[Mr. C.-J. flounders up the narrow stairs, and is met at the top by a very burly and surly mechanic.
Mr. Moleskin. Now, then, what do you want 'ere? (Mr. C.-J. explains his object, in some confusion.) Oh, that's it, is it? And what right ha' you got comin' up my stairs as if they belonged to you? Jest you tell me that!
Mr. C.-J. (meekly). I'm really very sorry—but I was—er—shown up.
Mr. M. It's 'igh time you and the likes o' you were shown up, in my opinion. 'Ow would you like to 'ave me comin' bustin' up your stairs, eh?
Mr. C.-J. (thinking that he wouldn't like it at all). I assure you I quite feel that this is an unwarrantable intrusion on my part—I must ask you to accept my best apologies—but I should be very glad to know that we might count on your—er—support at such a national crisis.
Mr. M. I dessay yer would. But what I ask you is—where does the secresy of the Ballot come in, if I'm to tell you which way I'm goin' to give my vote?
Mr. C.-J. (in distress). Pray believe that I should not dream of—er—forcing any confidence from you, or dictating to you in any way! I merely—
Mr. M. (mollified). Well, I don't mind tellin' yer this much:—I've made up my mind long ago, and, when the time comes, I shall vote to please myself and nobody else; and that's as much as you've got any right to know!
Mr. C.-J. (with a feeling that he would give much the same answer himself under similar circumstances). Then I'm afraid it would be of no use if I said any more?