“It would never do, you know,” continued the other, “to let in every shallow young snipe that wanted to have a lark, and make game of the affair. We will make our rules very stringent.”
“Of course,” murmured Pax, with a solemn look, “tremendously stringent. For first offences of any kind—a sousin’ with dirty water. For second offences—a woppin’ and a fine. For third—dismissal, with ears and noses chopped off, or such other mutilation as a committee of the house may invent. But, Phil, who d’yee think would be suitable men to make members of?”
“Well, let me see,” said Phil, again laying down his tools, and looking at the floor with a thoughtful air, “there’s Long Poker, he’s a long-legged, good-hearted fellow—fond o’ the newspapers.”
“Yes,” put in Pax, “Poker’ll do for one. He’d be a capital member. Long and thin as a literary c’racter ought to be, and pliable too. We could make a’most anything of him, except a fire-screen or a tablecloth. Then there’s Big Jack—he’s got strong sedate habits.”
“Too fond of punning,” objected Phil.
“A little punishment in the mutilation way would stop that,” said Pax.
“And there’s Jim Brown,” rejoined Phil. “He’s a steady, enthusiastic fellow; and little Grigs, he’s about as impudent as yourself, Pax. Strange, isn’t it, that it’s chiefly little fellows who are impudent?”
“Wouldn’t it be strange if it were otherwise?” retorted Pax, with an injured look. “As we can’t knock people down with our fists, aren’t we justified in knockin’ ’em down with our tongues?”
“Then,” continued Phil, “there’s George Granger and Macnab—”
“Ah! ain’t he the boy for argufyin’ too?” interrupted Pax, “and he’ll meet his match in Sandy Tod. And there’s Tom Blunter—”