ONE Saturday night, not many years ago, there was a great crowd at the end of Toston Street, Littlebury.
‘Nah then. Nah then. Wot’s all this abart?’ cried a policeman, shouldering his way through the curious throng.
In the centre of the crowd was a small cleared space, in which was seated, on the edge of the pavement, a strange being with dark blue hair and greenish-tinted skin.
‘Nah then,’ said the policeman, pulling out his note-book, ‘wot’s all this?’