“That’s General Pustoffus; we calls him G. P. O. for short; it’s him as looks after the Royal Male. He’s a queer sorter chap he is, the Royal Male. He takes up ’is ’ole time a pullin’ letters out of bags, and shoving ’em into ’oles; and when’s he’s tired o’ that, he takes them out of ’oles and shoves ’em into bags. And, besides that, there’s never a letter he gets that he doesn’t give the Queen’s ’ead a bang.”
“What a shame!” said Ranulf.
“Ay, it be a shame,” said the guard. “If you or me was to lick our wife we’d get six months; but this ’ere Royal Male, he doesn’t mind ’er ’ead gettin’ licked and stuck fast in a corner, and ’ee’s always a stamping on it, and making her face all black. And I’m sure a patienter lady never was, for though her ’ead’s being bumped all day, she never says a word. He don’t hold the Queen’s ’ead worth more nor a penny to a hounce, he don’t. But come on, or the train will be hoff.”
PUFFY PIGGY.
The next was the smoking-carriage, and the smoke was pushing out so hard at the door, that the moment the handle was turned it flew open, so that it took the united efforts of the guard and porter to get it shut again, the cloud coming out as thick as gutta percha. Norval looked through the window, and saw a pig puffing away at an enormous cigar.
“What a bore! It’s no use trying to go in there,” said he.
“I thought papa said smoking was a bad habit,” said Ranulf.
“Well,” said the porter, “ain’t ’ee trying to cure hisself?”
SAMPLING.