"My dear fellow, we are going to govern New South Wales—not South Africa."
"Yes; but when we sent contingents out to fight for the Empire in the Transvaal, do you think it fair that white men should be passed over in favour of Chows in the South African labour market?"
This question being ignored another was interjected.
"Are you in favour of the newspapers running New South Wales?"
"Certainly not!"
This being a satisfactory answer, the old favourite question, "Are you in favour of black gins wearing white stockings?" was put; and the candidate having assured us that, provided they could manage the laundry bill, he certainly was in favour of these ladies wearing any hosiery they preferred; and the loud guffaw which greeted this information having subsided, he continued—
"Now, don't vote for me or for Henderson,—vote for the best measures for the country. (Henderson was driving the personal ticket of having lived among them,—hence this warning.) I think it an unparalleled impertinence for a man to ask an intelligent body of electors to vote for him—"
"When there's a swell bloke like you in the field."
"Pip! pip! Hooray! Cock-a-doodle-do!" came the chorus. The "Pip! pip!" was a new sound to them, having been introduced to represent the noise made by the propulsion of a motor-car, in which set the candidate shone.
"Are you in favour of gas and water running up the one pipe?" inquired another, when the din had once more fallen to comparative silence.