“’Ere it is,” said Erb importantly, drawing a long envelope from the inside pocket of his uniform jacket. “All drawn up in due order, I think.”
“What we’ve got to be careful about,” said a cautious, elderly carman preparing to listen, “is not to pitch it too strong, and not to pitch it too weak.”
“The same first-class idea occurred to me,” remarked Erb.
“Read it out to ’em, Erb,” suggested Payne.
Pride and a suggestion of Southwark Park was in the young man’s tones, as, unfolding the sheet of foolscap paper, he proceeded to recite the terms of the memorial. The style was, perhaps, slightly too elaborate for the occasion, but this appeared to be no defect in the eyes and ears of the listening men.
“‘And your petitioners respectfully submit, therefore, these facts to your notice, viz.,’—”
“What does ‘viz.’ mean?” asked the cautious, elderly carman.
“‘Viz,’” explained Erb, “is quite a well-known phrase, always used in official communications. ‘To your notice, viz., the long hours which we work, the paucity of pay, and the mediocre prospects of advancement. Whilst your petitioners are unwilling to resort to extreme measures, they trust it will be understood that there exists a general and a unanimous determination to improve or ameliorate’—”
“He’ll never understand words like that,” said the elderly carman despairingly. “Why, I can only guess at their meaning.”
“‘Or ameliorate the present environments under which they are forced to carry on their duties. Asking the favour of an early answer, We are, sir, your obedient servants—’”