THE OTHER SIDE OF THE CANVASS.
(A Purely Imaginary Sketch.)
SCENE—A Portico in Portman Square. Mr. BENJAMIN GULCHER (an ardent Radical Artisan, canvassing the district on behalf of a "pal" of his, who is putting up as a Labour Candidate), discovered on the doorstep.
Mr. Gulcher (to himself—after knocking). Some might think it was on'y waste of time me callin' at a swell 'ouse o' this sort—but them as lives in the 'ighest style is orfen the biggest demmycrats. Yer never know! Or p'raps this Sir NORMAN NASEBY ain't made his mind up yet, and I can tork him over to our way o' thinking. (The doors are suddenly flung open by two young men in a very plain and sombre livery.) Two o' the young 'uns, I s'pose. (Aloud.) 'Ow are yer? Father in, d'yer know?
First Footman (loftily). I don't know anything about your father, I'm sure. Better go down the airey-steps and inquire there.
Mr. G. (annoyed with himself.) It's my mistake. I didn't see yer were on'y flunkeys at first. It's yer Guv'nor I want—the ole man!
First Footman (with cold dignity). If you are illewding to Sir NORMAN, he is not at home.
Mr. G. (indignantly). 'Ow can yer tell me sech a falsehood, when I can see him myself, a-dodgin' about down there in the passage! (Forces his way past the astonished men into the hall, and addresses a stately Butler in plain clothes.) 'Ere, Sir NASEBY, I've come in to 'ave a little tork with you on the quiet like.
The Butler (not displeased). I don't happen to be Sir NORMAN himself, my good man. Sir NORMAN is out.