Mr. Botcher and Mr. Bascom exchanged glances.
“Why, yes—” said Mr. Bascom, “yes, he is. He's a great friend of General Doby's, and their wives are great friends.”
“Intimate friends, sir,” said the Honourable Jake
“Well,” said Mr. Crewe, “we won't bother 'em but a moment.”
It was he who led the way now, briskly, the Honourable Brush and the Honourable Jake pressing closely after him. It was Mr. Crewe who, without pausing to knock, pushed open the door of number nine, which was not quite closed; and it was Mr. Crewe who made the important discovery that the lugubrious division superintendent had a sense of humour. Mr. Manning was seated at a marble-topped table writing on a salmon-coloured card, in the act of pronouncing these words:—“For Mr. Speaker and Mrs. Speaker and all the little Speakers, to New York and return.”
Mr. Speaker Doby, standing before the marble-topped table with his hands in his pockets, heard the noise behind him and turned, and a mournful expression spread over his countenance.
“Don't mind me,” said Mr. Crewe, waving a hand in the direction of the salmon-coloured tickets; “I hope you have a good time, General. When do you go?”
“Why,” exclaimed the Speaker, “how are you, Mr. Crewe, how are you? It's only one of Manning's little jokes.”
“That's all right, General,” said Mr. Crewe, “I haven't been a director in railroads for nothing. I'm not as green as he thinks. Am I, Mr. Manning?”
“It never struck me that green was your colour, Mr. Crewe,” answered the division superintendent, smiling a little as he tore the tickets into bits and put them in the waste-basket.