“Why, the thing has occurred before now. I mean that I have heard that Congressmen have sometimes hired literary grubs to build speeches for them.—Now didn’t I overhear a conversation like that I spoke of?”
“Pshaw! Why of course you may have overheard some such jesting nonsense. But would one be in earnest about so farcical a thing?”
“Well if it was only a joke, why did you make a serious matter of it? Why did you get the speech written for you, and then read it in the House without ever having it copied?”
Mr. Trollop did not laugh this time; he seemed seriously perplexed. He said:
“Come, play out your jest, Miss Hawkins. I can’t understand what you are contriving—but it seems to entertain you—so please, go on.”
“I will, I assure you; but I hope to make the matter entertaining to you, too. Your private secretary never copied your speech.”
“Indeed? Really you seem to know my affairs better than I do myself.”
“I believe I do. You can’t name your own amanuensis, Mr. Trollop.”
“That is sad, indeed. Perhaps Miss Hawkins can?”
“Yes, I can. I wrote your speech myself, and you read it from my manuscript. There, now!”