A fabulous reach indeed! So fabulous that it made the four look as long as an eight.
THE AMALGAMATED SOCIETY OF PASSENGERS.
"I've hit on something at last," cried Charles exultantly, throwing himself down on my second-best armchair.
"I wish you wouldn't hit on it so hard," I complained; "the springs are half-broken already. What's the trouble?"
"Have you ever heard," he inquired, "of the black-coated salariat?"
"The egg of the greater green-backed woodpecker—"
"It isn't a bird," he said; "it's a class of people that works with its brains. And the hand of Labour, according to my evening paper, is being held out to it."
"But suppose one wears a pepper-and-salt suit," I said, "and writes 'Society Gossip.' What about that?"
"That's just my point. All these accepted lines of distinction are absolutely wrong. It isn't what people work at that divides them, it's the way they travel to their work. Sir Thomas Malory knew that. When Lancelot was going to rescue Guinevere he had his white horse badly punctured by a bushment of archers and had to finish the journey in a woodcutter's cart. And that was a great disgrace to him and made the Queen's ladies laugh. It would be just the same with the typists of a rich employer if his motor-car broke down and he had to arrive in a bus. How do you get to town in the morning yourself?"