"Much work! Why, bless you, Sir, beyond occasionally running in an Unemployed Sweater, we have none at all."
"Well, good night, Miss Betsy Jane," said Halfinch.
"Good night, Mr. Halfinch," responded the lovely girl.
Then they each turned to their brilliantly-lighted Co-operative Palace homes. Silence soon fell upon the scene. Another happy East-End day had come to its luxurious close.
NEW YEAR MEMS.
Lord S-l-sb-ry. Smother Howard Vincent & Co.—at least in public. Give private tip to Hartington, Bright, and Goschen, to get me talked about as a "second Cobden."
Mr. W. E. Gl-dst-ne. Mem.—Feel a little "chippy" this morning. Go out axing. Send New Year's Card to Dopping. Forgive and Forget. Write fewer letters, make fewer speeches, avoid railway station oratory; Ch-mb-rl-n's imitating me there. Shall have him next taking to chopping trees in Prince's Gardens. Mem.—Return to use of post-cards; shall also give up writing magazine-articles and devote myself more to commercial pursuits; there's a good deal to be done in chips if one gives his mind to it. Why not leave Hawarden and reside at Chipping Norton?
Mr. B-lf-r. Gingerly manipulate the "Crimes Act" across the Channel for the next few weeks. Mem.—Parliament opens Feb. 9th. Be careful what I say or write about anybody. Consult Solicitor.
