NEW FACES IN THE HOUSE OF COMMONS.
Lady N. (as the Butler appears). CLARKSON, show this—this gentleman the way out.
Mr. G. Don't you trouble, old pal, I can find it for myself. (To Lady N.) I b'lieve, if the truth was known, you're comin' round already, Mum. I'll tell yer what I'll do. I'll leave some o' these 'ere little pamphlicks, as you might git your good man to run his eye over. "Why I am a Radikil," "The Infamy of Tory Gov'ment," "'Ow we are Robbed!" &c. And 'ere's a picter-poster—"The 'Orrers of Coercion under the Brutal BALFOUR!" Yer might put it up in yer front winder—it don't commit yer to nothing, yer know!—it'll amuse the kids, if you've any family.
Clarkson (in his ear). Will you walk downstairs quietly, or shall I have to pitch you?
Mr. G. (roused at last). What, I'm to cop the push, am I? An' what for, eh? What 'ave I done more than you swells ha' bin doin' ever since the Elections started? (To Lady N.) You come pokin' into our 'ouses, without waitin' to be invited, arskin' questions and soft-sawderin', and leavin' tracks and coloured picters—and we put up with it all. But as soon as one of us tries it on, what do yer do?—ring for the Chucker-out! Ah, and reason enough, too—yer know yer'll get beaten on the argyments! (Here he is gently but firmly led out by CLARKSON, and concludes his observations on the' stairs outside.) Stuck-up, pudden'-'eaded fossils!... battenin' on the People's brains!... your time'll come some day!... Wait till QUELCH 'ears o' this! &c., &c.
Lady N. (alone). Thank goodness he's gone!—but what an ordeal! I really must part with CLARKSON. And—whatever the Primrose League Council may say—I shall have to tell them I must give up canvassing. I don't think I can do it any more—after this!
OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.
"Read it!" said Everyone. "Read what?" asked the Baron. "The Wrecker," answered Everyone. "I will," quoth the Baron, promptly. And—it was done. It took some time to do, but of this more anon. The Baron's time is fully occupied, never mind how, but fully, take his word for it. A copy of The Wrecker was at once provided by its publishers, Messrs. CASSELL & Co., and the question for the Baron to consider, was not "What will I do with it?" but How, when, and where, will I read it? Clearly 'twas no ordinary book. Everybody was saying so, and what Everybody is saying has considerable weight. A book not to be trained through at express pace, so that the beauties of the surrounding scenery would be lost, but something that when once taken up cannot be put down again, like the brass knobs worked by an electric-battery,—something giving you fits and starts, and shocks, as do the electric brass-knobs aforesaid; something that, if you begin it at 4 P.M., exhausts you by dinner-time, and after dinner, keeps you awake till you read the last line at 2 A.M., and then tumble into bed parched, fevered, exhausted, but in ecstasies of delight, feeling as if you were the hero who had experienced all the dangers, and had come out of them triumphantly.